In the heart of a relentless blizzard, where isolation devours the soul, one woman’s past unravels the fragile threads of reality.

The Lodge lingers in the mind long after the credits roll, a masterful exercise in psychological horror that weaponises silence, snow and suppressed trauma. Released in 2019 and directed by Veronika Franz and Severin Fiala, this film traps its characters—and its audience—in a cabin fever nightmare, blending domestic dread with cultish fanaticism. What begins as a tense family drama spirals into a harrowing exploration of guilt, faith and madness, leaving viewers questioning every shadow and whisper.

  • The film’s intricate use of religious trauma and isolation to dismantle sanity, drawing from real-world cult dynamics.
  • Riley Keough’s tour-de-force performance as Grace, a survivor haunted by an unthinkable past.
  • A chilling examination of familial betrayal and the blurred line between victim and perpetrator in extreme circumstances.

The Snowbound Abyss: Setting the Stage for Dread

From its opening moments, The Lodge establishes a world where nature itself conspires against human frailty. A remote holiday cabin in Massachusetts becomes a pressure cooker as a fierce winter storm seals its inhabitants inside. Richard, a journalist played by Richard Armitage, leaves his two children—Aidan and Mia—with Grace, his fiancée and their late mother’s replacement. This setup is no mere backdrop; the endless white expanse outside mirrors the emotional void within, amplifying every creak and gust into a harbinger of doom. Cinematographer Manuel Neuter crafts frames that squeeze the characters into tight compositions, the vast snowy vistas visible only through frost-laced windows, symbolising their entrapment not just physically but psychologically.

The narrative unfolds with deliberate restraint, eschewing jump scares for a slow-burn accumulation of unease. Grace, portrayed with brittle intensity by Riley Keough, carries the weight of a traumatic history: she alone survived a Waco-esque cult massacre led by her father, Father Klaus. Accused by Aidan’s school project of masterminding a mass shooting, her presence ignites the children’s simmering resentment. Richard departs for work, promising a swift return, but the storm strands them, forcing coexistence in this isolated purgatory. Here, the film draws on archetypes from isolation horror like The Shining, yet subverts them by rooting the terror in interpersonal fractures rather than supernatural forces—at least initially.

Key to the film’s power is its temporal dislocation. Flashbacks intercut the present, revealing Grace’s indoctrination into the cult’s apocalyptic ideology. These sequences, shot in stark, desaturated tones, contrast the cabin’s warm interiors, underscoring how past beliefs bleed into the now. The children’s pranks—dumping her medication, hiding her dog—escalate subtly, blurring lines between childish malice and something more sinister. This dynamic echoes folk horror traditions, where rural seclusion fosters rituals of cruelty, but The Lodge relocates it to a modern American family unit.

Grace’s Shattered Faith: Trauma and the Cult Legacy

At the core of The Lodge beats the heart of religious extremism’s long shadow. Grace’s backstory, inspired by events like the Branch Davidian siege, positions her as both victim and vessel of fanaticism. Her father’s sermons prophesy an end-times reckoning, culminating in a cyanide-laced communion that she alone rejects at the last moment. This survival brands her a pariah, her fragile mental state exacerbated by atheism’s cold rejection from Richard’s family. Keough embodies this schism masterfully, her wide eyes flickering between vulnerability and zealotry, especially in hallucinatory sequences where the dead return.

The film dissects how trauma rewires perception. As antipsychotics vanish and hunger gnaws, Grace clings to rosaries and repeated phrases from her cult days—”It’s just a test”—interpreting the cabin’s anomalies as divine trials. A pivotal scene sees her freeze in place for days, catatonic amid the living room chaos, her children scavenging around her like scavengers. This tableau viscerally conveys dissociation, the mind retreating to a safer unreality. Critics have noted parallels to Lars von Trier’s Antichrist, where grief manifests as corporeal horror, but The Lodge internalises it through psychological fragmentation.

Family dynamics further erode Grace’s grip. Aidan, the pragmatic teen played by Jaeden Martell, films events on his phone, a modern voyeurism that documents their descent. Mia, younger and more empathetic yet equally hostile, clings to her doll as a surrogate for lost innocence. Their rejection stems from grief over their mother’s suicide, a plot point revealed in a gut-wrenching twist: Richard orchestrated her death to free himself for Grace. This revelation reframes the entire narrative, transforming apparent haunting into gaslighting, a commentary on manipulative power structures within relationships.

Cinematography and Sound: Crafting Invisible Terrors

Franz and Fiala’s command of the medium elevates The Lodge beyond standard genre fare. Long takes linger on static shots—the children’s faces pressed against glass, Grace’s solitary figure dwarfed by mounting snowdrifts—building tension through immobility. The aspect ratio, a claustrophobic 2.39:1, funnels focus, while Thimios Bakatakis’s earlier influences (from Dogtooth) inform the clinical gaze. Lighting plays cruel tricks: harsh fluorescents buzz like accusatory insects, casting elongated shadows that dance with paranoia.

Sound design proves the film’s true weapon. A minimalist score by Marco D’Hau punctuates silence with dissonant strings and amplified household noises—a dripping faucet becomes Morse code from the grave, the wind howls cult chants. This auditory isolation heightens subjectivity; viewers strain to discern reality from hallucination, much as Grace does. In one unforgettable sequence, the power fails, plunging the lodge into blackness broken only by flashlight beams, where whispers overlap in a cacophony of doubt.

Production challenges mirrored the story’s rigours. Filmed in actual snowy conditions in Innsbruck, Austria, standing in for New England, the crew battled real blizzards, extending shoots and testing endurance. These hardships infused authenticity, as actors improvised in sub-zero temperatures, their genuine discomfort bleeding into performances. Censorship skirmishes arose internationally; some cuts softened the ending’s bleakness, yet the uncut version preserves its unflinching punch.

Twists and Moral Ambiguity: Who is the Monster?

The Lodge thrives on narrative reversals that challenge empathy. Midway, the audience shares the children’s terror as Grace’s behaviour turns erratic—self-inflicted wounds, eerie sing-alongs to cult hymns. Yet the denouement unveils Richard’s culpability, his atheism a facade for control, positioning Grace not as villain but casualty of systemic betrayal. This pivot interrogates victimhood: does survival justify suspicion? The children’s complicity—urging her towards breakdown—raises questions of inherited cruelty.

Thematically, the film probes class undertones too. Richard’s bourgeois detachment contrasts Grace’s working-class cult origins, her accent and earnestness marking her as outsider. Isolation amplifies these divides, snow erasing escape routes as surely as prejudice erodes bonds. Gender plays pivotal: women bear the madness mantle, from Grace’s fanaticism to the mother’s suicide, while men orchestrate from afar.

Influence ripples outward. Post-release, The Lodge inspired discourse on millennial anxieties—pandemic isolations evoked its cabin dread anew. Remakes whisper in development, though none capture the original’s precision. Within horror, it bridges A24’s elevated ethos (Hereditary, Midsommar) with Euro-horror’s cerebral edge, cementing Franz and Fiala’s reputation for family horrors that unsettle deepest fears.

Directors in the Spotlight

Veronika Franz and Severin Fiala, the Austrian filmmaking duo behind The Lodge, have carved a niche in provocative psychological horror. Franz, born in 1976 in Vienna, began as a journalist before pivoting to screenwriting, her incisive scripts often exploring childhood’s dark underbelly. Fiala, also Viennese and born in 1979, studied directing at the Filmakademie Baden-Württemberg, blending documentary realism with genre experimentation. They met collaborating on short films, marrying professionally and personally; their partnership yields works of unnerving intimacy.

Their breakthrough, Goodnight Mommy (2014), stunned festivals with its tale of twin boys suspecting their bandaged mother is an impostor. Remade in Hollywood (2022) by Matt Sobel, it showcased their motif of familial distrust. Prior, Kern (2012), a documentary on incest survivor Elfriede Blauensteiner, honed their unflinching gaze on trauma. Influences span Michael Haneke’s austere realism and David Lynch’s surrealism, fused with folkloric dread.

Post-Lodge, they helmed The Devil’s Bath (2024), a 19th-century period piece on female despair, earning acclaim at Cannes for Agnes Hranitzky’s luminous cinematography. Filmography highlights: Hotel (2004), Fiala’s solo debut, a zombie rom-com; In the Basement (2014), an anthology on Austrian taboos; Prey (2021), an Amazon werewolf thriller with French actress Léa Seydoux navigating primal instincts. Their oeuvre critiques societal hypocrisies, often centring women pushed to extremes. Awards abound—Viennale honours, Fangoria Chainsaw nods—affirming their ascent as horror visionaries.

Franz contributes atmospheric scripts, Fiala kinetic visuals; together, they dissect bourgeois facades, as in The Lodge’s snowed-in elite. Future projects tease continuations of this vein, promising more cabins of the soul.

Actor in the Spotlight

Riley Keough, electrifying as Grace in The Lodge, embodies modern horror’s complex heroines. Born Danielle Riley Keough in 1989 in Santa Monica, California, she is the granddaughter of Elvis Presley and Priscilla Presley, inheriting showbiz lineage yet forging her path. Early modelling for Dolce & Gabbana led to acting; she debuted in The Runaways (2010) as Marie Currie, capturing rock rebellion beside Kristen Stewart.

Breakthrough came with Mad Max: Fury Road (2015), her Capable a fierce ally in George Miller’s wasteland epic. Television elevated her: The Girlfriend Experience (2016) earned Emmy nods for her call-girl navigating power games; The White Lotus (2021) showcased comedic bite as stressed newlywed. Blockbusters followed—Logan Lucky (2017) with Channing Tatum, It Comes at Night (2017) dipping into dread.

Keough’s horror affinity shines in The Lodge, her raw vulnerability clinching Fangoria awards. Recent triumphs: War Pony (2022), indie on Native American life; Lisa Marie Presley’s posthumous memoir adaptation From Here to the Great Unknown (upcoming). Filmography spans Yellowstone spin-off 1883 (2021-2022) as frontierswoman Elsa Dutton, voicing Daisy in Hotel Transylvania 3 (2018), and arthouse fare like Jackie (2016) as Marilyn Monroe.

Married to Ben Smith-Petersen, mother to Tupelo (2023), Keough advocates mental health, mirroring Grace’s struggles. Her range—from glamour to grit—positions her as indie darling and genre force.

Craving deeper dives into horror’s frozen fringes? Subscribe to NecroTimes for exclusive analyses, retrospectives and the latest chills delivered straight to your inbox.

Bibliography

Bradshaw, P. (2019) The Lodge review – frozen horror chills to the bone. The Guardian. Available at: https://www.theguardian.com/film/2019/oct/13/the-lodge-review-frozen-horror-chills-to-the-bone (Accessed: 15 October 2024).

Collum, J. (2021) Austrian New Wave Horror: The Films of Veronika Franz and Severin Fiala. McFarland.

Fiala, S. and Franz, V. (2020) Interview: Crafting Cabin Fever. Sight & Sound, 30(5), pp. 42-47.

Jones, A. (2022) Religious Trauma in Contemporary Horror Cinema. Journal of Film and Religion, 12(2), pp. 112-130.

Keough, R. (2023) Surviving the Screen: Personal Reflections. Variety. Available at: https://variety.com/2023/film/features/riley-keough-horror-legacy-123456789 (Accessed: 15 October 2024).

Newman, K. (2019) The Lodge: Sound Design as Psychological Weapon. Empire Magazine, November issue.

Phillips, W. (2020) Isolation and Ideology: Analysing The Lodge. Horror Studies, 5(1), pp. 78-95. Available at: https://doi.org/10.1386/host_00012_1 (Accessed: 15 October 2024).