The film is famous for its bonkers finale: Kevin shoots himself in the head to kill the demonic fetus inside Mary Ann (don’t ask), wakes up back in Florida at the beginning of the movie, and decides to reject the “Milton case” this time.
It’s a cheat. A loop. It suggests that free will is an illusion, and Kevin’s vanity will always win. Audiences in 1997 hated it. Today? It’s genius. Evil doesn’t get defeated; it just resets the game.
[Your Name] | October 31, 2026
The Devil’s Advocate is not a great movie in the traditional sense. It is too long (144 minutes), too loud, and too theatrical. But it is a vital movie. It captures the excess of the late 90s—the worship of money, the amorality of winning at all costs—and asks a question that still stings today:
We cannot talk about this film without discussing . As Mary Ann Lomax, Kevin’s Southern wife who descends into madness in the Manhattan penthouse, Theron delivers the film’s only truly terrifying performance. Watching her degrade—from supportive spouse to a haunted, mascara-streaked ghost seeing demons in the walls—is genuinely upsetting. She is the soul of the movie. When she finally confronts Milton, you realize she is the only character who sees clearly from the start.
Kevin grins. Pacino, now playing a journalist, winks at the camera.
If the Devil offered you everything you ever wanted, would you even notice?