From the first frames, The Mute declares itself as a stunning showcase of experiential horror that’s guaranteed to be divisive. The film opens in first-person, through the eyes of Christian knight Willibrord as he awakens on a small boat headed for a remote mountainous Pagan village. Weakened, he surveils the corpses of his fallen comrades, picks up his bible, and hurls himself overboard into the ocean. Yet he’s spared from death by the aid of Noname, a beach dwelling Christian who nurses him back to health. From there, a tentative friendship is formed, and the pair set off to the Pagan village to save their souls by way of religious conversion. It sparks a familiar tale of religious persecution, moral conflict, and the evils of colonialism, but with impressive cinematic flair, mounting dread, and captivating style.
Let’s get this out of the way first; The Mute exists in the same space as unyielding, atmospheric period films as The Witch and Hagazussa: The Heathen’s Curse. Its deliberately paced narrative is centered around the horrors of man, and its reality-based terror will leave many arguing whether this counts as genre fare at all. The Pagans worship the Slavic god Perun, and their clay mask rituals are effectively creepy, but there’s nothing supernatural or otherworldly about The Mute. That means that The Mute won’t appeal to the mainstream audience, or those that prefer their horror more traditional, but director/co-writer Bartosz Konopka’s film manages to be mesmerizing regardless.
Aside from the gorgeous cinematography by Jacek Podgórski, it’s in the way Konopka parcels out the story and background of its characters. He keeps the audience at arm’s length, doling out just enough information at a time to keep us invested. When Willibrord and Noname arrive at the Pagan village, neither the Christians no the viewer understands the Pagan tongue- it’s purposefully without subtitles. Like the characters, the only tool we have to translate is their body language and reactions, and the foreignness of their rituals and beliefs lends to an unpredictability that feels dangerous. And that’s before Willibrord and Noname take two drastically different approaches to convert the Pagans to their religion, with violent, bloody results.
Konopka always keeps these two men at the forefront, their dueling struggles with faith and how they contrast, which means that details beyond that tend to be scarce. The Mute poses many questions, but only bothers to answer the most pressing ones. The lack of complete resolution on all fronts may frustrate some.
The Polish title for the film is Krew Boga, which translates to Blood of God, a catchier title that also hints at the brutality involved with forcing a new religion on a village long set in their beliefs. It’s the type of story that we’ve seen before, therefore its trajectory isn’t entirely new, but the performances are so strong that it’s engaging nonetheless. Even still, there’s a reason why the corruptive nature of religion, especially in a historical context, tends to remain a tried and true theme- it’s timeless and effective.
There are clear inspirations from Nicolas Winding Refn’s Valhalla Rising at play, both thematically and visually. That’s not a bad thing. The Mute veers more arthouse than traditional, and it’s the precise type of film meant to be experienced on the big screen. Every frame, shot, and sequence are exquisitely constructed, and the cast delivers spellbinding performances. Though the horror is steeped in realism, this is a horror film through and through. Just one that won’t be for everyone.
