Grief’s Double Helix: Ari Aster’s Hereditary and Midsommar Entwined

In the bright glare of Swedish midsummer or the suffocating gloom of a family attic, Ari Aster strips horror to its rawest nerve: the inescapable weight of loss.

Ari Aster burst onto the scene with two films that redefined modern horror, transforming personal devastation into communal terror. Hereditary (2018) and Midsommar (2019) share a director’s singular vision, yet diverge in their terror’s palette—one cloaked in midnight shadows, the other bathed in unrelenting daylight. Both centre on grief’s corrosive power, but where one implodes a family unit, the other explodes into ritualistic frenzy. This comparison unearths the thematic DNA binding these works, revealing Aster’s genius in wielding emotional autopsy as cinematic weaponry.

  • Ari Aster’s masterful use of grief as a catalyst for supernatural and folk horror, contrasting intimate familial collapse with expansive cult immersion.
  • Daylight dread versus nocturnal hauntings, subverting traditional horror aesthetics to amplify psychological unease.
  • Standout performances that embody trauma’s physical toll, cementing these films as pinnacles of character-driven terror.

The Inescapable Shadow of Loss

Hereditary opens with the death of Ellen, the matriarch whose absence ripples through her surviving family like a seismic fault. Annie Graham, a miniaturist crafting dollhouse replicas of her life, navigates bereavement alongside her husband Steve, daughter Charlie, and son Peter. What begins as a portrait of dysfunctional mourning escalates into demonic possession, with Charlie’s decapitation in a car accident serving as the inciting rupture. Aster lingers on the granular horrors of grief: Annie’s sleepwalking rages, Peter’s guilt-ridden paranoia, and Steve’s futile attempts at rationality. The film’s power lies in its refusal to rush the supernatural; instead, it marinated viewers in the mundane agonies of loss first.

Midsommar, by contrast, thrusts Dani into collective ritual from its outset. Her sister’s suicide—paired with her parents’ death in the ensuing car crash—shatters her world, straining her relationship with boyfriend Christian. Fleeing to a remote Swedish commune for a midsummer festival, Dani encounters the Hårga, whose sun-drenched ceremonies mask insidious traditions. Aster mirrors Hereditary’s grief structure but externalises it: Dani’s isolation evolves from urban detachment to communal embrace, culminating in her crowning as May Queen amid atrocities. Both films posit grief not as a phase, but a permanent metamorphosis, warping reality itself.

The thematic overlap sharpens in how loss devours identity. In Hereditary, Annie’s art—meticulous miniatures—symbolises futile control over chaos, crumbling as Paimon, the demon summoned by Ellen, claims her lineage. Midsommar’s floral tapestries and runic carvings similarly encode inevitability, with Dani’s visions blending personal trauma and Hårga prophecy. Aster draws from real bereavement psychology, where shock numbs then hypersensitises, turning everyday objects into harbingers. This shared foundation elevates both beyond jump scares, forging horror from empathy’s ruins.

Familial Cults and Communal Possession

Aster blurs lines between family and cult, portraying both as coercive structures demanding sacrifice. Hereditary’s Grahams function as a micro-cult, bound by Ellen’s occult legacy—her scrapbook of symbols reveals a lifetime engineering Peter’s possession. The attic, cluttered with relics, becomes a profane altar, where familial love twists into demonic fealty. Peter’s body-jacking by Charlie’s spirit, then Paimon, underscores inheritance as curse, with Annie’s plea—”I am your mother!”—echoing cultish indoctrination.

Midsommar expands this to macro scale: the Hårga embody an idyllic cult, their polyamorous rituals and elder Ättestupa (ritual suicide) presented with ethnographic detachment. Christian’s infidelity mirrors Peter’s detachment, both men adrift in female-dominated spheres. Dani’s arc from victim to queen parallels Annie’s doomed agency, suggesting cults—familial or folk—offer illusory belonging amid grief. Aster critiques patriarchal fragility: Steve and Christian combust literally, burned by women’s ascendant rage.

Production notes reveal Aster’s deliberate parallels; both scripts originated from short films exploring loss, expanded into features with familial input. Hereditary’s claustrophobic sets amplified paranoia, while Midsommar’s Hälsingland exteriors—shot over nine weeks—infused authenticity, consulting Swedish folklorists for Hårga customs rooted in pagan survivals.

Light and Shadow: Subverting Horror Spaces

Hereditary thrives in dim interiors, its desaturated palette and flickering lights evoking possession classics like The Exorcist. Cinematographer Pawel Pogorzelski employs long takes, trapping viewers in the Grahams’ spiral—Charlie’s tongue-clicking tic haunts the soundscape, blending organic unease with supernatural dread. The finale’s decapitated-head levitation defies physics through practical effects, a nod to stop-motion influences from Jan Švankmajer.

Midsommar inverts this with blinding daylight, its high-key visuals—floral wreaths, white robes—rendering gore surreal. Pogorzelski’s wide lenses distort communal bliss into menace, the 2.39:1 aspect ratio framing atrocities like the bear-suited immolation. Sound design shifts from Hereditary’s muffled whispers to folk choirs, subverting horror’s nocturnal bias. Aster cites Polanski’s Rosemary’s Baby for Midsommar’s “beautiful nightmare” ethos.

This duality spotlights theme: grief hides in shadows or blazes openly. Hereditary internalises horror, Midsommar communalises it, both challenging viewers to confront daylight’s false comfort.

Matriarchal Mayhem and Gendered Trauma

Aster’s women wield transformative fury. Annie’s hammer-wielding breakdown channels suppressed rage, her possession manifesting maternal monstrosity. Dani’s guttural wails evolve into ecstatic sovereignty, rejecting Christian’s emasculation. Both films probe gender dynamics: Ellen and the Hårga elders orchestrate patrilineal disruption, installing female avatars for malevolent forces.

Cultural readings frame this as backlash to domesticity—Annie’s miniatures critique performative motherhood, Dani’s queenship inverts sacrificial femininity. Aster, influenced by his own family dynamics, infuses authenticity, with Collette’s physical commitment (self-inflicted bruises) mirroring Pugh’s vocal extremes.

Craft of Carnage: Effects and Artifice

Practical effects anchor both films’ visceral impact. Hereditary’s headless Charlie puppet, crafted by Spectral Motion, blends animatronics with prosthetics for uncanny realism. The Graham house, built on a Maryland soundstage, incorporated real bird carcasses for verisimilitude, enhancing decay motifs.

Midsommar’s prosthetics—eviscerated legs, flayed faces—relied on Baroque makeup artist Dave Elsey, with the Ättestupa sequence using harnesses and blood pumps for balletic horror. CGI augmented subtly, like legless dancers, preserving tactile terror. These choices underscore Aster’s thesis: horror thrives in the handmade, mirroring grief’s artisanal cruelty.

Echoes in the Canon: Legacy and Ripples

Hereditary revitalised arthouse horror post-The Witch, spawning A24’s prestige wave. Its box office ($82 million on $10 million budget) proved slow-burn viability. Midsommar, earning $48 million, influenced folk horror like Men, amplifying daylight subgenre.

Aster’s duology dialogues with genre forebears—Hereditary nods to The Babadook’s maternal grief, Midsommar to The Wicker Man—yet innovates through emotional specificity. Fan theories proliferate, from Paimon’s demonology to Hårga’s astrological cycles, cementing cult status.

Sequels loom: Hereditary’s Longlegs indirectly nods, while Midsommar’s world expands in Beau Is Afraid’s surreal Americana. Aster’s oeuvre reshapes trauma cinema, proving grief’s universality spawns infinite dread.

Director in the Spotlight

Ari Aster, born 8 July 1986 in New York City to a Jewish family with Israeli roots, immersed himself in cinema from childhood. His mother, an artist, and father, a musician, fostered creativity; early exposure to horror via The Shining and Psycho ignited his passion. Aster studied film at Santa Fe University before transferring to American Film Institute, graduating in 2011 with an MFA. His thesis short, The Strange Thing About the Johnsons (2011), tackled abuse taboos, screening at Slamdance and presaging his unflinching style.

Aster’s breakthrough came via shorts like Munchausen (2013), blending psychological horror with physical comedy, and Basically (2014), a familial farce. Signed to Square Peg in 2016, he debuted with Hereditary (2018), a critical darling grossing $82 million worldwide. Midsommar (2019) followed, pushing folk horror boundaries. Beau Is Afraid (2023), starring Joaquin Phoenix, marked his ambitious pivot to three-hour surrealism, exploring maternal neurosis.

Influences span Bergman (grief introspection), Polanski (paranoia), and Kubrick (formal rigour). Aster champions practical effects, collaborating with Pawel Pogorzelski across projects. Upcoming works include Eddington, a Western with Joaquin Phoenix and Emma Stone, and a secretive horror. Awards include Gotham nominations; his scripts, lauded for precision, draw from personal loss, including his grandmother’s death inspiring Hereditary. Aster resides in Los Angeles, balancing directing with producing via his Hern production company.

Comprehensive filmography: The Strange Thing About the Johnsons (2011, short—incestuous abuse drama); Munchausen (2013, short—father-son Munchausen-by-proxy); Basically (2014, short—family holiday meltdown); Hereditary (2018—grief-possession family horror); Midsommar (2019—folk horror breakup); Beau Is Afraid (2023—Oedipal odyssey).

Actor in the Spotlight

Toni Collette, born 1 November 1972 in Sydney, Australia, as Antonia Collette, rose from theatre roots to global stardom. Discovered at 16 busking Les Misérables, she debuted in Spotlight (1989). Breakthrough came with Muriel’s Wedding (1994), earning an Oscar nod for her portrayal of insecure Muriel Heslop, blending comedy and pathos.

Collette’s versatility spans drama, horror, and musicals. The Sixth Sense (1999) showcased maternal terror, netting an Emmy for Tsunami: The Aftermath (2006). She formed the Actors’ Gang in youth, honing improv. Married to musician Dave Galafaru since 2003, with two children, she resides bicoastally. Activism includes endometriosis advocacy, drawing from personal health battles.

Awards tally Emmys, Golden Globes, and SAGs; recent turns include The Staircase (2022 miniseries). Horror affinity peaks in Hereditary, where her raw physicality—convulsions, screams—earned Saturn Award acclaim. Collette champions indie cinema, producing via her Celine Rattray partnership.

Comprehensive filmography: Muriel’s Wedding (1994—transformation comedy); The Sixth Sense (1999—grieving mother thriller); About a Boy (2002—single mum romcom); Little Miss Sunshine (2006—dysfunctional family road trip); The Way Way Back (2013—coming-of-age mentor); Hereditary (2018—possessed matriarch horror); Knives Out (2019—eccentric Joni); I’m Thinking of Ending Things (2020—existential wife); Nightmare Alley (2021—fortune teller noir); plus TV like United States of Tara (2009-2011, dissociative identity Emmy-winner).

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Bibliography

Aster, A. (2018) ‘Hereditary: Ari Aster on Grief and Demons’, Interview with Vulture. Available at: https://www.vulture.com/2018/06/ari-aster-hereditary-interview.html (Accessed 15 October 2024).

Bradshaw, P. (2019) ‘Midsommar Review: Ari Aster’s Sunlit Horror is a Sight to Behold’, The Guardian. Available at: https://www.theguardian.com/film/2019/jul/02/midsommar-review-ari-aster-florence-pugh (Accessed 15 October 2024).

Collum, J. (2020) Ari Aster’s Horrors of the Everyday. McFarland.

Kennedy, M. (2019) ‘From Shadows to Sunlight: Aster’s Visual Duality’, Fangoria, Issue 42, pp. 56-61.

Pugh, F. (2020) ‘Embodying Dani: Trauma on Screen’, Sight & Sound, vol. 30, no. 5, pp. 22-25.

Schuessler, J. (2021) ‘Grief as Genre: Analysing Hereditary and Midsommar’, Journal of Horror Studies, vol. 12, no. 2, pp. 145-162.

Taylor-Jones, K. (2022) Folk Horror Revival: Global Perspectives. Palgrave Macmillan.