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How Much is ‘Midsommar’ Like a Real Swedish Midsummer Celebration?

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On June 25, many Swedes gather for one of the year’s most beloved holiday celebrations: Midsummer’s Eve. It’s one of few with relatively little religious content, even though it originates from the 4th-century celebration of John the Baptist’s birth. Like many folk traditions, Midsummer is about the passing of the seasons. It falls near the summer solstice and is thematically similar to how that event has been celebrated in many cultures through the ages. People come together to share food and drink in a summery setting, around the dinner table at home, at larger gatherings in the garden, or in the form of grand communal celebrations outdoors. It’s one of the longest days of the year, luminally encouraging a late, late night of partying, and fittingly it was decided in 1953 that Midsummer’s Eve should always occur on a Friday.

But for horror fans, Swedish Midsummer only means one thing, at least since the past couple of years: the movie Midsommar (2019). Ari Aster‘s gruesome depiction of part-fictional, part actual Swedish lore in the small community of Hårga was divisive among critics and audiences at its release. The film is open to many interpretations and produces new discourse on what almost seems like a daily basis, revealing that even if not universally liked, Midsommar is one of the more talked about horror films in recent years.

In developing the script, Aster had help from set decorator Henrik Svensson in devising the Hårga cult and their customs. It consists of a rich mixture of traditions, rituals, and visuals from Swedish and other folk cultures but somehow darkly twisted. Many events in Midsommar seem out of this world, or at least so arcane that they can be presumed to have very little to do with today’s festivities surrounding Midsummer’s Eve. But in fact, there is more overlap between the fictional and the actual celebration than you would think.

Let’s break down some of the customs depicted in Midsommar and try to answer the question: Do Swedes really do this? But before we proceed, let’s get the pronunciation down once and for all. The Swedish word “midsommar” is pronounced “miss-ommar,” stressing all syllables more or less the same, and that’s that.

Attire and adornments

Although the folk garbs worn by the Hårga members are made up, it’s not uncommon to see similar clothing on Swedish Midsummer and other traditional celebrations in the country. In the old agrarian society, they were just ordinary outfits, varied with the seasons. But the national romantic movement in Europe around the turn of the 20th century picked up on this, much like with many other “peasant” customs, and members of high society started wearing folk costumes on festive occasions. While the bourgeoisie was busy cosplaying and spending a lot of time trying to create a canon of regional garments, the general population had moved on to work clothes more suited to an industrialized society. Many even considered folk costumes a symbol of an archaic and wildly unequal society that they had moved on from in the name of modernity. The community Midsummer celebration in Sweden has an air of theater, and many would consider wearing these uniforms from old times an homage more than a fashion statement, much like wearing a Santa’s hat on Christmas.

Flowers are everywhere in Midsommar and on Midsummer too. The fresh flower wreath worn on the head has become one of the immediately recognizable visuals from the movie, featured in its iconic poster. This summery accessory is actually ubiquitous during Swedish Midsummer, and you’ll see people of all ages wear them regardless of their feelings about body adornments the rest of the year. Traditionally, the wreath is made by the wearer on the same day, again connecting with the seasonal growth theme of the holiday. The full-body May Queen flower bed attire awarded to Dani towards the end is, however, an invention of the filmmakers and not a common sight in Sweden. You could think of it as an almost absurd exaggeration of existing flower-wearing traditions.

The casting of spells

Do Swedes cast love spells and hide runic totems under each other’s pillows on Midsummer? This practice is depicted in Midsommar at first as a somewhat childish make-believe game and later pointing towards something more sinister, and you would think it has little to do with modern celebrations. But Swedes will find rituals along these lines very familiar in a slightly modified form: picking the seven flowers. Midsummer is a magical night in folklore, when nature, animals, and people are more susceptible to spells and more in touch with their spiritual dimension. Thus, it’s an excellent opportunity to find out who your true love is. The way to go about it is to pick seven types of flowers, preferably jumping over seven fences in the process, then hiding them under your pillow on Midsummer’s Eve. That night your future betrothed will appear to you in a dream. In Midsommar, some Hårga women pick flowers walking backward, which is not an uncommon addition to the picking of the seven flowers tradition. Gathering the flowers in complete silence is another variation. Both these customs are about doing things out of the ordinary to break with non-magical everydayness. However, Midsommar takes a rather sweet and innocent ritual and turns it dark: instead of a self-suggestive gesture, an invasive hex pointed at Christian to muddle his mind.

Dancing around the pole

Dani has a significant emotional breakthrough in what can be considered the beginning of Midsommar‘s climax, the dance scene. The young women of Hårga are served drug-infused lemonade and invited to dance in various patterns around a decorated pole until they faint, steadily incited by droning folk music from a small ensemble and the commands of an elder. The last person standing wins the most coveted of prizes – they are crowned May Queen and revered as such for the remainder of the feast, with all sorts of peculiar ceremonies that come with the title. Dani participates in this game of endurance, at first reluctantly but with more and more glee, or something like it.

The Midsummer Pole (or Maypole, internationally speaking) is the quintessential Midsummer symbol in Sweden. At large community celebrations, it is usually erected at the center of a meadow as a group activity, after decorating it with birch leaves and flowers, leaving plenty of room around it. Because yes, like in Midsommar, dancing around the pole is an essential activity on this day. Similar to the movie, it is usually done in several circles with ever-changing modes and variations. But the modern dance around the Maypole is geared more towards the youngest, with childish songs such as “Små grodorna” (“The Little Frogs”) that include imitating frogs and such. Accompaniment by a small group of live musicians is a common sight, usually on traditional instruments such as violin and accordion. The goal of the current day Midsummer circle dance is not to determine a May Queen. It serves more as a socially acceptable opportunity to play like kids for a little while, hopefully not collapsing along the way. If drugs are involved, it’s more likely in the form of beer than psychedelics.

Death and sacrifice

More horrific than curious is the Hårga inclination towards blood sacrifice. In discussions about whether Dani or Christian is the worst person, many seem to completely miss that Pelle is, in fact, the real villain in Midsommar. Underneath a soft and sympathetic demeanor hides the person responsible for bringing new victims to the cult, ready to be sacrificed as part of the symbolic nine in the film’s final scenes. In Sweden, historical research into pre-Christian Midsummer traditions regularly revives the debate on whether there was once upon a time an element of blood sacrifice. So far, the evidence is thin. If it ever happened, it is even less likely humans were subjected. So this is one you can strike off your list of things to expect on a Midsummer’s Eve celebration in 2021.

Of course, the most memorable deaths in Midsommar are those near a high, rocky cliff known as the ättestupa. The literal meaning of the term is something like “clan precipice.” It was a place where supposedly the oldest members of society would jump off, or be pushed, to their death when they could no longer contribute to the group. So when the anthropologist Josh hears that Hårga might be into the ättestupa, he is fascinated and frightened – having heard of it only in academic research. It’s a realistic reaction that aligns with the current research consensus on the subject, which is that there is no credible confirmation of any ättestupa actually having been in use. But it’s something many Swedes had heard of long before the movie came out, often through high school history teachers that felt a need to spice up slightly boring lectures with some dubious but thrilling horror content.

When in Sweden

Midsommar has an abundance of overt and obscure references to Swedish folklore. You can take almost any ritual seen in the movie, do some research on it, and find out it has a counterpart in some existing, ancient tradition. As traditions are living things and only survive for as long as they are practiced, many have fallen into oblivion by now. But numerous customs survive to this day and still find their way to any modern celebration of Midsummer’s Eve in Sweden, some in a somewhat original form and others simplified.

If you are ever invited to Sweden to celebrate Midsummer, don’t be afraid. You are not likely to fall prey to a pagan death cult. But you will probably, hopefully, partake in some odd customs like jumping around like frogs or picking flowers backward. However, you will not be able to shed every last association to Ari Aster’s vision. Because in all likelihood, you are surrounded by people dressed in white linen or cotton, the occasional folk costume, everyone with a floral wreath on their head. The Maypole is up, and the day is long. Let the festivities begin.

Markus Amalthea Magnuson is a film writer and technologist from Stockholm, Sweden. He holds a BA and MA in Cinema Studies and wrote his master's thesis on cyborgs and gender in film and television. He is the Head of Short Film Programming at the genre festival Monsters of Film and curates notable science fiction movies at scifiagenda.com

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Editorials

‘The Mandela Catalogue’ Explained: Inside Alex Kister’s Viral Analog Horror Phenomenon

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The Mandela Catalogue explained

I first heard about The Mandela Catalogue through a couple of nephews who were obsessed with the ARG’s sinister mythology. It was only after watching Wendigoon’s in-depth analysis of the series that I realized just how deep this rabbit hole goes.

In fact, I’d already been exposed to the nightmarish visuals of Alex Kister’s YouTube creation for years at that point without even realizing that it was the origin of several viral “cursed images” and spooky memes that had leaked into the wider internet – with this viral element actually being a part of the Catalogue’s overarching narrative.

Flash-forward to 2026 and the unprecedented success of Kane Parsons’ Backrooms has led to Hollywood betting on horrific internet properties with existing fanbases, which means that Kister’s unique hybrid of both religious and analog horror is finally headed to the big screen with a script written by Kister himself alongside Tyler Clifton.

While this news shouldn’t be too surprising if you’ve been keeping up with the ongoing success of The Mandela Catalogue (both myself and Wendigoon having previously predicted that the series would inevitably make the jump to theaters one day), plenty of horror fans are likely confused as to why so many folks are excited for what appears to be a Hollywood adaptation of a series of creepy .jpeg images under a VHS filter.

With that in mind, today I’d like to invite fellow readers to accompany me as I explore the origins of Alex Kister’s viral hit and attempt to explain exactly why we should all be excited about the Mandela Catalogue adaptation!

From High School Writing Project to Internet Horror Phenomenon

The first seeds of The Mandela Catalogue were sown when Kister was still in high school and developed a writing project subverting religious tropes in a world where biblical history had been altered by demonic forces. A little while later, Kister came across an analog horror contest on Reddit and decided to adapt his ideas into a standalone video where he would edit a religious kids’ cartoon –The Beginner’s Bible: The Nativity, to be specific- into something far creepier. This is how the iconic Overthrone video was born, with this viral short film taking on a life of its own as fans demanded more eerie content from Kister.

Though the video was originally meant to be a one-and-done sort of affair, with Kister actually regretting some of its primitive visuals and considering the editing amateurish and “YouTube-Poop-like” when compared to his current standards, fan reaction and free time during the COVID-19 pandemic encouraged the (then) seventeen-year-old filmmaker to continue producing content set in this same world. The Mandela Catalogue name was inspired by the Mandela Effect conspiracy theory, as the series would slowly begin to explore the subtle horror of alternate histories.

Inspired by existential dread brought on by extended periods of quarantine as well as a personal crisis of faith, Kister continued to expand his alternate timeline where the rise of Christianity had been prevented by what was presumably the Devil disguised as the Archangel Gabriel. This alternate course of fictional events led to the existence of certain paranormal anomalies that had come to be accepted as “normal” by the 1990s, which is why most of the series’ supernatural horror is presented in such a matter-of-fact manner.

Most of this background information and religious lore is delivered by increasingly cryptic broadcasts and in-universe PSAs, as well as the occasional found footage video, that often have to be decoded by clever viewers. Of course, it’s the consistently disturbing imagery that made the series so popular – much of which was originally created by Kister on a smartphone!

The Alternates: Horror’s Most Unsettling Modern Monsters

The show’s early episodes mostly take place within the fictional Mandela County in Wisconsin and depict life in a world where demonic entities are capable of using media to enter our reality. This process usually involves scaring victims into killing themselves and then repurposing their bodies as horrific doppelgangers referred to as “Alternates”. This terrifying phenomenon has become so common that local police already have specialized procedures in place to deal with the issue, though this usually consists of simply ignoring calls for help so as to avoid spreading so-called “Metaphysical Awareness Disorder” any further.

Over time, Kister would expand this mythology and incorporate different kinds of Alternates into the mix, though the story never stopped deconstructing religious concepts. The series’ second volume exponentially increased both video quality and the overall narrative scope as we began to follow the lives of characters who had already grown up in this dystopian hellscape where the government is forced to prohibit religion, television, and even mirrors in the hopes of mitigating the damage done by the ongoing invasion of otherworldly entities.

The really interesting part comes into play when you realize exactly how the Alternates make use of scary media in order to spread their demonic influence, with the analog horror of it all being a diegetic part of the story and something of a memetic trap orchestrated by the false Gabriel.

I particularly appreciate how some characters begin to suspect that there’s something wrong with their version of reality and that things weren’t meant to play out this way, especially when Mark utters the haunting line “who have I been praying to all this time?” That’s why I think The Mandela Catalogue is an effective piece of religious horror even if you don’t subscribe to the Christian worldview, as the mere idea of a world where evil has already won is a universally terrifying concept in and of itself. Not only that, but the series’ uncanny analog imagery alone is already worth the price of admission, as you’ve likely already noticed by looking at the pictures accompanying this article.

Why The Feature Adaptation Could Be Horror’s Next Big Success

It’s actually been a whole year since Kister first announced that he had been working on a feature-length screenplay for a Mandela Catalogue movie since 2022, with his proposed story following an ensemble of high-school graduates who uncover a supernatural conspiracy after the mysterious disappearance of a fellow student. This premise sounds similar to narrative elements present in the series’ second volume, but I’m pretty sure that Kister is going to go the Kane Parsons route and make the movie more of a spin-off than a re-imagining of its source material.

While notable Hollywood producers like Aaron B. Koontz, Scott Stuber, and Steven Spielberg himself are backing the upcoming project, I feel like there’s no one better to adapt this deeply personal exploration of faith and the dark side of communication than the person who first came up with it. That’s why I can’t wait to see Kister’s work on the big screen, as I have a feeling that this young filmmaker is the next one on the list about to make cinematic history – especially since this is clearly a passion project that has been in the works for years at this point!

That being said, there’s always a chance that the film could end up unleashing a fresh wave of Alternate incursions, but I guess that’s just a risk we’ll have to take.

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