Midsommar (2019)
Nothing but respect for MY may queen.
Directed by: Ari Aster
Cinematography by: Pawel Pogorzelski
Country: United States/Sweden
Genre: Horror/Drama/Mystery
A yellow triangle. I’ve always
been fascinated with the way talented filmmakers imbue ordinary objects with an
instantly recognizable significance, whether it’s a sled/snow globe, a spinning
top, a chess board, a bone, a small origami unicorn, a red pill, a chainsaw, or a plastic cup with rippling water. And in his second feature
film, Midsommar, the genre phenom Ari Aster turned a yellow triangle
into unforgettable horror iconography. Not to mention he made a bear carcass
seem as terrifying as a living one, and he may have also made an entire generation of people a whole lot more suspicious of the Swedes. I no longer trust their pies, I don’t
trust their tea, I’m mighty concerned about these meatballs they’re always
pushing on us, I’m half-convinced their light-hearted kindness is just a
widespread indoctrination tactic, and if I ever hear one exhale with any type
of audible noise, I’m out. And don’t blame me, Swedes. Blame Ari. He Jaws’d
you good and revealed the truth to the world that you’re just a country full of
lovely, beautiful, terrifying, beautiful, lovely, death-worshiping pagan
sharks. You horrible, beautiful monsters you.
In back-to-back years Aster delivered two films that would
both be considered career-defining for most directors, but based on the constant
creativity and innovation Aster displays in his daring and detailed visual
storytelling and the layered world-building of his visceral screenplays, I’m
not sure if we’ve even hit the tip of the iceberg. His intelligent sense of framing,
fresh and playful shot selection, and harrowing, palpable atmospheres suggest
the experienced skills of a director who’s been mastering the form for decades
rather than the raw talent of a 34-year-old who entered the industry only a few
years ago. He’s among a crop of new directors who are going to be absolute
game-changers. I also love seeing what Aster does with all the open space of
this film after keeping most of the action in the confines of the home in Hereditary (2017),
and the way he keeps his camera at a distance and pulls focus throughout a
scene.
Another facet we get in Midsommar that wasn’t nearly as present
in his debut (but is very apparent in his short films) is the young writer-director’s
sly and surreal sense of humor. Part of the reason Aster is able to sustain
this haunting tale of trauma, manipulation, and shitty relationships for an
entire two-and-a-half hours without the bleakness ever feeling too
overwhelming is that he constantly peppers in laugh-out-loud moments of comedic
relief and one-liners – via Will Poulter’s clownish character Mark – to break
the tension. And even though it’s the most gruesome section of the film, can
we please appreciate Aster’s nod-and-a-wink gallows humor at the start of the sequence
at the cliffs where he has one of the characters quickly turn and face the camera
directly with a knowing look that seems to say, “You aren’t gonna believe this
shit.”
One of my favorite themes in horror is motivations. I adore
stories that feature likeable side characters that are sweet and compassionate
towards the protagonists for most of the plot only for it to be revealed that
they’ve been using this kind-heartedness as a psychological weapon to gain
trust and manipulate the main characters for their own depraved purposes. It’s
part of the reason why movies like Rosemary’s Baby (1968) are such effective
masterpieces of the genre, and it’s something that new horror auteurs like Ari Aster
and Jordan Peele seem to specialize in. These types of films are always ripe
for repeat viewings because once you know what the characters’ true motivations
are, they become a new beast entirely. The characters’ empathy sours into
malicious, psychopathic exploitation, the most innocuous lines of dialogue
cloud over with ominous overtones (“Pelle has an immaculate sense for people.”),
and the tragic lines becomes downright disturbing within the context of the
rest of the film (“I lost my parents when I was a little boy. They burned up in
a fire.”).
The users and abusers in Midsommar are the members
of a majestic and affectionate Swedish commune, isolated from modern society,
that still abide by ancestral traditions and culture (and that includes taking
the symbology of the changing seasons way too literally). The fetid corruption
at the center of this small, loving community though, is that they’re actually a
straight up sacrificial cult that recruits a handful of potential victims each
year for their summer solstice celebration, welcoming them with open arms and sulphurous
hearts, breaking down the guests’ defenses and attempting to psychologically
control them through the use of psychedelic drugs and manipulation techniques
like “love bombing.” An additional undercurrent that Aster sneaks into the film is
that the cult is racist AF and big believers in racial purity, which could
explain why certain characters (i.e., white) seem to have been brought in for
breeding purposes in addition to sacrifice, and other characters (i.e., not
white) just straight up get the axe. Their maypole dance is also in defiance
of “the Black One,” which an elder claims is a creature that lured and seduced the
youths into dancing themselves to death, and most damning of all, in an early
scene in the film Aster includes a fictional book sitting on a coffee table
titled The Secret Nazi Language of the Uthark, which is a variation of
Futhark, the runic alphabet that the commune uses. I told you this man is
detailed.
While nothing that happens in Midsommar is ever overtly
supernatural, there’s always sort of a lingering feeling that something more otherworldly
is going on, especially considering the “love spells” and runes. It’s hard to
tell if Aster is trying to brainwash us into believing that there’s something
more at play within the events of the film in the same way that the creepy death-cult
brainwashes Dani, or if he’s intentionally trying to clue us in to the fact that
the occultism is real in the world of the film, and that there are sinister,
supernatural forces involved, like in Hereditary. I think the biggest indicator
for the latter is the film’s opening. Similar to the first scene of his debut
film, which gives the feeling that the characters are playthings in the games
of dark gods (read Hereditary post for a thorough analysis), Midsommar
opens with a pair of painted panels that display a series of illustrations symbolically
laying out the entire plot of the film. The panels then retract, bringing us
into the world of the story, in a manner eerily reminiscent of the beginning of
a puppet show. It arouses the same metaphysical feelings that the characters’ lives
and actions were pre-designed, their fates planned out and sealed well before
the events we see transpire onscreen. The thought is as existentially terrifying
here as it was in Hereditary, and I think it reflects the filmmaker’s
own fear of trauma, of being at the mercy of a chaotic world, and the fear that
there’s forces out there willing to take advantage of us at our most vulnerable,
using the most devastating moments of our lives against us for their own dark
deeds. It may be bleak, but that transparent exposing of the internal has been
the potent source of many of history’s most remarkable performances and pieces
of art, regardless of genre.
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