Deborah Kampmeier’s muddled, miserable first feature about maculate conception will make you look back fondly on 1985, the year Godard’s Hail Mary and Norman Jewison’s Agnes of God came out. Seventeen-year-old shoplifter Jessie (Elisabeth Moss), knocked out by booze and quaaludes, is knocked up by Shane (Charles Socarides), who is several socioeconomic notches above her. The craven boy remains silent, while Jessie, having no memory of the rape, insists she’s “carrying the next Christ child.” As a pariah-visionary, Jessie cradles dead birds; comforts a crazy, naked woman (Socorro Santiago) looking for her deceased child; and rescues Frances (Daphne Rubin-Vega), a battered wife who manually pleasures the teenager. “Why are people so afraid that a girl might like sex?” Frances asks Jessie—an important question that Kampmeier doesn’t even begin to answer. Instead, her heroine is subjected to further degradation and humiliation, repeating “God is inside me” like an idiot savant. Lazy New Age tropes abound—Jessie’s deliverance arrives with a circle of naked people holding hands in the Hudson River. There’s also a nod to the men’s movement, as even the odious Shane is redeemed. All that Jessie can look forward to is her second virginity.