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‘The Devil All the Time’ Review: Down-Home Livin’ and Dyin’

It’s a mystery where Robert Pattinson picked up the eccentric nasal whine that he (amusingly) deploys in “The Devil All the Time.” Pattison plays one of those bad preachers who ride through certain deep-fried fictions, the smooth talkers with scripture on their forked tongues and sin in their withered hearts. Sometimes these devious souls have “love” and “hate” tattooed on their fingers (or at least once watched Robert Mitchum’s unholy man in the 1955 noir “The Night of the Hunter”). However wicked, these bad men of the cloth invariably embody religious hypocrisy.

No one is up to any good in “Devil,” a leisurely wallow in the kind of flamboyant evil that some filmmakers just can’t quit, won’t quit. The preacher, Rev. Preston Teagardin, is the least of this story’s ills. By the time he does his worst, knuckles have been bloodied, bullets fired, a dog sacrificed and a man tortured,

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