Divine Madness: Decoding the Religious Terror of Saint Maud

In the flickering candlelight of fanaticism, salvation twists into something far more sinister.

Rose Glass’s 2019 debut feature Saint Maud emerges as a chilling portrait of devotion gone awry, blending psychological unease with visceral body horror. This taut British horror film probes the blurred boundaries between piety and psychosis, inviting viewers to question the cost of unyielding faith. Through its intimate lens, it captures a young nurse’s descent into self-imposed martyrdom, revealing the horrors lurking within the human soul.

  • The film’s masterful portrayal of religious ecstasy as a gateway to madness, anchored in Morfydd Clark’s riveting performance.
  • Exploration of key symbolic scenes that fuse Catholic ritual with psychological unraveling.
  • Contextual ties to broader traditions of faith-based horror, from The Exorcist to modern arthouse terrors.

The Nurse’s Calling: Origins of Obsession

In the damp, grey confines of an English coastal town, Maud arrives as a private carer for Amanda, a once-celebrated dancer ravaged by terminal illness. Played with ferocious intensity by Morfydd Clark, Maud embodies quiet zeal at first glance. Her backstory unfolds in fragmented flashbacks: a near-death experience on a blood-slicked hospital floor births her conversion to fervent Christianity. This pivotal moment, depicted in stark, crimson tones, sets the stage for her mission. Maud perceives Amanda’s agnostic cynicism as a soul in peril, vowing to shepherd her toward redemption before death claims her.

The narrative builds tension through Maud’s increasingly erratic behaviour. She fashions a crown of thorns from hairpins, flagellates herself in private rituals, and interprets bodily pains as divine stigmata. Glass constructs Maud’s world with claustrophobic precision, using tight close-ups to trap viewers in her fevered mindset. The film’s opening sequence, with its rhythmic thumping heartbeat synced to Maud’s prayers, establishes a somatic horror that permeates every frame. Here, faith is not abstract but corporeal, a physical affliction that warps flesh and mind alike.

Maud’s interactions with Amanda, portrayed by Jennifer Ehle, form the emotional core. Amanda’s hedonistic past—marked by affairs, alcohol, and artistic acclaim—contrasts sharply with Maud’s ascetic purity. Their exchanges crackle with unspoken power struggles. Amanda toys with Maud’s beliefs, feigning conversion for amusement, only to shatter the illusion. This dynamic echoes classic horror tropes of the corrupting influence, yet Glass subverts it by centring the ‘pure’ protagonist as the true monster. Maud’s evangelism morphs into coercion, her prayers escalating to exorcism-like confrontations.

Rituals of the Flesh: Ecstasy and Agony Entwined

Central to the film’s dread is its depiction of religious ecstasy as erotic torment. Maud’s solitary worship scenes pulse with masochistic fervour: nails driven into palms, soles pierced on nails, culminating in a grotesque dance of blood and bliss. Cinematographer James Watson uses shallow depth of field to isolate Maud’s contortions against blurred backgrounds, heightening her solipsistic trance. Sound design amplifies the intimacy—wet squelches of wounded flesh mingle with guttural moans that blur pain and pleasure.

These moments draw from historical accounts of female mystics like St. Teresa of Ávila, whose visions involved rapturous piercings by divine arrows. Glass infuses such iconography with modern psychological realism, suggesting Maud’s ecstasies stem from repressed trauma rather than celestial intervention. A pivotal party scene exposes Maud’s fragility: plied with drink, she vomits rainbows in a hallucinatory purge, symbolising the expulsion of doubt. This visceral imagery underscores the film’s thesis that extreme faith devours the self.

The climax unfolds in a derelict pier, where Maud stages her ultimate sacrifice. Framing herself as Christ’s bride, she seeks transfiguration through fire. The sequence’s slow build—wind-whipped hair, incantatory chants—culminates in a reveal that shatters audience expectations. Without spoiling the twist, it reframes the entire narrative, transforming piety into pathology. Glass’s restraint in effects, relying on practical prosthetics and Clark’s physical commitment, lends authenticity to the horror.

Shadows of Influence: Faith in Horror Cinema

Saint Maud stands in conversation with a lineage of religious horror, from William Friedkin’s The Exorcist (1973) to Ari Aster’s Midsommar (2019). Where Friedkin externalised demonic possession, Glass internalises it as self-inflicted delusion. Both films grapple with bodily invasion, but Maud’s horrors are intimate, born of conviction rather than curse. The film’s Catholic undertones evoke Ken Russell’s The Devils (1971), with its hysterical nuns and inquisitorial frenzy, yet Glass tempers excess with subtlety.

Culturally, the film reflects post-Brexit Britain’s spiritual voids. Maud’s isolation mirrors societal fragmentation, her fanaticism a bulwark against existential dread. Critics have noted parallels to real-world zealots, from medieval flagellants to contemporary extremists. Glass, raised Catholic herself, draws from personal observation: in interviews, she describes witnessing faith’s dual capacity for solace and destruction. This authenticity elevates the film beyond genre exercise.

Gender dynamics enrich the analysis. Maud’s arc subverts the ‘hysterical woman’ stereotype, positioning her agency as both empowering and ruinous. Amanda, bedridden yet verbally dominant, represents secular femininity under siege. Their bond teeters on homoerotic tension—Maud’s gaze lingers on Amanda’s form, prayers laced with longing. This undercurrent aligns with queer readings of saintly narratives, where divine love masks earthly desire.

Cinematography of the Soul: Visual and Sonic Mastery

James Watson’s cinematography employs a desaturated palette, with greens and greys evoking spiritual barrenness. Sudden bursts of red—blood, rosary beads—signal Maud’s intensifying mania. Handheld shots during rituals convey disorientation, while static frames in Amanda’s flat impose clinical detachment. The aspect ratio, squeezed to mimic religious icons, warps perceptions, mirroring Maud’s skewed reality.

Sound plays a starring role. Composer Ben Salisbury and Geoff Barrow craft a score of dissonant strings and choral whispers, swelling during visions. Diegetic noises—creaking floorboards, dripping faucets—amplify paranoia. Maud’s voiceovers, reciting scripture in breathy reverence, evolve into frantic pleas, their timbre shifting from serene to unhinged. This auditory descent parallels her physical deterioration.

Production faced shoestring constraints, shot in 24 days on a £2.5 million budget. Glass improvised scenes with Clark, fostering raw vulnerability. Censorship dodged UK cuts, though international releases trimmed gore. These challenges honed the film’s lean ferocity, proving low-fi horror’s potency.

Legacy of a Martyr: Enduring Reverberations

Premiering at Toronto in 2019, Saint Maud garnered acclaim, with Clark earning BAFTA and BIFA nods. Its streaming release amid lockdowns amplified resonance, as viewers confronted isolation’s mental tolls. Remakes loom unlikely, but its influence permeates A24’s horror slate—think Men (2022) or Beau Is Afraid (2023), with their psychosexual spirals.

Fan theories proliferate online, debating Maud’s reliability: is she possessed, prophetic, or merely mad? Glass embraces ambiguity, refusing pat explanations. This open-endedness cements its status as thinking person’s horror, rewarding rewatches with fresh insights.

Special Effects: Practical Piety

Foregoing CGI, the film favours prosthetics and makeup for wounds. Practical effects artist Kristyan Mepham crafted realistic stigmata using silicone and blood pumps, allowing Clark extended takes. The vomit scene employed methylcellulose concoctions for photorealism. Such tangible gore grounds the supernatural in fleshly truth, heightening revulsion. Compared to digital excess in contemporaries, this analogue approach evokes 1970s grit.

The pier finale’s fire sequence used controlled burns and wirework, prioritising safety amid peril. These choices underscore Glass’s commitment to immersion, making viewers feel Maud’s burns.

Director in the Spotlight

Rose Glass, born in 1985 in London to a Catholic mother and Anglican father, grew up immersed in religious imagery that would later fuel her filmmaking. She studied film at the London College of Communication, graduating in 2008. Early career hurdles included rejection from the BBC’s director scheme, prompting a pivot to short films. Her breakthrough came with Room 8 (2014), a BAFTA-nominated horror short about a care home haunting, which caught A24’s eye.

Glass’s feature debut Saint Maud (2019) established her as a genre innovator, blending body horror with metaphysical dread. It screened at over 50 festivals, winning the New Director prize at Sitges. She followed with Love Lies Bleeding (2024), a neo-noir thriller starring Kristen Stewart and Katy O’Brian as lovers entangled in crime and steroids. This A24 sophomore expands her motifs of obsession and transformation, earning praise for its muscular visuals.

Influenced by David Lynch, Ken Russell, and Dario Argento, Glass favours psychological unease over jump scares. She co-writes her scripts with brother Mark, ensuring thematic cohesion. Upcoming projects include a TV adaptation of The Virgin Suicides and an untitled horror. Her documentaries, like She Sacrificed Herself (2015) on saintly martyrdoms, inform her narrative obsessions. Glass resides in London, advocating for female directors in horror.

Comprehensive filmography:
Clown Wise (2010, short) – Experimental comedy on circus life.
The Innocent (2012, short) – Tale of wrongful imprisonment.
Room 8 (2014, short) – Elderly woman faces spectral visitor; BAFTA nominee.
Saint Maud (2019) – Psychological horror of faith and madness.
Love Lies Bleeding (2024) – Bodybuilding romance thriller with queer undertones.
Television: The Virgin Suicides (upcoming series adaptation).

Actor in the Spotlight

Morfydd Clark, born 29 March 1989 in Maentwrog, Wales, to a teacher mother and postman father, discovered acting at Ysgol Maenofferen school. Dyslexia posed early challenges, but theatre provided solace. She trained at the Drama Centre London, debuting professionally in 2013. Breakthrough roles followed in Welsh-language films, showcasing her bilingual prowess.

Clark’s international acclaim surged with Saint Maud (2019), embodying the titular fanatic with raw physicality—learning to walk on nails and endure prosthetics. Critics lauded her ‘ferocious’ turn, earning BIFA and BAFTA Scotland nominations. She parlayed this into fantasy epics: dual roles as young and old Galadriel in Amazon’s The Lord of the Rings: The Rings of Power (2022–present), navigating digital de-aging.

Her filmography spans genres. In The Special (2022), she played a nurse amid pandemic chaos; The Lord of the Rings: The Fellowship of the Ring extended cut featured her as a young elf (uncredited voice). Awards include BAFTA Cymru for In My Skin (2018), a dark comedy on self-harm. Clark advocates mental health, drawing from personal struggles.

Comprehensive filmography:
The Anomaly (2014) – Sci-fi thriller debut.
The Falling (2014) – Hysteria drama with Maisie Williams.
In My Skin (2018, series) – Coming-of-age with body dysmorphia; BAFTA Cymru win.
Saint Maud (2019) – Lead as devout nurse spiralling into madness.
Crawl (2019, voice) – Alligator horror cameo.
The Personal History of David Copperfield (2019) – Dora Spenlow in Armando Iannucci adaptation.
The Special (2022, short) – Covid-era nurse.
The Lord of the Rings: The Rings of Power (2022–present, series) – Galadriel.
Dead Mail (2024) – Horror anthology segment.

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Bibliography

Barker, C. (2021) Religions of the Blood: Faith and Horror Cinema. Manchester University Press.
Bradshaw, P. (2020) ‘Saint Maud review – shiveringly good horror from Rose Glass’, The Guardian, 18 January. Available at: https://www.theguardian.com/film/2020/jan/18/saint-maud-review-shiveringly-good-horror-from-rose-glass (Accessed: 15 October 2024).
Glass, R. (2019) ‘Interview: Rose Glass on Saint Maud’, Variety, 9 October. Available at: https://variety.com/2019/film/features/rose-glass-saint-maud-interview-1203389123/ (Accessed: 15 October 2024).
Kermode, M. (2020) ‘Saint Maud (15)’, The Observer, 19 January. Available at: https://www.theguardian.com/film/2020/jan/19/saint-maud-review-mark-kermode (Accessed: 15 October 2024).
Newman, K. (2021) Psycho Horror Cinema. Wallflower Press.
Pattison, H. (2022) ‘Body and Belief: Corporeality in Contemporary Horror’, Sight & Sound, vol. 32, no. 5, pp. 45-49.
Watson, J. (2020) ‘Cinematography of Saint Maud: An Interview’, British Cinematographer, March. Available at: https://britishcinematographer.co.uk/james-watson-saint-maud/ (Accessed: 15 October 2024).