Review: "Midsommar" is a Promising Yet Frustrating Film

Florence Pugh in Midsommar

Last year saw the directorial debut of Ari Aster with Hereditary. For many, it wasn't just another horror film, but a full-on phenomenon that showed the introduction of a new compelling artist that would take chances and elevate scares and gore into a more thought-provoking look into the human condition. It's hard to deny the impact of the film, which still sends shivers down the spines of anyone who thinks about it. So, how exactly does Aster follow-up a film that resonated as a family drama mixed with some of the most haunting moments of the decade? In a broad sense, Aster has taken his horrors from inside the house he built for his last film and placed them predominantly outside.

Midsommar isn't nearly the wrecking ball that Hereditary was, but that's not from a lack of trying. As much as it feels like Aster is recycling material (symbolic houses, cults, car-related deaths, etc.), it does show an artist continuing to expand his pallet into something even more unnerving and strange. It's a trip to Sweden that goes terribly wrong and finds the travelers facing a series of conflicts that they may not be ready for. Expect there to be some powerful images to grab you by the neck and once again rattle you into submission. However, it's not quite as streamlined or effective this time around, though it's not from a lack of trying. Aster is one of the modern masters of set design in horror, but here's hoping he works more on the story next time.

Aster is unapologetic, confrontational, and cryptic from the very first frame of Midsommar. In a prologue that gives Dani (Florence Pugh) motivation to go to Sweden with her boyfriend Christian (Jack Reynor), she is seen desperately trying to contact her sister. There's a concern in every e-mail exchange, which is entirely one-sided by the time the camera settles on the screen. Much like Hereditary, the film begins with a significant death that is itself one of the most surreal images of the film. It's haunting as a source of loss that tears Dani from a loving family and turns her into an orphan, unable to turn towards anyone for consoling. When a trip to an annual Midsommar comes up, she jumps on board believing that she will be able to escape her troubles. As Aster is quick to note, grief isn't something that can run away from. It can be suppressed, maybe even lessened over time, but Dani is about to learn through vulgar confrontation what it's like to deal with death while surrounded by men who didn't even want her on the trip, to begin with. 

It could be the shock that Aster's style brought to Hereditary that made it outstanding. It could be that the story was something more universal underneath the horror. Something feels different watching Midsommar when compared to Aster's previous film, and it may be because where his haunted house movie was perfectly subverted, Midsommar feels like something more conventional. It's another journey into the prism of cult societies that fill up the annals of horror. Expect them to perform sadistic rituals while wearing the most straightforward smiles imaginable. Watch as they eat in unison and wear white robes of purification. While not plagiarized from films like The Wicker Man, it's hard not to compare. While it's true that Swedish culture has been given a reputation for being cold and distant, it does feel like it's being exploited for the sake of horror here.

It's entirely likely that Aster's film isn't meant to be xenophobic, though it's hard not to feel some discomfort from it at this exact point in 2019. As a film about Americans traveling to Sweden, the idea of presenting culture as violent and manipulative is hard to fully accept as escapism. In American news around this film's release, there has been a strong hatred towards "outsiders," even throwing them into unpleasant living arrangements and demonizing any citizen who has an ounce of heritage in their system. While Sweden is far from the typical scapegoat for America's problems, the idea of an entire country (even unintentionally) being represented by a violent cult feels a bit uncomfortable at the moment. Considering that their rituals range from cultural to violent to sexual, it's all used as shock value that mostly works because of Aster's phenomenal set design, but even within the context of the film, the Midsommar celebration is a chance to observe a society that is different from the American ideal. There's no chance to humanize them, and it plays into some backwoods stereotypes that work for discomfort horror, but only help create the negative stereotype.

With that said, the film that Aster is telling is thankfully more complex than what its third act's surface portrays. Where things hit those familiar shocks through a slow build, there's also Dani's story of grief. She is surrounded by a culture obsessed with the circle of life, finding ways to honor the elderly and produce new life. She feels alone, standing out in her dark colored outfits against the purity of the white robes. Considering how morbid some of the imagery gets, it makes sense that grief is impossible for Dani to fully ever escape. As psychological turmoil, the film works like a crackerjack, managing to sporadically disturb the audience. Some of it comes from the creepy townsfolk, but a lot of it comes from Pugh's internal performance as she observes the scenery. She doesn't want to be there. She doesn't want to be anywhere. However, she most importantly doesn't want to be alone. How does she achieve any of that when she has nobody who she cares to open up to?

The masterstroke that makes Aster one of the most promising directors of the upcoming decade is how he creates this landscape. Midsommar may take place in the hills of Sweden, but the placement of everything is breathtaking. The living quarters are lined with artwork from the past, symbolizing a reverence for the society's history. Simple things such as dead trees give levity to just how much society cares about preservation. Even the use of symbols feels like it holds deeper secrets that the avid viewer can research to find something more profound out of. Aster is not one to just throw symbols and imagery into a film. Everything feels purposely placed alongside the score that ranges from eerie flutes to a group singing joyfully a harmony that comes to be the real goosebump element of the story. It's a unified society that revels in their own lunacy, and it becomes harder to think that anyone could escape their delusions of happiness, especially given the morbid situations that arise from this.

Midsommar works as a gut punch, but it's also far more familiar to the horror genre than Hereditary was. Whereas the 2018 film was able to be clear in its themes, Midsommar is more challenging and asks the audience to think about what everything means. Once again, everything is there for a reason, but it's not as clear this time around. Maybe that works as a challenge for some viewers, but it will frustrate those who see the slow pace as a big issue, where the ribald nature is more exploitative than cinematic. Again, it's not a film that is racist, but it's hard to embrace a film that demonizes a society this much in the current moment. The positive is that Pugh's performance sells the movie and the atmosphere is just as haunting. The creativity is also effectively used, even if Aster feels like he's fallen on some of the lazier tropes (specifically in regards to the offspring). Still, he knows how to craft a horror film that has moments of great humor and levity, and deeper character draws that make the whole experience richer.

Is Midsommar a dud? Not in the slightest. Much like Jordan Peele's recent sophomore film Us, it's a director using his clout to make a more experimental form of horror. He must see where his limits lie and push the boundaries into something more provocative. He is most effective when it comes to creating a singular vision, even if it feels borrowed from other filmmakers and even Hereditary. Still, he has proven himself to be a master of set design and is looking to make some of the most profound, interesting cinema of the future. For now, he's made a wildly divisive movie that does and doesn't work at points. It may reward revisiting or even extensive essays on its many hidden clues. However, its immediate impression is that it's a bit underwhelming and confusing, never fully giving the audience what they want. Like death, it's frustrating and hard to fully come to terms with. Maybe that was the point of Midsommar all along. It's hard to really know.