But “Saint Maud” takes a turn. This story is not about Maud and Amanda, not really. It is about Maud alone, and what happens to Maud when Amanda rejects conversion in a very public way (i.e. tells Maud to back off). Maud’s deterioration is rapid. With each scene, each moment, more and more of Maud is revealed, who she was pre-conversion, who she is now. The center cannot hold. There is no center.

By keeping the film a character study—as opposed to a plot-driven story of an avenging angel/demon—”Saint Maud” is less about the religion, and more about Maud’s existential loneliness (alone-ness, more like), her isolation, the dangers of being so cut off from humanity.

The film has much in common with “Taxi Driver,” “Carrie,” and “First Reformed,” and it has a similar mood of inevitability and dread. Newcomer Adam Bzowski’s score—aligned with Maud’s subjective experience—is deeply unnerving, as is the sound design by Paul Davies, which further traps us in Maud’s point of view.

This is an independent film with a small budget, and Glass works extremely well within these parameters to create a murky and ominous mood. Glass uses the location of Amanda’s house to great effect, reveling in creepy moments of stillness, where the halls and stairways yawn around the quivering intense young nurse. The wallpaper is Victorian-busy, as are the floor tiles.

The color scheme is very controlled, with an almost underwater gleam, greenish and dark, light struggling to make it through the thick mottled windows. Liquid is an ongoing motif, dripping from faucets, rolling in from the ocean, bubbling on the stove—greens and reds, soapy water down the drain, a strange cyclone suddenly erupting in a glass of beer. Reality is unpredictable seen through Maud’s sleep-deprived eyes.