Very poorly advertised as something it isn't; will be sure to frustrate and impress in equal measure

Rating: 7/10 (25 July 2019)

Much like his feature debut, Hereditary (2018), as well as such recent films as The VVitch: A New-England Folktale (2015) and It Comes at Night (2017), writer/director Ari Aster's Midsommar has been well received by critics but not so much by audiences. And, really, it's not hard to see why; all four films were promoted as horrors when they weren't, drawing in audiences who were disappointed that they didn't get what they were expecting. Midsommar is, at best, a thriller, and even that's pushing it. Whereas Hereditary was a study of grief, it undeniably had horror elements, but in Midsommar, apart from one brief moment involving somebody wearing somebody else's skin (don't ask), there's little resembling a horror trope. What it does have in abundance, however, is dread, and as with Hereditary, it's primarily an allegory built on a foundation of generic tropes. Whereas Hereditary dealt with the lengths one may go to shut off emotional pain, Midsommar is more interested in what happens when the initial pain of bereavement starts to wear off, especially when the only person one feels one can turn to isn't exactly sympathetic to one's situation. Aster himself has called it a "breakup movie", and it's hard to argue against this. And whilst the characters are underwritten, and the film is painfully predictable (especially if you're familiar with The Wicker Man (1973)), it's beautifully crafted, brilliantly shot almost entirely in glaring sunlight, and vastly ambitious. And much like Us (2019), it avoids the sophomore slump without necessarily knocking it out of the park.
The film begins as Dani (a superb Florence Pugh) learns her bipolar sister has killed their parents and subsequently committed suicide. Already emotionally fragile and prone to anxiety attacks even before their deaths, Dani turns for support to her boyfriend Christian (Jack Reynor), an anthropology student struggling to find a topic for his PhD. Christian has wanted to break things off with Dani for some time, as he finds her overly needy, and had been trying to work up to ending the relationship prior to her family dying. The following summer, Dani learns that Christian and fellow students Josh (William Jackson Harper) and Mark (Will Poulter) have been invited by Swedish student Pelle (Vilhelm Blomgren) to his ancestral pagan commune in HÃ¥rga, where a midsummer celebration that only occurs once every ninety years will be taking place. Dani is upset that Christian didn't tell her about the trip, and to placate her, he invites her to come, never imagining she will say yes. But she does. And it doesn't take long, for the visitors to learn that something isn't right in the commune.
As Aster has said, Midsommar is really a breakup movie, with Christian as a classic manipulator. For example, after Dani learns about the trip, she's understandably upset that he didn't tell her, but in the space of a couple of minutes he manipulates her into apologising to him. The core of the story is her slowly coming to realise that he isn't the man she thought he was, and in a weird way, it's a variation on the female revenge genre. In this sense, it's primarily an allegory for the process of a young woman's emotional/spiritual awakening. Indeed, one could take this even further if one reads the character names as symbolic; Dani's surname is Ardor, but she's denied love, and in the paganism of the commune, she's offered something she can't get from a self-serving Christian(ity).
Aesthetically, the film looks terrific. Whereas the US scenes are dark and confined, taking place in small poorly lit rooms with the characters wearing drab costumes, once the film shifts to Sweden, the visual design changes completely. Henrik Svensson's production design emphasises an open-plan vastness with unlimited space to move, but few places to hide; Pawel Pogorzelski's cinematography drenches everything in glaring sunlight; and Andrea Flesch's costume design focuses on brilliant white. Indeed, the attention to detail in the presentation of the commune is immensely impressive; the long middle act doesn't really feature much in the way of narrative incident, but it does a fine job of creating a milieu that feels authentic and lived-in.
There are also some nice individual moments. For example, the choral singing with which the film begins is harshly interrupted by a telephone ringing, suggesting the clash between tradition and modernity; Dani's hysterical crying upon learning of her family's deaths blends with The Haxan Cloak's discordant music; a superb single-take shot takes Dani from heading to her apartment bathroom to entering the bathroom of an airplane; a high altitude shot showing a car travelling along a country road is imbued with malevolent undercurrent as the car passes under the camera, but rather than turning around to pick the vehicle up on the reverse angle, the camera follows the car by turning downwards, ending up upside-down.
In terms of the narrative design, somewhat unusually, the film wears its predictability on its sleeve, with many of the major narrative beats not only foreshadowed but literally shown to the audience prior to occurring in the story, whether it be the mural that opens the film or the illustrations seen on the walls all over the commune. With that in mind, anyone who has seen any folk horror will be able to predict much of what happens. Even if you're only familiar with The Wicker Man, you'll still be able to take a decent stab at how things turn out.
As for the acting, much as Hereditary was Toni Collette's, Midsommar belongs entirely to Florence Pugh. For most of the film, she's on the precipice of a nervous breakdown, with her performance redolent of Shelley Duvall in The Shining (1980). This is easily her best and most layered performance thus far, especially the gamut of contradictory emotions she runs in the insane last 20 minutes. Elsewhere, the performances are all fine, but the actors aren't helped by the script. As Christian, Jack Reynor is the least convincing academic ever put on screen, although he does do a decent job of getting the audience to loathe his passive-aggressive persona. Will Poulter plays Mark as the kind of ignorant sex-crazed loudmouth that seems to only exist in the movies. As Josh, William Jackson Harper barely registers, whilst Vilhelm Blomgren's Pelle is so obviously untrustworthy that it pushes suspension of disbelief to breaking point.
As this might suggest, one of the biggest problems with the film is the underwritten characters. Additionally, Dani and Christian's relationship is demarcated along stereotypical lines - the emotional female whose need for support becomes overwhelming and the thoughtless bro who is more interested in hanging out with the boys. Another issue is that even aside from the character of Pelle, the film pushes suspension of disbelief too far. There are multiple moments when the goings-on should prompt the visitors to leave immediately, but they repeatedly accept the most ridiculous of situations based upon the most tenuous of explanations. Indeed, in a lot of ways, they're no different from the idiots who get picked off one-by-one in so many cheap slasher films.
Additionally, as already mentioned, there are few surprises here. Aster is obviously a big fan of folk horror, but he allows reverence to the tropes supersede narrative inventiveness, leading to predictability. Also, as in Hereditary, the explanation for what's going on isn't anywhere near as interesting as the ambiguity preceding it.
That said, however, I did enjoy Midsommar. Aesthetically impressive, and built on a terrific central performance, it could be cited as an example of a filmmaker whose ambitions outweigh his abilities, but ultimately, Aster's mastery of tone sees him through. The script could use some work, no doubt, but the ominous sense of dread is palpable throughout and is brilliantly handled, whilst the depiction of the death throes of a toxic relationship is as penetrating and emotionally honest as any ostensible relationship drama. Unnerving and audacious, Midsommar is an exceptionally confident piece of filmmaking, if not necessarily an exceptional piece of filmmaking.