The premise is delicious. Kevin Lomax (Keanu Reeves), a small-time Florida defense attorney with a perfect record, is recruited by the enigmatic John Milton (Pacino) to a white-shoe New York firm. The firm is a cathedral of marble, ego, and billable hours. Kevin wins cases not through evidence, but through charisma and the manipulation of reasonable doubt—a skill Milton adores. Soon, Kevin is defending a real estate mogul (a wonderfully reptilian Craig T. Nelson) accused of a brutal murder. The catch? Kevin’s wife, Mary Ann (Charlize Theron, heartbreaking), is losing her mind, tormented by visions of demonic violation.
The Devil’s Advocate is not a great film. It is too long, too self-indulgent, and too reliant on Pacino’s volcanic tics (his Satan is basically a gay S&M club owner who quotes Milton—the poet, not the character). But it is an unforgettable one. It works best as a fable for the legal profession and the 1990s culture of unchecked ambition. Watch it for Theron’s agony. Watch it for Pacino’s monologue about “the pressure of the human ego.” Watch it for the sheer audacity of a studio film that tries to wrestle with God, the devil, and billable hours in a single runtime. The Devil-s Advocate
The film’s first hour is a masterclass in atmospheric corruption. Hackford shoots New York as a glittering abyss. The supporting cast—Jeffrey Jones, Judith Ivey, and a young Connie Nielsen—populate the firm with a choir of hushed, predatory smiles. And Pacino, in full “I’m here to chew scenery and damn souls” mode, is genuinely unnerving before he becomes a parody of himself. The premise is delicious
Let us address the cross in the room. Keanu Reeves is miscast. Not because he is bad—he is actually quite effective as the naif slowly growing horns—but because the film asks him to do something his instrument cannot: explode. When Kevin finally confronts his own monstrousness, we need a volcanic rage, a soul torn between salvation and power. What we get is Keanu furrowing his brow and raising his voice to a polite 7. He is the straight man in a two-ring circus, and the circus eats him alive. Kevin wins cases not through evidence, but through
And then the film adds a final, infuriating wink: Pacino appears on a reporter’s television, revealing that he is still manipulating events. The implication? Evil is eternal. It is clever. It is also a coward’s way out. After two and a half hours of theological thunder, the movie retreats into a “just kidding” loop. It wants to have its damnation and eat it, too.