Review: MIDSOMMAR is a beautifully shot, sun-drenched nightmare

Writer/director Ari Aster has an uncanny ability to pry open the unconscious fears lying within our everyday relationships. In last year’s terrifying Hereditary, Aster focused on the brittle relationships affecting a family beset by unspeakable trauma. The film featured an all-time great horror performance from Toni Collette, and was about as brutal a theatrical expereince as one would ever expect from a relatively mainstream movie. Aster is now back with Midsommar, a literally brighter horror tale that pins a deteriorating relationship against a remote Pagan ceremony.

Midsommar begins with a family tragedy that echoes the shocking death in Hereditary. Florence Pugh stars as Dani, a young woman with Bipolar disorder, who has been trying to get in touch with her troubled sister for days. Her boyfriend Christian (Jack Reynor, playing one of the least likeable schmucks in recent memory) is nominally supportive, but seems more interested in getting high with his friends than in helping Dani get through her emotional crisis. Dani soon learns of a major family trauma, which pushes her further into herself and away from Christian, who has been secretly planing a trip to Sweden with his friends to attend a solstice festival. Making a rookie relationship move, Christian invites Dani to come along, even as they are growing further apart.

The trip is spurred by Christian’s friend Josh (William Jackson Harper), who is doing his thesis on European midsummer rituals. They’re joined by obnoxious party boy Mark (Will Poulter), and their guide Pele (Vilhelm Blomgren), who grew up in the small Swedish commune they are set to visit. Located deep in the wilderness, the sheltered commune welcomes the group like family, and begins to integrate them into the bevy of rituals and celebrations that quickly begin to take on a more sinister tone.

Midsommar is bound to draw up comparisons to Robin Hardy’s 1973 Pagan horror classic The Wicker Man (or even the demented Nicolas Cage remake). The films follow a familiar template, with outsiders entering into a rural community focused on rituals they can’t fathom, but Midsommar stands on its own largely due to the film’s uniquely strange tone, which oscillates between laugh out loud black humour and moments of intense violence.

Given that the sun barely sets in Sweden during the summer, nearly all of the events of the film play out in the lush sunlight, a huge visual departure from the claustrophobic setting of Hereditary. Aster stages the commune’s celebrations with a lavish visual flair, from elaborate outdoor dance sequences, to a dinner table seating that looks like an expanded edition of The Last Supper. The commune’s traditional garments are also striking, made up of white flowing gowns with splashes of colour and flower headbands that you’ll undoubtedly see in Coachella style recaps next year.

Without delving too deep into the plot, if you’ve seen The Wicker Man you know where things are heading. Needless to say, there is something lurking underneath the village’s hospitality — they have traditions going back hundreds of years that they must maintain at all costs, and some pesky American tourists are not going to get in the way of that. Even as things eventually move towards the film’s intense crescendo, Aster keeps unveiling striking aspects of their ceremony, from a wild group-encouraged sex sequence (complete with naked serenading), to a hallucinogenic dance sequence that manages to be both sinister and childlike at the same time.

Despite the elaborate backdrop, Midsommar is essentially a film about breaking free of a toxic relationship. The film features a stunning performance from Florence Pugh, who is tasked with going on quite the roller-coaster ride of emotions throughout her arc, which sees her finally coming into her own and taking control of her life as the film spirals towards its conclusion. Midsommar may feature more daylight and humour than Hereditary, but both films are about dealing with trauma and loss through our relationships, either with one’s immediate family as in Hereditary, or through a lacklustre and unfulfilling partner in Midsommar. Aster has delivered a deeper and equally disturbing follow-up, that presents its horrors against a strikingly beautiful backdrop. Just don’t drink the Kool-Aid.