Folk Horror’s Pagan Reckoning: The Wicker Man and Midsommar Entwined

In the golden glow of endless summer days, ancient rites awaken to devour the innocent soul.

Two films stand as towering monoliths in the landscape of folk horror: Robin Hardy’s The Wicker Man (1973) and Ari Aster’s Midsommar (2019). Separated by decades yet bound by shared obsessions with ritual, community, and the seductive pull of the archaic, they dissect the terror lurking in pastoral idylls. This comparison unearths their intertwined legacies, revealing how Hardy’s sunlit nightmare birthed a subgenre that Aster refined into a hallucinatory elegy for the broken.

  • The daylight dread that unites both films, stripping horror of shadows to expose raw human savagery.
  • Parallel explorations of grief, sexuality, and communal belonging, where outsiders become sacrificial lambs.
  • A profound influence on folk horror’s evolution, from 1970s counterculture to contemporary trauma cinema.

Summerisle’s Seductive Call

The narrative core of The Wicker Man pulses with the intrusion of rigid authority into a hedonistic paradise. Sergeant Neil Howie, a devout Christian policeman played with fervent intensity by Edward Woodward, flies to the remote Hebridean island of Summerisle to investigate a missing girl’s disappearance. What greets him is a vibrant pagan society under the watchful eye of Lord Summerisle, portrayed by Christopher Lee in one of his most charismatic turns. The islanders, from the schoolteacher teaching phallic folklore to the pub landlord belting out bawdy songs, embody a pre-Christian vitality that mocks Howie’s piety. As he uncovers layers of ritualistic deception—the mock funeral, the maypole dances, the animal sacrifices—the film builds inexorably to its infamous climax, where Howie realises the true nature of the harvest festival’s demands.

Hardy’s script, adapted from David Pinner’s novel Ritual, revels in anthropological detail drawn from Celtic mythology and Victorian folk studies. The island’s customs, blending fertility rites with solar worship, evoke the works of James Frazer’s The Golden Bough, where ancient gods demand blood to ensure bountiful crops. Howie’s investigation becomes a descent into temptation: nude dances around phallic symbols challenge his celibacy, while offers of communal ecstasy clash with his isolation. This setup establishes folk horror’s blueprint: the rational modern world colliding with irrational, rooted traditions that prove far more potent.

Hälsingland’s Haunting Embrace

Ari Aster’s Midsommar transplants this formula to the sun-baked commune of Hårga in rural Sweden, where Dani Ardor (Florence Pugh) arrives shattered by family tragedy. Her boyfriend Christian (Jack Reynor), more anthropologist than lover, drags her along with his academic friends to document the midsummer festivities. From the outset, Aster signals inversion: the horror unfolds under perpetual daylight, mirroring The Wicker Man‘s rejection of nocturnal gloom. The Hårga elders, with their rune-carved wisdom and flower-crowned rituals, welcome outsiders with deceptive warmth, much like Summerisle’s honeyed invitations.

Dani’s arc anchors the film’s emotional devastation. Plagued by panic attacks and grief, she finds solace in the commune’s nurturing rituals—the communal meals, the psychedelic tea, the ättestupa cliff dives for the elderly. Christian’s infidelity and detachment amplify her alienation, positioning him as the unwitting sacrifice. Aster’s screenplay weaves Norse mythology with psychological realism; the film’s nine-day festival culminates in a mating rite and bear-suited immolation, echoing pagan bear cults and Yule traditions. Where Howie resists, Dani gradually surrenders, her cathartic wail at the end a rebirth through ritual fire.

Daylight as the Ultimate Dread

Both films master the subversion of light as horror’s canvas. Traditional slashers and supernatural tales thrive in darkness, but Hardy and Aster wield sunlight as a merciless revealer. In The Wicker Man, cinematographer Harry Waxman bathes Summerisle in verdant hues, the camera lingering on blooming orchards and azure seas to underscore the paradise’s peril. Howie’s entrapment feels all the more claustrophobic amid open skies; the wicker man itself, a colossal effigy stuffed with the screaming victim, towers against a fiery sunset, blending beauty with barbarity.

Aster escalates this with Midsommar‘s unblinking summer sun, shot by Pawel Pogorzelski in wide, symmetrical frames that evoke Renaissance paintings. Flowers carpet every surface, their pollen haze drugging the senses, while bloodstains gleam vividly on white robes. The daylight amplifies intimacy: lovers couple openly during the may queen dance, elders plummet in slow-motion grace. This visual strategy forces confrontation; no shadows to hide the gore or madness, compelling viewers to witness the erosion of sanity in broad daylight.

Sacrifice and the Outsider’s Doom

Central to both is the sacrificial outsider, embodying modernity’s hubris against folk resilience. Howie, with his Christian morality, represents Enlightenment rationality sacrificed to pagan renewal—a narrative rooted in Frazerian theories of dying-and-rising gods. His final hymn, “The Messiah Shall Reign Forever,” rings hollow as flames consume him, underscoring the film’s anti-authoritarian thrust amid 1970s folk revivalism.

Christian in Midsommar mirrors this as the toxic male, his emotional neglect of Dani mirroring patriarchal indifference. The Hårga’s selection process—eviscerations, foot races, pairings—culls the unfit, culminating in his ingestion by fire. Yet Aster complicates the parallel: Dani’s ascension as May Queen suggests female empowerment through communal bonds, contrasting Howie’s utter defeat. Both films probe the allure of collectivism; Summerisle and Hårga offer transcendence via surrender, critiquing individualism’s loneliness.

Grief, Ecstasy, and Communal Rites

Sexuality and grief entwine as gateways to horror. The Wicker Man flaunts hedonism—Willow’s seductive song, the naked handfasting—to provoke Howie’s repression, linking Puritan denial to downfall. Midsommar delves deeper into trauma; Dani’s visions, triggered by hallucinogens, blend loss with liberation, her screams evolving from despair to exultation. Aster draws from his own short film Basically, exploring relational fractures, while Hardy’s influences include Hammer Films’ folkloric sensuality.

Musical motifs amplify these tensions. Paul Giovanni’s folk score in The Wicker Man, with its sea shanties and hymns, immerses in authenticity, recorded with real musicians. Bobby Krlic’s (The Haxan Cloak) droning synths and choral arrangements in Midsommar evoke trance states, the maypole song a hypnotic siren call. Sound design heightens unease: rustling foliage, distant drums, the crackle of pyres.

Production Shadows and Cultural Ripples

Behind the scenes, both faced tempests. The Wicker Man, backed by British Lion Films, suffered print destruction in a warehouse fire, its uncut version a holy grail for collectors. Hardy shot on location in Scotland, capturing genuine unease among cast amid remote isolation. Aster’s Midsommar, from A24, endured reshoots to extend runtime, ballooning costs yet yielding cult status. Location filming in Hungary evoked real midsummer festivals, blurring fiction and ritual.

Their legacies permeate folk horror’s renaissance. Hardy’s film inspired Kill List (2011) and Apostle (2018), while Aster nods overtly—Hårga’s script echoes Summerisle’s customs. Together, they anchor the “unholy trinity” with Witchfinder General (1968), influencing The Ritual (2017) and TV’s Midnight Mass. In an era of urban alienation, their rural horrors resonate, warning of traditions’ enduring hunger.

Effects and Artifice in Ritual Horror

Special effects underscore verisimilitude over spectacle. The Wicker Man‘s practical builds—the 40-foot wicker man constructed from goat willows, ignited with petrol—ground the finale in tangible dread. No matte paintings or models; the blaze’s heat blistered costumes, authenticity born of peril. Aster employs prosthetics masterfully: the blood eagle splay, sewn mouths, leg crushes via practical rigs by Crash McCreery, evoking Hereditary‘s intimacy. CGI minimal, preserving folk craft’s handmade ethos—flower crowns woven on-site, runes hand-carved.

These choices elevate symbolism: fire as purification, blood as fertility. Influences trace to ethnographic films like Dead Birds (1963), prioritising ritual immersion over jump scares.

Eternal Harvest of Influence

Ultimately, The Wicker Man and Midsommar forge folk horror’s dual blade: celebration of the primal, elegy for the sacrificed self. Hardy’s optimism-tinged cynicism yields to Aster’s grief-soaked ambiguity, yet both affirm community’s dark magnetism. As climate anxieties and social fractures mount, their warnings endure—civilisation’s veneer thins under solstice suns, ripe for harvest.

Director in the Spotlight

Robin Hardy, born in 1929 in London, emerged from a theatre background steeped in British arts. Educated at Rugby School and Oxford, where he read English, Hardy directed plays before television, helming episodes of The Avengers and Sunday Bloody Sunday. His feature debut The Wicker Man (1973) cemented his folk horror legacy, blending his fascination with mythology—fuelled by summers in Cornwall—with countercultural ferment. Despite cult acclaim, Hardy struggled for funding; sequels The Wicker Tree (2011), a loose follow-up critiquing American fundamentalism, and unproduced scripts haunted his career.

Hardy’s influences spanned Powell and Pressburger’s romanticism and Bergman’s spiritual inquiries. He penned novels like Cowboys for Christ (1980) and directed commercials, maintaining a maverick spirit. Later works included The Devil Rides Out homage in shorts. Knighted for services to film, Hardy passed in 2016, leaving The Wicker Man as his undimmed beacon. Filmography highlights: The Wicker Man (1973, pagan thriller), The Wicker Tree (2011, satirical sequel), Suicide Brigade (unreleased, WWII drama).

Actor in the Spotlight

Florence Pugh, born 1996 in Oxford, England, rose from theatre roots—trained at Bristol Old Vic— to screen stardom. Her breakout in The Falling (2014) showcased raw vulnerability, leading to Lady Macbeth (2016), where her feral intensity earned BAFTA nominations. Midsommar (2019) propelled her global, her visceral performance as Dani—screaming through grief to queenly rapture—drawing Oscar buzz.

Pugh’s versatility shines in blockbusters like Midsommar, Little Women (2019, Oscar-nominated), Black Widow (2021, as Yelena Belova), and Oppenheimer (2023). Directed by Zach Braff in A Good Person (2023), she advocates body positivity amid tabloid scrutiny. Awards include MTV Movie Awards and Critics’ Choice nods. Filmography: The Falling (2014, psychological drama), Lady Macbeth (2016, vengeful period piece), Midsommar (2019, folk horror), Fighting with My Family (2019, biopic comedy), Little Women (2019, literary adaptation), Mank (2020, historical drama), Black Widow (2021, superhero), The Wonder (2022, period mystery), Oppenheimer (2023, biopic).

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