Editorials
What You Need to Know About Folk Horror Before You See Ari Aster’s ‘Midsommar’
Agricultural festivals. Nature spirits. Fertility rites. Pagan cults. Human sacrifice. Are these elements of horror? Or something a bit more subtle and complex? There’s a narrative category for stories containing this kind of imagery and vibe: folk horror. And if you don’t know what folk horror is, let me take you by the hand, and lead you to the forest’s edge, or maybe to this field of corn, and show you…some things. Consider this a primer for the horror cinema fan who’s not familiar with the folk horror sub-genre.
After Ari Aster’s iconic debut film Hereditary, horror fans are thrilled and excited about his forthcoming feature Midsommar. Set in Sweden, it appears to contain some of the sort of pagan sacrificial cult elements that Hereditary featured, but in a different cultural context. And yet, Hereditary wasn’t about a pagan cult so much as it hinted at the existence of one. Those subtle hints and fragments made us curious and creeped out, and possibly haunted our dreams and maybe even our waking thoughts (as the most effective horror story should, with just enough information and compelling imagery to stay with us for an unnervingly long time).
And that is more or less how folk horror works: it’s the things that are not quite seen, that are not explicit, that are strangely familiar and yet unknowable, that grip us and terrify us, as if we’re not sure what’s lurking in the shadows, even if we can hear its breath and smell its sweat. Folk horror is sensual and earthy: even its ghosts are somehow corporeal, smelling faintly of ancestral secrets.
There are no hard and fast rules for qualifying what is and isn’t folk horror, but there are a few characteristics that seem to be common. One theme that is central is landscape, and its evocative power. Howard Ingham, author of We Don’t Go Back: A Watcher’s Guide to Folk Horror, puts it this way: “Out in the isolated places unusual superstitions flourish, and these are the places we came from. The old places. Even if the old gods have died, there’s something about these ancient geographies that makes new gods flourish where the old once reigned. The old grounds, lain fallow, are fertile for this sort of thing. But we don’t go back. That way leads to madness.”
The Wicker Man, 1973
Landscape is indeed a powerful presence in this definitive trio of folk horror films: The Witchfinder General (1968), The Blood on Satan’s Claw (1971), and The Wicker Man (1973). These three classic works, usually referred to as “the unholy trinity” of folk horror, have other elements in common.
- They’re English (English folklore being the source for much of the occult revival literature and culture that found its way to the United States in the 1960s and 1970s).
- They portray a belief in animism or paganism, i.e. a divine force imminent in nature.
- They put forth ideas of human sacrifice or punishment as ways to appease ancient spirits of the land/location.
- There are usually a number of characters who share a belief system that other characters might find superstitious or supernatural; this sets up a dilemma of reliability.
- They portray landscape in an aesthetic way (visuals, sound) that feels strange, scary, evocative, “weird” or otherwise unsettling.
- They were created in the wake of the second occult revival, when peoples’ curiosity about ancient myths and lore was awakened.
Folk horror as a definitive sub-genre was first mentioned, apparently, by Mark Gatiss in a BBC 4 special from 2010 called “The History of Horror.” Gatiss noted that unholy trinity mentioned above “shared a common obsession with the British landscape, its folklore and superstitions.” Since then, kindled by a growing interest in this fascinating sub-genre, horror fans have been falling all over themselves trying to recommend their darlings as examples of folk horror. Arguments ensue at times, but the field of recommendations is a rich world to be explored.
The 1970s were, of course, a rich time for folk horror: in addition to the unholy trinity, there was The Dunwich Horror (1970), Valerie and Her Week of Wonders (1970), Walkabout (1971), Wake in Fright (1971), and Picnic at Hanging Rock (1975). Later came Eyes of Fire (1983), and The Company of Wolves (1984). The wonderful rural vampire tale, The Reflecting Skin (1990). The incomparably-influential, low budget fluke, The Blair Witch Project (1999), and the strange, original Wisconsin Death Trip (1999). Consider The Village (2004) and Pan’s Labyrinth (2006). Howard Ingham mentions some earlier films as being very influential as well: Jacques Tourneur’s Night of the Demon (1957), and going way back, Häxan (1922), an influence on The Blair Witch Project filmmakers, as was Cannibal Holocaust (1980), arguably the first “found footage” film.
Haxan, 1922
And, post-2010, we’re now seeing filmmakers who seem to be crafting intentional examples of folk horror. Consider the brilliant Norwegian mockumentary Trollhunter (2010). Consider Kill List (2011), Sightseers (2012) and A Field in England (2013); thank you, Ben Wheatley! Consider Crow (2016), The Ritual (2018) and The Apostle (2018). There have been some television series that have a folk horror vibe also, going back to 1978 with the mini-series of The Dark Secret of Harvest Home, or 1984’s excellent Robin of Sherwood, and more recent examples like Detectorists (2014), Dark (2017), or Requiem (2018). And it’s worth mentioning that Stranger Things, the super popular show that debuted in 2016, replete with many 1980s horror film references, also bears some markers of folk horror.
While Hereditary’s folk horror elements may have been subtle, Midsommar looks to be a sort of folk horror sampler, with every chocolate in the box hiding a delectable, terrifying trope of folk horror. There’s hikers who take an ill-advised path through the woods (The Blair Witch Project, Crow). There’s innocent people being lured into witnessing a pagan ceremony (The Wicker Man, Kill List, The Ritual). There’s consumption of herbal intoxicants (A Field in England, Crow). There is ritualized performance with music (The Wicker Man, Crow, Robin of Sherwood, Kill List). There appears to be ceremonial human sacrifice (seen in most of these films). Aster seems to be attuned to a strong, growing vibe among intelligent horror fans, a hunger for the rich nuances of folk horror, and Midsommar promises a hearty feast.
Why this thrilling sub-genre should be so relevant now is anyone’s guess. Perhaps in looking to a frightening past we can better understand our terrifying present; perhaps we may learn something about ourselves that will carry us forward in uncertain times. Howard Ingham says of post-millennial folk horror: “It is more than nostalgia at work in the rejuvenation of our pagan apple orchards; is it equally the plugging of a definite loss of something of ineffable, intangible importance.”
A24 will release Midsommar on July 3.
The problem with filming sequels back-to-back is that, unless you can afford expensive reshoots, there’s no easy way to adjust course in between movies if fans react badly to where the story is headed. That’s why it’s important to have a complete narrative thought out well in advance lest you accidentally kill a budding franchise.
However, this isn’t always the case. Every once in a while, it seems like the cinema gods smile upon certain chaotic productions and gift moviegoers with complete franchises that feel like more than the sum of their hastily produced parts. Ted Nicolaou’s Bloodlust: Subspecies III is precisely one of these miraculous pictures, with the raw talents of the artists involved (as well as the continued support from Romania) turning the feature into an effective conclusion for a series that kind of made things up as the filmmakers went along.
That’s why I’d like to invite my fellow readers to join me on this third part of our journey through the Subspecies franchise as we look into Bloodlust and talk about how it remains a surprisingly satisfying finale to the original trilogy.
A Trilogy Planned on the Fly
Released only a year after Bloodstone found plenty of success in rental stores and mail-in VHS catalogues worldwide, 1994’s Bloodlust was produced at the same time as its predecessor in (mostly) the same locations and with the same team. This means that the movie benefited from all the same upgrades as Bloodstone, with the crew now being more experienced with the ins and outs of surviving a low-budget Romanian production and the cast really settling into their characters.
At this point, everything from location scouting to the makeup process had been streamlined, with Wayne Toth and Norman Cabrera, the main duo behind special effects, even switching out time-consuming prosthetics for latex gloves in order to speed up Anders Hove’s monstrous transformation. The titular “subspecies” demons were also once again relegated to a mere cameo appearance due to the laborious puppetry required to bring them to life.
The only real hiccup came from the fact that actress Denice Duff had replaced the first film’s Michelle (Laura Mae Tate) and was immediately expected to portray the character as both an innocent victim in part II and as a secondary villain in part III. According to behind-the-scenes interviews, the hectic production schedule that blended two different movies meant that Duff would often find herself having to alternate between two incredibly different versions of Michelle during the same shooting day – though it’s obvious that she’s having more fun with Bloodlust’s more traditionally vampiric version of her character.
In the finished film, we pick things up immediately where the previous entry left off as Rebecca (Melanie Shatner) is forced to leave her vampire sister Michelle (Duff) behind in the dungeons of Castle Vladislav due to the rising sun. This allows Mummy (Pamela Gordon) to use Michelle’s blood to revive the vicious Radu (Hove) so that he may continue his quest for the coveted Bloodstone – a magical artifact that perpetually drips the Blood of Saints.
Meanwhile, the dreamy US embassy agent Mel (Kevin Blair) agrees to help Rebecca plan a rescue mission, though they’re unaware that Radu has become infatuated with Michelle during his attempts to guide her growing bloodlust. This all culminates in a climactic confrontation meant to tie up all of the series’ loose ends in one of Full Moon Pictures’ most ambitious productions.
The Evolution of Radu
Like its predecessor, Bloodlust: Subspecies III was also warmly received by fans who argued that the series was an even bigger success than Full Moon’s other major horror franchise, Puppet Master. This praise wasn’t unanimous, however, as 1994 had seen the rise of a more modern breed of sexy vampire popularized by Anne Rice, with old-school Nosferatu like Radu being viewed as obsolete when compared to the likes of Lestat and Gary Oldman’s take on Dracula.
In a way, one might argue that Nicolaou’s film is something of a swan song for the classic vampire story, as Bloodlust combines all of the traditional elements we tend to associate with these tales into a single tragic yarn that ties a neat little bow on Radu’s story as well as the old-fashioned monster movies that he represents. The finale remains shocking despite the fact that this is the third time we see Radu get brutally killed onscreen, with the brief tease that he may one day return feeling more like a nod towards the nature of evil rather than sequel bait.
The film dabbles a bit in gothic romance and even explores the inherent power fantasy behind transforming into an immortal creature of the night, but the filmmakers never lose sight of Radu as a demonic force even when he’s willing to betray his beloved Mummy for Michelle’s sake. In fact, his twisted “love” for his fledgling makes him even creepier as we get the feeling that his passion comes from a dark and disturbing place.
Anders Hove is at his absolute best in this film, with the effects department boosting his moments of what the younger generation would call “aura farming” whenever Radu emerges from shadows like a 90s version of Count Orlok. There are even a couple of surprisingly effective jump-scares here, which is why I’d argue that Bloodlust cements Radu as one of the most memorable cinematic vampires of all time despite his humble origins.
Subspecies Saves Its Best For Last
Nicolaou and Vlad Panescu also saved the best for “last” (more on that in a bit) regarding the film’s visuals, with the cinematography and overall atmosphere of Bloodlust absolutely surpassing what we saw in the previous films. Everything feels appropriately climactic this time around (including the wonderful soundtrack that was co-composed alongside an authentic Romanian orchestra), and I appreciate how this is the fastest-paced entry in the trilogy since the film doesn’t need to waste time setting anything up.
Bloodlust still suffers from some of the same low-budget blemishes as its predecessors, but there’s so much creative passion here that no amount of wonky effects work or stilted dialogue can get in the way of appreciating the flick’s gothic grandeur. That’s why it’s not surprising that the movie’s definitive(-ish) ending would later be retconned as fans begged for more Radu.
Of course, the next entry in this series would be a different kind of vampiric endeavor altogether, with the filmmakers attempting to engage with the same trends that ultimately killed Radu and his antiquated kin. That, however, is a story for another time. For now, I’ll merely insist that Bloodlust: Subspecies III remains a highlight of Full Moon’s expansive catalogue and is definitely worth seeking out today.
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