Midsommar (2019)
Folk horror has always had a particular relationship with isolation, the kind that isn't about darkness or closed spaces but about being the outsider in a community that has its own rules, its own calendar, and its own understanding of what is owed to the land. That tradition runs from British films like The Wicker Man (1973) right through to the wave of so-called "elevated horror" that took hold in the 2010s. Midsommar (2019) sits squarely in that lineage, though it plants its flag on Scandinavian soil rather than a Scottish island. The premise is disarmingly simple: a group of American postgraduate students travel to a remote Swedish commune to observe a midsummer festival held once every ninety years, accompanying their Swedish friend Pelle, whose family are members of the community. What starts out as something between a field trip and a sun-soaked holiday soon curdles into something far more sinister. The film arrives in a cultural moment where European folk traditions, runes, and communal ritual had already been quietly seeping back into popular consciousness, and Aster weaponises that aesthetic fascination with real efficiency.
The film is the second feature from writer-director Ari Aster, who had announced himself with considerable force the previous year via Hereditary (2018), another slow-build horror that used grief as its engine. Midsommar continues that preoccupation: the American protagonist, Dani, is reeling from a family tragedy at the film's outset, and the commune's rituals become a warped mirror for her psychological state. The production was a joint Swedish-American affair, made under the B-Reel Films and Square Peg banners, and shot largely on location in Hungary (dressed convincingly as rural Sweden) as well as at purpose-built sets. Production designer Henrik Svensson and cinematographer Pawel Pogorzelski built a visual world of extraordinary deliberateness, all flower crowns, whitewashed timber and permanent daylight, the midnight sun rendered as something oppressive rather than charming. It is the kind of production that clearly spent its money on the screen rather than on marketing, and it shows in every considered frame. For a point of stylistic comparison, the film's willingness to let dread accumulate through atmosphere and imagery rather than conventional thriller mechanics brings to mind the work of Ingmar Bergman, whose films like Persona and Winter Light demonstrated that existential unease can be more unsettling than any jump-scare ever devised.
The cast is headed by Florence Pugh, who was already drawing serious attention in 2019 and here takes on a role that asks an enormous amount of her, emotionally and physically. Her performance as Dani is the kind of work that reminds you why certain actors simply operate at a different register to those around them. Jack Reynor plays her boyfriend Christian, a character written with a studied moral flimsiness, alongside William Jackson Harper as the group's most academically earnest member, and Will Poulter providing a louder, more abrasive presence. Vilhelm Blomgren plays Pelle, the quietly persuasive figure who brought them all there, and it is a role that rewards careful watching. The ensemble, on paper, is a strong one, though whether the material serves each of them equally is a question the review below addresses with some directness. At 147 minutes, Midsommar is not a film interested in hurrying itself along, and your tolerance for its pace will likely shape your experience of everything that follows. Only God Forgives is perhaps a useful comparison point for a film willing to test that patience in the service of aesthetic vision, for better or for worse.
You don’t just watch Ari Aster’s 2019 folk horror Midsommar; you get bludgeoned by its sheer, sun-drenched sensory overload.
Right from the opening frames, the visual presentation is absolutely incredible. Aster and his team have crafted a picturebook, almost dreamlike aesthetic that is completely drenched in blinding, vibrant colours. When you mix that striking cinematography with the trippy, disorienting effects of the psychedelics kicking in, the result is a visual feast.
Fair play to the audio team as well, because the sound design and the accompanying soundtrack are brilliant, creating a deeply unsettling atmosphere that gets right under your skin before a single drop of blood is even spilled.
But while the technical craft is a cracking achievement, the human element is a bit of a mess. Florence Pugh is nothing short of amazing, anchoring the film with a raw, emotionally devastating performance that carries the entire weight of the picture. She is phenomenal. However, the same cannot be said for her co-stars, who feel incredibly flat by comparison. Jack Reynor, in particular, struggles to bring any real depth to his role, and Will Poulter is, as usual, just thoroughly annoying. When you have a lead giving it her all, the lack of spark from the rest of the ensemble really highlights the disconnect.
Narrative-wise, the plot is easy enough to follow, but it’s also quite predictable, marching steadily toward its inevitable, macabre conclusions. I won't spoil the specifics, but the infamous scene involving the "elderly couple" is extremely gory and definitely not for the squeamish. It’s a visceral, stomach-churning sequence that proves Aster has no problem pushing the boundaries of good taste. Throw in some of the later sexual scenes, which are just a little odd and uncomfortable, and you have a film that is constantly trying to provoke a reaction, sometimes succeeding and sometimes just feeling a bit gratuitous.
I found myself completely torn on this one. Aster had all the right ingredients to create something truly groundbreaking, and for long stretches, it feels like a modern horror classic in the making. But because of the uneven performances and a storyline that never quite surprises you, it just falls short of absolute greatness. It’s a highly watchable, visually stunning, and deeply unsettling piece of cinema that will absolutely linger in your mind, even if it doesn't quite stick the landing perfectly.
Midsommar is one of those films that generates genuinely divided opinion, and not in the manufactured, controversy-seeking way that some genre pictures aim for. The division is honest: some viewers find the combination of visual audacity and folk horror mythology more than enough to carry them through its considerable runtime, while others find themselves at arm's length from a film that sometimes mistakes provocation for meaning. What seems beyond dispute is that it marks a director of real ambition and a lead performance of rare quality, both operating in a film that is polished but uneven, memorable but not quite the sum of its parts. It earns its place on any serious horror list and demands a watch, even if it also demands a bit of patience with it afterwards. Sometimes the most interesting films are the ones you're still quietly arguing about on the way home.
Rating: ★★★½ | Year: 2019 | Watched: 2026-07-18
Trailer
▶ Watch the official trailer for Midsommar (2019) on YouTube
Where to watch
Watch in the UK
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