When It Rains, It Melts: Revisiting The Devil’s Rain at 50

Half a century on, The Devil’s Rain remains one of the strangest artifacts of the 1970s occult horror boom—an overheated stew of devil worship, grotesque visuals, and unexpected A-list casting that somehow managed to attract both Hollywood veterans and rising stars into its dripping, gooey vortex.

Directed by Robert Fuest—best known for the eccentric Dr. Phibes films—The Devil’s Rain is deeply entrenched in the cultural anxieties and supernatural fascinations of its time. The film plays like a fever dream born of late-night TV evangelist warnings and paperback Satanic panic, spinning a tale of black masses, soul-selling contracts, and a cursed family line haunted by a vengeful cult leader.

That cult leader, Jonathan Corbis, is played with devilish relish by Ernest Borgnine, who flips his usual affable persona on its head. Decked out in robes and goat-like makeup by the climax, Borgnine is clearly having the time of his life. He’s surrounded by a wildly eclectic cast: William Shatner as the tormented hero, Ida Lupino as his doomed mother, Tom Skerritt as his psychic brother, and Keenan Wynn as a blustery local sheriff. Oh—and there’s a young, largely silent John Travolta in his first film role, just months before Welcome Back, Kotter launched him into stardom.

But for all its firepower in front of the camera, the film never quite coalesces into a satisfying whole. The plot is thin, stretched across loosely connected sequences of ritualistic mumbo jumbo and endless scenes of people melting into waxy goo beneath acid rain—an effect that, while memorable, wears thin. The much-hyped “incredible ending” involves an extended final act of meltdowns, betrayals, and demonic possession that’s more exhausting than exhilarating.

Still, there’s a goofy charm to the way The Devil’s Rain leans hard into its Satanic aesthetic. This was the era of The Exorcist, Race with the Devil, and The Omen—and The Devil’s Rain rides that same wave of occult obsession, just with less discipline and a lot more slime. The involvement of real-life Church of Satan founder Anton LaVey (credited as technical advisor and appearing onscreen) only adds to the gonzo credentials, even if the end result feels more theatrical than terrifying.

The Prognosis:

As a piece of horror history, The Devil’s Rain deserves a glance—not for its scares, but for its sheer audacity. It’s a wild blend of old Hollywood gravitas, ‘70s devil craze, and low-budget exploitation, all filtered through Fuest’s offbeat lens. Fifty years later, it’s more fun as a conversation piece than a horror classic, but there’s no denying: few films have ever gone down in flames quite like this.

• Retrospective Review by Saul Muerte