Hell wants him. Heaven won’t take him. Earth needs him.

Adapted from DC’s Hellblazer comics, Constantine offered a brooding, visually intense dive into the occult underworld of Los Angeles. Francis Lawrence’s directorial debut took on the daunting task of translating the rich, multi-layered narrative crafted by Alan Moore, Steve Bissette, and John Totleben into a two-hour feature. The result? A mixed bag of ambitious storytelling, uneven execution, and moments of genuine brilliance.

At the heart of the film is Keanu Reeves, playing a reimagined John Constantine. Gone is the chain-smoking blonde Liverpudlian from the comics, replaced by a darker, grittier, and distinctly American take on the character. While this choice alienated fans of the source material, Reeves brought a weary charisma to Constantine, capturing his fatalistic attitude and reluctant heroism. The supporting cast added much-needed gravitas: Tilda Swinton as the androgynous, duplicitous angel Gabriel; Rachel Weisz as the determined yet vulnerable Angela Dodson; Djimon Hounsou as the enigmatic witch doctor Papa Midnite; and Peter Stormare, who stole the show in a brief but unforgettable turn as a languid, menacing Lucifer.

Visually, Constantine embraced the early 2000s aesthetic of slick, CGI-heavy imagery. While its hellscapes and demonic designs were ambitious, the digital effects haven’t aged gracefully, often leaving the film with a dated look. Despite this, there are moments where the cinematography and production design shine, particularly in the portrayal of Los Angeles as a liminal space teetering between the celestial and the infernal.

Thematically, the film grappled with heavy ideas—redemption, free will, and the eternal tug-of-war between good and evil. However, it struggled to match the depth and nuance of the comics. The screenplay pared down the philosophical underpinnings of Hellblazer, focusing instead on action and spectacle. For fans of the comic, this felt like a missed opportunity to fully explore Constantine’s morally ambiguous world.

Still, Constantine has its merits. The interplay between Reeves and Swinton crackles with tension, and Stormare’s brief screen time is a masterclass in scene-stealing villainy. The film’s ambition to blend noir sensibilities with supernatural horror is commendable, even if it doesn’t always succeed.

Twenty years later, Constantine remains a polarising entry in the comic-to-film canon. While it never quite captures the anarchic spirit of its source material, it endures as an intriguing—if flawed—experiment. With talk of a long-awaited sequel on the horizon, one can only hope that John Constantine gets another shot to fully embrace his dark, twisted legacy.

• Saul Muerte