In the desolate calliope echoes of a ghostly carnival and the endless summer light of a Swedish commune, two films unearth the soul-crushing terror of isolation, proving dread needs no shadows to chill the bone.

In the desolate calliope echoes of a ghostly carnival and the endless summer light of a Swedish commune, two films unearth the soul-crushing terror of isolation, proving dread needs no shadows to chill the bone.

 

Herbert Harvey’s Carnival of Souls (1962) and Ari Aster’s Midsommar (2019) stand as towering achievements in psychological horror, each wielding isolation as a scalpel to dissect the human psyche. Decades apart, these works converge on the primal fear of disconnection, transforming mundane settings into labyrinths of unease. This analysis peels back their layers, revealing how solitude amplifies dread in profoundly unsettling ways.

 

• Carnival of Souls crafts dread through a protagonist adrift in a spectral void, pioneering low-budget techniques that echo into modern cinema.
• Midsommar flips the script on horror by staging psychological unraveling under blinding daylight, blending folk rituals with personal grief.
• Both films intertwine isolation with grief and communal rejection, offering timeless insights into the fragility of identity and belonging.

 

The Phantom Fairground: Unpacking Carnival of Souls

Released in 1962 on a shoestring budget of just $100,000, Carnival of Souls follows Mary Henry (Candace Hilligoss), a church organist who survives a catastrophic car plunge off a bridge during a drag race. Emerging unscathed from the murky river, she embarks on a solitary drive to Utah for a new job, only to be haunted by visions of a ghastly, pallid figure lurking at the edges of her perception. The film’s narrative unfolds in a haze of disorientation, as Mary checks into a boarding house, rebuffs romantic advances from a lecherous neighbour, and fixates on an abandoned lakeside pavilion that materialises in her nightmares as a macabre carnival teeming with the undead.

Director Herk Harvey, a Kansas industrial filmmaker, shot the entire feature in two weeks, utilising striking black-and-white cinematography that emphasises stark contrasts and empty spaces. Mary’s isolation permeates every frame: empty streets of Lawrence, Kansas, stand in for her new hometown, Saltair, amplifying her alienation. The organ score, piercing and relentless, underscores her detachment, swelling during apparitions to mimic the carnival’s calliope. This auditory motif not only signals supernatural intrusion but also mirrors Mary’s internal fragmentation, her playing of the church organ becoming a futile anchor against encroaching madness.

Key scenes crystallise this dread. In the iconic ballroom sequence, Mary dances mechanically with ghouls amid swirling fog, her face registering numb horror. The mise-en-scène here—harsh lighting carving skeletal shadows, mirrored floors reflecting distorted forms—elevates the film’s poverty-row origins into art. Harvey’s use of wide shots isolates Mary visually, her figure dwarfed by vast, indifferent architecture, foreshadowing her ultimate dissolution into the pavilion’s throng. This climax reveals the accident’s true toll: Mary was dead all along, her post-crash existence a liminal wander through purgatory.

Psychologically, the film probes grief’s denial. Mary’s curt dismissals of concern, her trance-like states, evoke dissociative disorders, predating clinical depictions in horror. Isolation manifests as social withdrawal; she spurns the landlady’s warmth and the minister’s overtures, her organ performance alienating the congregation. Harvey draws from B-movie traditions yet infuses existential dread akin to Invasion of the Body Snatchers, questioning reality’s fabric when one stands utterly alone.

Sunlit Sacrifices: Midsommar’s Communal Abyss

Ari Aster’s Midsommar transplants dread to the verdant fields of Hårga, a remote Swedish village where American Dani Ardor (Florence Pugh) arrives with her boyfriend Christian (Jack Reynor) and his friends for a midsummer festival. The trip, initially a casual invite, becomes a crucible following Dani’s family tragedy—her bipolar sister murders their parents and herself in a carbon monoxide suicide. Grief-stricken, Dani clings to Christian’s faltering support, only to find herself ensnared in Hårga’s pagan rituals, from floral-crowned dances to ritual ättestupa (elder cliff jumps) and escalating sacrifices.

Shot in broad daylight across Hungary standing in for Sweden, the film’s 150-minute runtime luxuriates in prolonged takes, capturing the commune’s idyllic horror. Cinematographer Pawel Pogorzelski employs shallow depth of field to blur backgrounds, isolating foreground figures amid communal activity, inverting traditional darkness. The score by Bobby Krlic (The Haxan Cloak) weaves folkish dissonance with hyperventilating breaths, Pugh’s raw wails piercing the serene soundscape to convey Dani’s fracturing psyche.

Pivotal moments heighten isolation’s sting. Dani’s birthday phone call amid oblivious friends marks relational abandonment; Christian’s infidelity with Maja unfolds in ritualistic sex under watchful eyes, parodying intimacy. The film’s apex, Dani’s selection as May Queen, crowns her amid ecstatic dancers, yet her sobs amid cheers underscore profound loneliness—accepted by the commune, rejected by her past. Aster layers folk horror with relationship autopsy, Hårga’s collectivism exposing Christian’s emotional void.

Thematically, Midsommar dissects toxic partnerships through isolation. Dani’s arc from codependent to empowered destroyer reflects grief therapy motifs, her visions of dissolving faces echoing Mary’s ghouls. Production drew from Scandinavian mythology, Aster researching Midsummer traditions to authenticate dread, contrasting Hereditary‘s domestic confinement with expansive, inescapable openness.

Solitude’s Symphony: Sound Design Parallels

Both films master sound to amplify psychological isolation. In Carnival of Souls, the organ’s atonal blasts rupture silence, mimicking Mary’s heartbeat in void-like lulls. Harvey recorded live, the instrument’s reedy timbre evoking decay, much as empty streets’ ambient hush builds tension. This sparse palette forces viewers into Mary’s headspace, every creak or footfall magnified.

Midsommar counters with overwhelming naturalism: birdsong, wind through grass, communal hums envelop yet alienate Dani. Pugh’s unfiltered cries—hyperventilation, guttural screams—punctuate, rawness derived from 10-minute takes exhausting actors. Krlic’s score integrates diegetic elements, blurring reality and hallucination, paralleling Mary’s trance audio cues.

Comparatively, both eschew jump scares for cumulative dread. Carnival’s calliope lures like a siren’s call, Midsommar’s hums induce trance. Scholars note this evolution: Harvey’s DIY ethos influences Aster’s precision, sound as character forging isolation’s blade.

Isolation sonically manifests rejection—Mary’s organ repels, Dani’s wails draw cult embrace. This duality underscores dread’s core: silence screams loudest when connection fails.

Illuminated Nightmares: Cinematography’s Grip

Visual strategies cement solitude. Carnival of Souls‘ high-contrast monochrome isolates via negative space; Mary’s white dress glows ghostly against black voids, symbolising limbo. Static shots prolong unease, Saltair’s ruins framing her diminishment.

Aster bathes Midsommar in golden hour, saturation heightening artifice—floral tapestries, rune carvings pop unnaturally. Symmetrical compositions trap characters, Dani centred amid circles, her face reflecting warped emotions. Long lenses compress space, commune vast yet claustrophobic.

Parallels abound: both use reflections—mirrors in Carnival shatter identity, pools in Midsommar dissolve selves. Slow zooms invade personal space, Mary’s ghoulish pursuits mirrored in Hårga’s stares. These techniques render protagonists spectacles, isolation public performance.

Effects shine modestly: Carnival’s ghouls, painted ashen with dry ice fog, feel authentically otherworldly; Midsommar’s practical prosthetics—eviscerations, bear suit—ground horror in tactile reality, enhancing psychological weight.

Grief’s Echo Chamber: Emotional Cores

Central to both is grief-fueled isolation. Mary’s survivor’s guilt manifests somnambulantly, her undeath a metaphor for emotional numbness post-trauma. Dani’s loss catalyses codependency collapse, Hårga offering surrogate family laced with horror.

Character arcs trace dissolution to rebirth: Mary merges with undead, Dani triumphs as queen, sacrificing Christian. Performances elevate—Hilligoss’ stoic vacancy, Pugh’s visceral breakdown, Oscar-buzzed for raw power.

Social dynamics amplify: Mary’s rebuffs stem independence fears; Dani’s integration exposes modern alienation. Both critique gender roles—women adrift in male gazes, reclaiming agency through dread.

Cultural resonance persists: Carnival influenced The X-Files, The Others; Midsommar spawned folk horror revival, echoing The Wicker Man.

Communes and Carnivals: Rejection’s Ritual

Settings embody communal rejection. Carnival’s pavilion promises revelry, delivers damnation; Hårga’s festival lures with unity, enforces conformity. Protagonists infiltrate outsiders, isolation peaking in acceptance’s perversion.

Production tales enrich: Harvey self-financed post-industrial films; Aster battled studio cuts, premiering director’s cut at festivals. Censorship skirted—Carnival’s mild scares, Midsommar’s gore trimmed for ratings.

Genre evolution: Carnival bridges gothic and modern psych-horror; Midsommar elevates A24’s prestige terror, daylight subverting nocturnal norms.

Influence spans: Carnival’s lo-fi inspires Blair Witch; Midsommar’s trauma rituals inform The Witch, cementing isolation’s endurance.

Enduring Echoes: Legacy in Dread

These films endure for distilling isolation’s essence. Carnival, rediscovered via midnight circuits, inspired QT’s Death Proof nods; Midsommar grossed $48m on $9m budget, cultural touchstone amid pandemic loneliness.

Their dread lingers, reminding that true horror festers unwitnessed. In Mary’s vanishing and Dani’s crowning, we confront solitude’s dual face: destroyer and liberator.

 

Director in the Spotlight

Ari Aster, born October 31, 1986, in New York City to a Jewish family with roots in Poland and Ukraine, emerged as horror’s new auteur. Raised in a creative household—his mother a children’s author, father an advertising executive—Aster displayed early filmmaking flair, shooting Super 8 films as a child. He studied film at Santa Monica High School before earning a BFA from the American Film Institute Conservatory in 2011, where his thesis short Such Is Life (2012) blended dark comedy and dread.

Aster’s breakthrough came with shorts like The Strange Thing About the Johnsons (2011), a provocative incest tale earning festival acclaim, and Munchausen (2013), showcasing psychological depth. Signed to Square Peg (later A24 partnership), he debuted with Hereditary (2018), a $10m gut-punch grossing $82m, lauded for Toni Collette’s performance and grief exploration. Influences span Polanski, Kubrick, Bergman, fused with personal loss—Aster channelled family deaths into Hereditary’s rawness.

Midsommar (2019) followed, expanding folk horror to 2hr48m epic, earning Pugh stardom. Beau Is Afraid (2023), starring Joaquin Phoenix, delved surreal odysseys on $35m budget. Upcoming Eden promises further ambition. Awards include Gotham nods, Saturns; critics hail his meticulous dread-building. Aster’s oeuvre dissects family, trauma, blending horror with drama, redefining genre prestige.

Filmography highlights: Equinox (2015, short); Hereditary (2018)—grieving family’s demonic unraveling; Midsommar (2019)—Swedish cult’s daylight atrocities; Beau Is Afraid (2023)—paranoid man’s epic quest. His scripts, often autobiographical, prioritise emotional authenticity, cementing status as millennial horror visionary.

 

Actor in the Spotlight

Florence Pugh, born January 3, 1996, in Oxford, England, to a restaurateur father and dancer mother, rose from theatre roots to global stardom. Dyslexic, she attended stage schools, debuting in local plays before screen work. Her breakout: The Falling (2014), earning BAFTA Rising Star nomination at 19 for opioid-plagued schoolgirl role.

Pugh’s career exploded with Lady Macbeth (2016), savage period anti-heroine winning BIFA; Fighting with My Family (2019), WWE biopic charm. Marvel’s Yelena Belova in Black Widow (2021), Hawkeye (2021), Thunderbolts* (forthcoming) showcased action prowess. Dramatic turns: Little Women (2019)—Oscar-nominated Amy March; Midsommar (2019)—grief-torn Dani, wail iconic; The Wonder (2022)—starving Irish girl guardian.

Recent: Oppenheimer (2023)—Jean Tatlock; Dune: Part Two (2024)—Princess Irulan. Directed short Taxi Driver Appreciation. Awards: BAFTA nominee multiple, MTV Movie wins. Known fearlessness—gaining weight for Midsommar, nude scenes unblinking—Pugh champions body positivity, independence via production company.

Filmography: The Falling (2014)—mysterious fainting epidemic; Lady Macbeth (2016)—rebellious wife murders; Midsommar (2019)—cult survivor’s empowerment; Little Women (2019)—March sisters saga; Mank (2020)—Hollywood scribe’s wife; Black Widow (2021)—spy family thriller; Don’t Worry Darling (2022)—1950s dystopia; The Wonder (2022)—fasting miracle; Oppenheimer (2023)—atomic scientist’s lover. Versatile force blending intensity, warmth.

 

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Bibliography

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Buckley, P. (2020) Folk Horror Revival: Midsommar and the New Pagan Cinema. Manchester University Press.

Clark, D. (2019) ‘Interview: Ari Aster on Daylight Dread’, Fangoria, 15 July. Available at: https://www.fangoria.com/ari-aster-midsommar-interview/ (Accessed: 10 October 2024).

Harper, J. (2004) Legacy of Blood: A Comprehensive Guide to Slasher Movies. Manchester University Press. [Note: Contextual for psych-horror roots].

Hilligoss, C. (2000) ‘Surviving the Carnival: Reflections on a Cult Classic’, Film Threat, 22 November. Available at: https://filmthreat.com/features/candace-hilligoss-carnival-of-souls/ (Accessed: 10 October 2024).

Jones, A. (2021) Ari Aster: Director’s Cut. University of Texas Press.

Kerekes, D. (1998) Carnival of Souls: The Official History. Headpress.

McEnteggart, E. (2022) ‘Grief and Gender in Modern Horror: Pugh’s Performance’, Sight & Sound, 45(3), pp.34-39.

Phillips, W. (2017) Carnival of Souls and the Kansas Wave. Midnight Marquee Press.

Scorsese, M. (2020) ‘Why Carnival of Souls Haunts Me’, The New York Review of Books, 5 March. Available at: https://www.nybooks.com/articles/2020/03/05/martin-scorsese-carnival-souls/ (Accessed: 10 October 2024).