MIDSOMMAR

Florence Pugh     Jack Reynor     Will Poulter     William Jackson-Harper

Vilhelm Blomgran     Archie Madekwe     Ellora Torchia

     Midsommar brings to mind romantic associations to a festival, summer/winter solstice, and cultural traditions.  How much writer-director Ari Aster (Heredity) depicts actual traditions in this film and how much he embroiders them with his own fantasies, I’m not sure, but suspect that most of what is seen in the film is from Aster’s own imagination. The film certainly goes way, way out in its characterizations and plot, so that by the end you know you’ve seen a freaky, quintessential horror show.  It’s helped along by Pawel Pogorzelski’s eloquent, captivating, and beautifully composed cinematography and The Haxan Cloak’s music that draws from genres ranging from the medieval to the hauntingly eerie to the most dissonant modern.  

     Midsommar begins as a thoroughly American kind of drama, with a couple, Dani (Pugh) and Christian (Reynor), who are going through ups and downs.  She is very needy, especially after a tragedy in her family, and his friends urge him to ditch her for someone else.  A trip to Sweden might be the answer.  Pelle (Blomgran) has invited his close friends [Christian, Mark (Poulter), and Josh (Jackson-Harper)] to go with him to his native Sweden for the Midsommar festival.  He grew up in a commune, so they would all be welcomed by his huge family. They hadn’t counted on Dani going with them, but she wangles an invitation, and Pelle lets her know how happy he is that she is coming along.

     The American group arrives in Sweden, and are taken to country fields sprinkled with people who turn out to be part of Pelle’s large family.  He introduces them all—ever the gallant host—and his friends are awestruck.  They will be even more awestruck when they impulsively decide to trip on drugs supplied by the communal community.  Dani is reluctant to imbide, but under peer pressure gives in; only to re-experience the tragedy she just endured.  But she gets hold of herself, and proceeds with the others to Pelle’s commune, where there are throngs of people all dressed in white.

     The rest of the story is about what the friends encounter and experience there, which ranges from the simple (helping cook meals) to the esoteric (engaging—not necessarily willingly—in bizarre rituals).  The viewer likely will experience what most of the American characters experience—a curiosity followed by unease and anxiety, even hysteria, and, finally, horror.

     Some may find comfort in preordained events—at least from godly figures (there’s nothing you can do about it, so you can’t be blamed)—but when they’re orchestrated by controllers with an ulterior motive, it can be the most unsettling and horrible experience one can imagine.  That is what Ari Aster does with this film.  He subjects his characters—and maybe viewers as well—to events they’ve never dreamed of, prompting us all to wonder what we would do in those circumstances.

     After her stint as Katherine in Lady Macbeth (2016) and here, Florence Pugh establishes herself as an actress with range and talent.  That being said, her role, as written, does not provide much of a showcase moment.  It’s actually true for all the characters; actors are not given opportunities to shine. Aster’s intention appears to be emphasizing story over characterization, specifically in the contrasts between cultures.  He jabs Americans a bit in their general disregard for tradition and in their inclination to break rules (a bit of “ugly Americans”), but the Swedes’ traditions as shown here evoke strong opinions about attitudes about death and individual agency.

     The film’s two-hour twenty-minute length may stretch the viewer’s tolerance; certainly, some of the over-the-top last scenes could have been cut, and making a better film.

A cross-cultural trip like one you have probably never seen.

Grade:  B                                    By Donna R. Copeland

HEREDITARY

Toni Collette     Alex Wolff     Gabriel Byrne     Millie Shapiro     Ann Dowd

     The set-up for Hereditary is truly chilling—not too much to be unbelievable and just enough to make it plausible. The Graham family—father Steve (Byrne), mother Millie (Collette), son Peter (Wolff), and daughter Charlie (Shapiro) appear normal enough.  They live in a picturesque setting in a large old house in what looks to be a small town.  There are hints that strange things are going on in the scattering of dollhouses around the house (that will only become creepier later).  But also noticeable is something in Charlie’s eyes and behavior. For instance, she doesn’t say much, sometimes makes a clicking noise with her tongue, is seen drawing portraits of those around her incessantly, and once, we see her do something destructive to an animal as she casually eats a candy bar.     

     Millie’s mother has just died, and Millie wonders why she doesn’t feel like crying, but after she sneaks away to a grief-counseling group and her history tumbles out, we can see why.  Sadly, she feels a bit ashamed about attending, and keeps it from her family. Millie is an artist who is trying to meet a deadline for a project that involves figures she must paint so intricately, she needs glasses like jewelers and watch repairmen wear—just another touch to add to the eeriness of the story.  

     One evening, Peter asks to use the car to go to a party, although he presents it as a school function.  His mother gives him permission, making sure there will be no alcohol, and insisting he take his younger sister Charlie along.  This is one of the first set-ups typical of horror filmmakers—something that doesn’t make sense, but is needed for the plot later on.  That is, why would a mother force a teenager to take a 7 year-old to a social function when neither of them wants it? At any rate, they are compliant children, and they go along.

     This is where the movie takes a weird turn.  A tragedy occurs in which Charlie is killed, and the mother is not the same ever since.  This in itself is not unusual (no one is the same after losing a child), but in a horror story like this, the occult is introduced more overtly, where there were only hints before.  

     Millie’s chance (or not so much coincidental, as shown later) encounter with a member of the support group who hails her down at the shopping center, asks how she is doing, lets Millie know that she too has lost a son and grandchild, and gives Millie her address and phone number “if you need someone to talk to, because we all do.”  Millie makes light of this, once again, significantly, not telling her husband about Joan (Dowd) or the subsequent séance that she will experience in which Joan is able to conjure up her grandchild.

     After this, the film goes over the top in typical horror-film paths, introducing ever more fantastic events that have the audience gasping (or laughing, depending on individual perceptions).  Some of these scenes are effective (such as when Millie and Peter start to work on their issues—painful as they are.  But then, the turn is to more conventional horror motifs that have little to do with reality, i.e., Paimon, a king of hell, makes his appearance.

     This is a more than admirable first feature by writer-director Ari Aster, and one of which he can be truly proud.  His script and direction, the superb acting—particularly that of Collette—and the cinematography, music, and the rest of the crew make this a noteworthy film.  The music (Colin Stetson) and camera (Pawel Pogorzelski) are visible enough to be characters in being so present in telling the story even when no actors are present.  

Horror films come and go, but you should take notice of this one.

Grade:  B                                    By Donna R. Copeland