Let’s get one thing straight: a movie that dares to call itself Unholy Trinity better come with some damnation, gun smoke, and at least a few biblical reckonings. The name alone suggests brimstone and bullets, a showdown of mythic proportions. So when you walk into a Western with a title like that, you expect something a bit more fire and fury, right?
Well… this movie doesn’t exactly live up to its devilish branding. But weirdly, that ends up being kind of the point.
Set in the wild reaches of the Montana Territory in 1888—back when law was a loose idea and justice often came via barrel—Unholy Trinity is a film that leans less on shootouts and more on shadowy motives, family legacies, and the uneasy line between right and wrong. And leading that charge? A trio of men who seem ripped from the pages of a morality play that’s been roughed up, rolled in dirt, and handed a revolver.
The Trio: Saints with Secrets, Sinners with Smirks
First, let’s meet the cast. Not the cast as in “actors”—we’ll get to that—but the cast of characters, because this is a Western that practically begs you to sort the halos from the horns.
You’ve got Henry Broadway, played by Brandon Lessard, the kind of actor who, even when roughed up with a beard and a facial bruise, still looks like the kid you’d trust to walk your dog or fix your computer. In other words, not exactly Clint Eastwood. But maybe that’s the point. Henry isn’t your typical gunslinger. He’s not slick, he’s not sharp, and he’s definitely not dangerous. At least not at first.
Henry rolls into town after witnessing his long-lost dad, Henry Broadway Sr. (Tim Daly), hang for a murder he swears he didn’t commit. Before taking the drop, dear old dad gives junior a mission: head to the town he built (yes, built), clear his name, and maybe, just maybe, get your hands on a legendary stash of hidden gold while you’re at it.
It’s the kind of setup you’d expect from a dime-store pulp novel—father dies, son seeks justice, secrets buried in the dust. But what elevates Unholy Trinity is that it’s not interested in giving you clean answers or straight lines. This isn’t a revenge story that barrels toward justice. It’s a mystery tangled in legacy, pride, and conflicting loyalties.
Because once Henry hits town, he realizes the story’s a lot messier than “bad guy framed good guy.” His father, though supposedly the town’s founder, is widely hated. Meanwhile, the rival who allegedly set him up is a revered local legend, long dead but worshipped like a folk hero. Try clearing your dad’s name when everyone thinks he was the devil and the guy who buried him is a saint.
Dove and the Devil (Sort Of)
Then there’s Pierce Brosnan—yes, that Pierce Brosnan—who shows up as Sheriff Gabriel Dove. The name alone practically beams holy light, and Dove lives up to the name in ways that are, surprisingly, not corny. An Irish immigrant with a dry wit and an affinity for keeping peace over chaos, Dove is the kind of lawman you wish had actually existed in the Old West. He’s principled, pragmatic, and carries the air of a man who’s seen too much to take sides too quickly.
It’s in Dove’s hands that Unholy Trinity finds most of its moral texture. He’s not just a sheriff; he’s a philosopher in a ten-gallon hat. He listens to Henry, hears out his wild story about framing and redemption, and responds not with a six-shooter, but with something rarer: empathy.
“We’ll see if it’s possible to have justice and leave a few hearts beating,” he says at one point—a line so good it could be stitched onto a saddlebag.
Of course, no Western is complete without a mysterious outsider, and that’s where Samuel L. Jackson stomps in, chewing scenery and spinning riddles as a man who calls himself “Saint Christopher.” Only Jackson could pull off a name like that while wielding menace, charm, and a sort of philosophical madness all at once. Is he a villain? A vigilante? A ghost with unfinished business?
That’s part of the fun.
Christopher doesn’t come with answers. He comes with motives wrapped in riddles, making it clear that in this town, everyone has their reasons. He’s less an outlaw and more a disruptive force—one that challenges Henry’s ideas of good and evil, justice and revenge.
A Western That Ain’t in a Rush
One thing you should know: if you’re expecting this movie to rattle off gunfights and horse chases like a 90s action flick, you’re gonna be disappointed. Unholy Trinity is a slow burn. It’s more interested in revealing truths than delivering thrills. That’s not to say there’s no action—there is. But it’s carefully measured. Thoughtful, even.
In one scene, Henry, in the middle of a tryst with a local prostitute (played with a smart, subtle touch by Katrina Bowden), fumbles a chance to protect her honor. He draws too slow, shoots too late. It’s a moment that sums up his arc perfectly. He’s not a hero—not yet. He’s a man fumbling through purpose.
The town, too, plays a character. It’s a place built on half-remembered legends, torn between its founders and its fabricators. As Henry digs deeper, he discovers the line between truth and myth isn’t just blurry—it’s been redrawn entirely.
Dialogue That Smirks and Stings
Screenwriter Lee Zachariah deserves credit here for walking a tightrope between old-school Western gravitas and sharp, contemporary wit. The dialogue pops in all the right places, and the movie knows when to wink at itself.
Case in point: when Henry ends up in a gunfight with a guy named “Priest,” he mutters, “I don’t think he’s a real priest,” to which Brosnan’s Dove deadpans, “Like a Lutheran?”
It’s the kind of exchange that reminds you this film isn’t taking itself too seriously. It’s aware of its tropes, even as it uses them sincerely. That balance is tough to pull off, but Unholy Trinity manages it more often than not.
The Cast: Not Quite All Guns Blazing
Brandon Lessard’s Henry might not scream “iconic Western hero,” but again, maybe that’s deliberate. He brings a certain vulnerability to the role, a sense of someone trying desperately to grow into the boots he’s inherited. It’s not a flashy performance, but it’s a grounded one.
Brosnan, meanwhile, is clearly having a blast. He’s mature, measured, and lets his accent do some of the heavy lifting. There’s a twinkle in his eye even when things get grim, which helps keep the film from dragging during its quieter stretches.
And then there’s Samuel L. Jackson. As usual, he steals every scene he’s in. Whether he’s spitting metaphors, whispering threats, or just looking cool on horseback, he brings gravitas and unpredictability. You never quite know what Saint Christopher is planning—and that’s exactly how it should be.
Smaller roles filled out by folks like David Arquette and Q’orianka Kilcher round out a cast that isn’t stacked with household names but delivers consistent performances. No weak links here—just folks who know how to sell a dusty frontier.
A Western for the Wandering
Unholy Trinity isn’t trying to reinvent the wheel—but it’s not just coasting, either. It’s a Western for people who don’t mind a bit of soul-searching with their shootouts. It’s about fathers and sons, about stories twisted by time, and about how justice doesn’t always come with a body count.
Sure, the title oversells the fire and brimstone. This isn’t some brutal, blood-soaked morality tale with three demons riding into town. But in its own quiet way, it does wrestle with the holy and the unholy—just more in terms of human behavior than supernatural wrath.
The film’s greatest strength lies in its refusal to make things easy. Henry’s quest for answers doesn’t lead to a single clean villain or a golden truth. What it reveals is a story warped by memory, loyalty, and myth—a legacy built on sand.
Final Verdict: A Solid Ride Through Shifting Sands
No, Unholy Trinity won’t dethrone The Good, The Bad, and The Ugly. It’s not the next great Western masterpiece. But in an era where true Westerns are few and far between, it offers something rare: a film that honors the genre’s roots while tugging them in new directions.
It’s moody, character-driven, and refreshingly sincere. And while it might not deliver every promise its fiery title suggests, it gives you something just as valuable: a story about the spaces between good and evil, and what it means to seek justice in a land that often has none.
So if you’re craving a Western that talks as much as it shoots, that trades bravado for ambiguity, and that gives you Samuel L. Jackson as a man named Saint Christopher… saddle up.
You could do a lot worse on movie night.
