The leader of a violent and strictly loyal cult, “She” rules her flock with an iron fist. No one would dare stray from the path of pain, for only through purity and self-punishment can one continue to be a member of this house. She will not hesitate to toss out anyone onto the streets, no matter how many times said person bleeds their foot into a bucket, or purposely places a shard of glass in their shoe, or completes any other act of self-mutilation in the name of sacrifice. In a very literal sense, Sonia Escolano’s directorial debut has an apt title, for this truly is a House of Sweat and Tears – and not much else.

Set mostly indoors in a remote unnamed country, this house contains a few key members who abide by a ghastly routine which requires constant suffering in order to prove their love for their lord. Wearing only plain white clothes, abstaining from sexual activities, fasting, praying, ignoring the outside world, sleeping on cots, relinquishing the ability to participate in any sort of hobby other than worshipping their god, cutting themselves – these are just a few of the ways in which the followers of this new religious movement like to spend their time. There’s no frame of reference for what era this film is supposed to take place in, or how long this cult has been practicing, but at one point a character removes her clothing to reveal a swastika tattoo, suggesting that each member comes from some sort of dark past which they are hoping to redeem.

It’s not quite clear who the main character is supposed to be in this film. This movie starts with a long tracking shot following Emma (Padi Padilla) down the hall and into the main prayer room where the rest of her clan bow and listen to their leader (Alzira Gomez) pass on the good word of the almighty one. However, once she kneels down next to her crew, the focus jumps from character to character, and the story begins to feel indecisive. Suddenly, it seems that Sophie (Coline Sharvin) is actually the one telling the tale, as Emma fades into the background and the camera instead elects to illustrate how this young woman attempts to seduce every single man in the building. Or is it Jerome (Pablo Macho) who we’re supposed to be following? After all, the film sometimes chooses to unveil the scenario from the perspective of this mentally challenged young man, seeing how certain events could only be shown to the audience through his eyes. Therefore, wouldn’t that make Jerome the main character in these specific scenarios?

It all comes across like the storyteller couldn’t decide a single character to stick with, so instead of fully developing one, she spreads the traits across the board. While the intention may have been to make the movie more complex by offering up several takes on the situation, it actually only adds to the confusion. We never really get close enough to anybody to earn that empathy. It’s all physical pain instead of anything remotely emotional.

Righteousness earned through self-harm is a clear and present theme, but what’s less obvious is the end goal of those who suffer. Every religion, whether it be those founded on Abrahamic faith, such as Christianity and Judaism, or newer additions like Mormonism or Scientology, contains within it some variation of a reward at the end of the line. Whether that belief encompasses the idea that there is paradise waiting for martyrs after death, or that the most faithful will be born into the flesh of another body, in a very general sense, there is compensation offered when the big sleep calls. With this cinematic cult, the notion of being full of sin and attempting to cleanse oneself is presented in a harsh and intriguing way, but once the Christ-esque stranger appears on the doorstep of this house, the story becomes too obsessed with mimicking passages from the bible. The movie never tries to express any sort of new sentiment on the subject, thereby halting the exploration of faith and doubt that the story set up in the first place.

In the end, the constant jumping around from viewpoint to viewpoint lessens the vision to become a very simplistic and surfaced idea of constant torture without any sort of payoff. There’s no real insight into how these people truly feel, or their own personal take on what they’re enduring in the name of blind faith. Once doubt is introduced into the scenario, the tension is briefly erected, only to prove itself impotent in the acts that follow. The structure of House of Sweat and Tears never really builds to anything. An idea of self-mutilation is introduced, repeated, but never escalates. It’s a shame because, with a gorgeous European style, a hint of old Hammer style production, and some truly solid performances, this is a picture that could have packed a lot more punch.