On its surface, Midsommar is a folk-horror masterpiece about a pagan cult in rural Sweden. But beneath the blood eagle rituals and the bear suit, the film reveals its true, beating heart: it is the most unflinching, hallucinatory, and cathartic movie ever made about a relationship falling apart. The film opens not with a festival, but with a tragedy. We meet Dani (Florence Pugh in a career-defining performance), a college student whose anxiety is dismissed by her emotionally distant boyfriend, Christian (Jack Reynor). When a bipolar family tragedy annihilates Dani’s world—killing her parents and sister in a murder-suicide—she is left clutching for support from a partner who has already emotionally checked out.
Aster understands that sometimes the scariest thing isn't a ghost or a demon. It is the realization that the person you love has never loved you back. And sometimes, the most liberating thing is to watch them burn—and finally feel the warmth of the sun. Midsommar
Aster visually encodes this isolation. While Hereditary was a film of cramped, dark interiors, Midsommar is shot in wide, flat, blindingly bright daylight. There is nowhere to hide. The pastel grass and blue skies should feel idyllic, yet they create a panopticon of dread. Dani wanders through a paradise where everyone belongs except her. As the American guests begin to disappear—victims of ritualistic violence—the horror shifts from external to internal. The Hårga are not monsters in the traditional sense. They are a community that feels. They wail together, they eat together, they mimic each other’s emotions. When Dani cries, the women of the commune cry with her. When she experiences psychedelic pain, they hold her. On its surface, Midsommar is a folk-horror masterpiece
A visceral, emotional masterwork. Just don’t plan a trip to Sweden for a while. We meet Dani (Florence Pugh in a career-defining
Christian stays with Dani out of guilt, not love. His friends, particularly the brutally honest Pelle (Vilhelm Blomgren), see her as an anchor. It is Pelle who invites the group to the isolated commune of Hårga to witness a rare, nine-day midsummer celebration. The promise: a thesis trip for Christian. The trap: a crucible for Dani. What makes Midsommar so disturbing is not the gore—though the infamous ättestupa (cliff-jumping ceremony) is stomach-churning—but its emotional accuracy. Anyone who has felt invisible in a relationship will recognize the slow poison of Christian’s passive cruelty. He forgets their anniversary. He steals his friend’s thesis idea. He looks at Dani’s sobbing face not with empathy, but with annoyance.