Horror itself is hard enough to pull off, and religious horror is near impossible. But for all its flaws and failed good intentions, The Seventh Sign served as a prelude to (mostly) straight-faced apocalyptic thrillers like The Prophecy and Stigmata: moody, weird and unapologetic as their respective writers and directors explored various “what if?” scenarios inspired by source material that many people consider to be the greatest story ever told. Demi Moore is a young pregnant hottie whose garage apartment is rented by none other than Jesus Christ himself (sort of, anyway), who’s bringing on the end of the world by bloodying rivers and instigating plagues. So silly it almost capsizes to the point where you expect to soon start watching the movie upside-down, The Seventh Sign nonetheless manages to eventually be anchored by passionate performances by Moore, Michael Biehn (as her genuinely confused husband) and Jurgen Prochnow (as JC himself, sort of, anyway). Enjoy, ’cause they don’t make ’em like this anymore, nor will they ever again.