There is presence of Catholic imagery throughout Gone Baby Gone to the point that it takes on a virtually oppressive air. This is almost certainly intentional—the central character of the story is one who, try as he might, is unable to escape from the rigid moral code of his Catholic heritage. The film is a mystery that dabbles in horror and social activism, but in the end boils down to a question of what humans adrift in a sea of sin and evil can do about it.

It also proves that Ben Affleck can still occasionally be associated with a good film. It’s been a full ten years since he and Matt Damon co-wrote Good Will Hunting, and in those ten years, the most memorable things he’s done have arguably been Pearl Harbor and Gigli. Ouch. But as it turns out, Gone Baby Gone is not only the first film he’s written since Good Will, it’s also his directorial debut—and it’s good. Really good. Visually, he combines the claustrophobia of the best slasher films (if you can use “best” and “slasher films” together) with the bright, soaring anti-noir of Fargo, and thematically he deals passionately and honestly with a topic that deserves to be dealt with.

The topic in question is the abduction and rape of children, so it should go without saying that the film is not for everyone. While Affleck is tactful in what he actually shows—a subtlety which lends the acts the horror they deserve—it’s clear what’s going on, and the film is decidedly not for the faint of heart.

The story centers around a private investigator named Patrick (Ben’s younger brother Casey Affleck—cry nepotism if you want, but he does well with the role) who is called upon to find a young girl who’s been kidnapped from his inner-city Boston neighborhood. His girlfriend and partner Angie Gennaro (Michelle Monaghan) initially has misgivings, but the two take on the job—which, as you might expect, leads them to the seedy underbelly of drug trafficking and organized crime.

As the film is set up as a mystery, it would be a disservice to give away more of the plot, but suffice it to say that it has its share of twists—some of which work better than others. The good news is that the film uses these twists in service of examination of some serious themes, rather than as simple “gotcha” moments.

These themes, as you might expect, center on the nature of right and wrong—how to help those in need, and whether the end justifies the means. The film wisely posits child abuse as a fact: in other words, it’s happening, and we all know it’s happening—so what do we do about it? The film’s two central characters, Patrick and Angie, represent opposing views on an appropriate response to the evil in the world: should we live by a moral code (as the intensely-Catholic Patrick seems to believe), or should our actions be guided by pragmatism (as Angie argues)? In other words, should we do anything possible to end the suffering of children, regardless of the consequences or moral implications?

Patrick, who is haunted by the aforementioned Catholic iconography, is unable to accept this conclusion, but his actions don’t necessarily result in anything better than the actions of those with a more pragmatic attitude. In many ways, that’s what sets this film apart—an honest lack of easy answers. This translates to a profound nihilism throughout the first half of the film, but this is at least partially contradicted through a “twist ending”.

Twist endings are hard to do right (for proof, ask M. Night Shyamalan, who got it right with The Sixth Sense, but has screwed it up every time since), and whether this Final Big Twist actually works is a matter of opinion. Some could say that it trivializes the subject matter, but I would argue that it establishes it—both underscoring the importance of Patrick’s Catholic roots and establishing why action must be taken to help suffering children. The answer the film posits is an uncomfortable one (and arguably a uniquely Christian one)—suffering people don’t need things, they don’t need material goods or social action; they need us. It’s not easy to get told this, and even Affleck seems uncomfortable with it. The final shot in the film, however, points the finger squarely at both the viewer and the entertainment industry itself—in other words, why are you reading this review when there are people out there that need your help?