HELLAH’S HOUSE OF HORROR PRESENTS 🕯️ “HIM: When the Goal Is the Offering” 🕯️
Red lights. Heavy air. Rituals disguised as sport.
That’s the mood of HIM—a film that doesn’t just flirt with darkness, it worships it.
I loved every awkward, unsettling moment. Every slow glance that lingered too long, every line that dripped with unspoken truth. This wasn’t a horror movie built on jump scares—it was a spiritual autopsy. It cracked open the modern world’s obsession with spectacle, power, and worship—and dared to ask: who are we cheering
THE HOLY GAME
Football—yes, football—is treated as scripture in this film. Globally sacred. Stadiums as cathedrals. Players as gods. Fans as faithful devotees.
But HIM pulls back the veil to show what might be happening behind those chants and trophies: sacrifice. ritual. rebirth.
The match we witness isn’t just a game—it’s a mass. And the ball isn’t leather—it’s a vessel. The goal, a portal.
The moment the crowd roars feels like prayer and punishment all at once.
Every whistle, every foul, every red card feels premeditated.
By the time we reach the climax, it’s clear—the goal was a setup from the start. spoiler alert *
The sacrifice was the point.
THE ART OF THE OCCULT
What truly haunts me are the artworks woven through the film—each one placed like a rune, a breadcrumb for those who dare to look closer.
Let’s talk about a few:
Caravaggio’s “The Sacrifice of Isaac” — hung just above the locker room bench. Father and son. Devotion and blood. Was this not the very essence of the film’s central act?
Hieronymus Bosch’s “The Garden of Earthly Delights” — glimpsed during the halftime interview, its writhing bodies echoing the chaos of fans in the stands. Desire and punishment blurred into one.
Francis Bacon’s “Study After Velázquez’s Portrait of Pope Innocent X” — the screaming mouth, distorted and divine, projected across a stadium screen as the crowd chants. A modern martyr in motion.
An inverted image of Da Vinci’s “The Last Supper” — graffiti on a tunnel wall where the players enter the field. Eleven men, one betrayal.
None of these placements were accidental. HIM is a gallery masquerading as cinema—a ritual where art history becomes prophecy.
🕯️ THE SYMBOLISM OF SACRIFICE
Each player’s movement felt rehearsed, not for victory but for offering. The precision of the passes. The stillness before the next move or hit. Even the slow-motion shot of the ball arcing through the air felt like a divine transaction—one life traded for another.
The coach, the priest. The crowd, the congregation. The field, an altar.
And when HIM finally falls—face to earth, blood marking the turf—we understand: the score was never the point. The act was.
In this world, performance is prayer. Perfection requires pain. The gods demand both.
🌑 THE CAST AS CONSTELLATIONS
The actors felt cosmically cast. Not a single face out of place. Each one carried the duality of saint and sinner, believer and betrayer. Their chemistry was uncomfortable and deliberate—as though they had all read the same forbidden text but agreed never to speak of it aloud.
Their awkwardness wasn’t poor direction—it was possession. They were vessels for something older, something that’s been watching us cheer for centuries.
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HIM asks one question that lingers long after the credits fade:
What are we willing to sacrifice for glory?
It doesn’t just critique the worship of sport—it indicts the worship of anything that demands we lose our humanity for transcendence. Whether that’s fame, fandom, or faith—it all drinks from the same chalice.
And in the end, the film suggests what I can’t stop thinking about:
The goal was always fixed. The outcome was ordained. The ritual complete.
We weren’t watching a game—we were part of it.
📜 HELLAH’S STUDY NOTES: SYMBOLS & SINNERS
A few occult breadcrumbs from HIM that deserve your magnifying glass:
The Triangle Motif — Appears in stadium lighting and player formations. In alchemical symbology, the upward triangle represents fire—the element of transformation and sacrifice. Here, it mirrors the team’s structure: one leader offered for the many.
The Number 11 — Eleven players per side. Eleven, in numerology, is the “master number” tied to intuition and divine insight—but also chaos. The twelfth man, the crowd, completes the ritual, forming a trinity of body, mind, and collective will.
The Color Red — Beyond blood, red saturates the film’s palette as a sign of both life force and loss. The director uses it like scripture—on scarves, shoes, and sunsets—reminding us that vitality and violence share a hue.
The Crescent Moon — Flashing briefly on a pendant worn by the coach. In occult practice, it’s a symbol of cycles—of waxing and waning power. The coach’s loss mirrors the moon’s descent: illumination traded for darkness.
The Final Goalpost Shadow — Notice its alignment at dusk—it forms a cross when the sun hits the field just right. It’s a chilling reminder: every game is a crucifixion if the crowd demands blood.
🩸 : THE BEAUTIFUL GAME IS A BEAUTIFUL LIE
HIM isn’t just about football, it’s about faith—the kind that blinds, binds, and burns. It shows us the stadium as sanctuary, the athlete as offering, and the spectator as silent participant.
And me?
I’ll be thinking about that final frame for a long, long time—the way art and agony collided, how symbolism whispered louder than dialogue.
Because when the lights go down and the chanting fades, only one truth remains:
The goal was never to win.
It was to worship.
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