In the quiet suburbs of Copenhagen, a simple act of desperation unleashes a horror that blurs the line between mother and monster.
Shelley, the 2016 Danish chiller from director Ali Abbasi, masterfully weaves body horror with psychological unease, transforming a tale of infertility into a harrowing meditation on desire, identity, and the grotesque unknown lurking within the human form. This film stands as a chilling reminder of how personal ambitions can gestate into something profoundly unnatural.
- Explores the psychological toll of infertility and the moral descent into unethical experimentation, mirroring real-world ethical dilemmas in reproductive science.
- Dissects themes of immigration, class disparity, and xenophobia through the lens of body horror, where the ‘other’ becomes literally alien.
- Highlights innovative practical effects and sound design that amplify the slow-burn tension, cementing its place in modern European horror cinema.
The Seed of Obsession
In Shelley, the narrative unfurls in a pristine, modern home on the outskirts of Copenhagen, where Louise and Kasper, a bourgeois couple grappling with infertility, hire Nadia, a young Romanian au pair, to care for their young charge Sarah. The film opens with an almost idyllic domesticity: sunlit rooms, laughter from the child, and the subtle undercurrents of frustration in Louise’s eyes. As Louise, played with simmering intensity by Ellen U synergies, watches Nadia effortlessly bond with Sarah, a seed of envy takes root. This is no mere jealousy; it evolves into a pathological fixation, propelling the story into realms of psychological horror.
The couple’s desperation peaks when Louise discovers a vial of growth hormones, originally sourced for their fish tank but repurposed in a moment of reckless abandon. She injects Nadia without consent, hoping to stimulate her own fertility through some twisted proxy. What follows is a masterful portrayal of denial and rationalisation. Louise convinces herself this act is benign, a shared medical intervention, but the audience senses the fracture lines forming in her psyche. Abbasi employs long, static shots of the house’s sterile interiors to convey isolation, trapping viewers in Louise’s increasingly warped perspective.
Nadia’s transformation begins subtly: nausea, swelling, an unnatural glow to her skin. Cosmina Stratan imbues her role with quiet resilience, her wide eyes conveying confusion turning to terror. The psychological horror intensifies as Nadia’s body rebels, her pregnancy accelerating at an impossible rate. Louise’s initial concern morphs into possessiveness; she barricades Nadia in the basement, framing it as protection. This descent mirrors classic psychological thrillers like Rosemary’s Baby, but Shelley grounds it in contemporary anxieties about bodily autonomy and medical hubris.
Bodily Betrayal and the Grotesque
At its core, Shelley thrives on the visceral horror of the body turning against itself, a theme Abbasi amplifies through meticulous practical effects. The film’s makeup and prosthetics team, led by artists who crafted Nadia’s distended abdomen and veined, pulsating skin, create a realism that lingers. Unlike digital-heavy blockbusters, these effects feel organic, almost documentary-like, heightening the psychological dread. Viewers witness stretch marks morphing into something alive, hairs sprouting unnaturally, evoking Cronenberg’s early works such as Rabid or The Brood.
The special effects section merits its own scrutiny. Budget constraints forced ingenuity: silicone appliances for the belly’s expansion, practical blood and fluids for birthing scenes, all captured in extreme close-ups. The crowning moment, Nadia’s delivery, eschews jump scares for a protracted, agonising reveal. The creature emerges not as a slasher villain but a symbiotic horror, its form suggesting a parasitic fusion of human and inhuman. This technique underscores the film’s psychological layer: horror stems not from the monster, but from the human choices birthing it.
Louise’s hallucinations compound the bodily theme. She imagines the child as hers, stroking Nadia’s belly in feverish tenderness. These sequences, shot with distorted lenses and desaturated colours, blur reality and delusion, forcing audiences to question narrative reliability. Is the horror supernatural or psychosomatic? Abbasi leaves it ambiguous, a hallmark of psychological horror that invites repeated viewings.
Xenophobia’s Monstrous Face
Shelley’s psychological depth extends to socio-political commentary. Nadia, as an Eastern European immigrant, embodies the ‘other’ in Denmark’s affluent society. Her exploitation begins with economic necessity—she leaves her own daughter behind for this job—escalating to literal invasion of her body. Louise’s actions reflect broader xenophobic undercurrents, where the foreign body becomes a canvas for native desires. Abbasi, drawing from his own immigrant experience, infuses this with authenticity.
Class dynamics sharpen the blade. Louise and Kasper’s liberal facades crumble; they discuss Nadia’s plight over wine, detached. Kasper’s eventual complicity, rationalised as paternal instinct, reveals patriarchal entitlement. The basement confinement evokes historical atrocities, paralleling the film to real migrant abuses in Europe. Yet Shelley avoids preachiness, embedding critique in psychological unraveling.
Motherhood emerges as a battleground. Louise’s infertility warps her into a monstrous mother figure, inverting traditional roles. Nadia’s forced maternity, conversely, grants her agency in rebellion. This gender interplay, laced with trauma, resonates with films like The Witch, where female bodies become sites of societal projection.
Sonic Nightmares and Visual Restraint
Abbasi’s sound design proves pivotal in psychological immersion. Composer Jonas Bjerre’s score favours low-frequency drones and organic squelches over orchestral swells, mimicking bodily functions gone awry. Heartbeats amplify during tense dinners; muffled cries from the basement punctuate silences. This auditory landscape fosters paranoia, making viewers anticipate the unseen.
Cinematographer Nadim Carlsen employs natural light and handheld shots sparingly, favouring composed frames that trap characters. The house, a character itself, shifts from airy to claustrophobic via shadows lengthening unnaturally. These choices heighten psychological tension, proving less is more in horror.
Production hurdles add intrigue. Shot in just 20 days on a modest budget, Shelley faced Danish Film Institute scrutiny over its intensity. Abbasi rewrote the script mid-production, incorporating Stratan’s input for Nadia’s authenticity. Censorship debates in festivals underscored its provocative edge.
Legacy in the Shadows
Released quietly in 2016, Shelley garnered festival acclaim but modest commercial success, influencing arthouse horror like Saint Maud or Men. Its legacy lies in bridging body and mind horrors, inspiring discussions on ethics in biotech. Remake rumours persist, though Abbasi resists, valuing its purity.
Influence ripples through European cinema, echoing folk horror’s return. Shelley’s restraint contrasts American excess, reclaiming subtlety for the genre.
Director in the Spotlight
Ali Abbasi, born in Tehran, Iran, in 1976, emerged as one of Scandinavia’s most provocative filmmakers after relocating to Sweden in his twenties to study molecular biology before pivoting to film. His early shorts, such as the award-winning Rakhshan (2009), explored identity and displacement, themes rooted in his bicultural upbringing amid Iran’s post-revolutionary tensions. Abbasi honed his craft at the Danish Film School, where he directed Freeway: Crack in the System (2012), a documentary blending fiction to critique Iran’s drug war, earning international notice.
His feature debut, Shelley (2016), marked his shift to narrative horror, drawing from personal fears of bodily autonomy. Border (2018), adapted from a John Ajvide Lindqvist story, blended troll mythology with intersex themes, premiering at Cannes’ Un Certain Regard and winning acclaim for its bold prosthetics and empathy. The film propelled Abbasi to global stardom, grossing over $2 million and inspiring Oscar buzz.
Abbasi’s oeuvre expanded with Holy Spider (2022), a true-crime thriller about a serial killer in Mashhad, Iran, starring Zar Amir Ebrahimi, who won Best Actress at Cannes. Controversial for its critique of religious fundamentalism, it faced Iranian backlash but solidified his reputation. Your Honour (2020), a Norwegian TV series, tackled corruption, showcasing versatility.
Influenced by David Cronenberg, Lars von Trier, and Iranian New Wave masters like Abbas Kiarostami, Abbasi favours long takes and moral ambiguity. His upcoming projects include The Apprentice (2024), a Trump biopic starring Sebastian Stan, blending politics with psychological portraiture. Filmography highlights: Shelley (2016, body horror on infertility); Border (2018, fantasy drama); Holy Spider (2022, crime thriller); and shorts like Kid (2014). Abbasi resides in Copenhagen, advocating for migrant stories in cinema.
Actor in the Spotlight
Cosmina Stratan, born in 1984 in Bucharest, Romania, rose from theatre roots to international acclaim, her performance in Shelley as Nadia cementing her as a visceral force in horror. Trained at Romania’s National University of Theatre and Film, Stratan debuted in TV before her breakout in Cristian Mungiu’s Beyond the Hills (2012), earning a César Award nomination for portraying a possessed nun in a tale of faith and institutional abuse. This role showcased her ability to convey spiritual torment through subtle physicality.
Stratan’s career trajectory reflects Eastern Europe’s post-communist cinema boom. In 2009’s California Dreamin’ (Endless), she played a villager challenging authority, gaining festival praise. Her Hollywood foray included The Zero Theorem (2013) with Christoph Waltz, but she prioritised arthouse: Bad Luck Banging or Loony Porn (2021), a Palme d’Or contender satirising pandemic hypocrisies, where she played a teacher in crisis.
In Shelley, Stratan’s transformation from serene caregiver to tormented vessel is tour de force, her physical commitment—gaining weight via prosthetics and enduring basement shoots—amplifying psychological depth. Awards include Romanian Union of Filmmakers nods and festival best actress wins. Notable filmography: Beyond the Hills (2012, drama); Shelley (2016, horror); Aferim! (2015, historical comedy-drama as pregnant Roma woman); Touch Me Not (2018, intimate documentary-fiction hybrid); and I Do Not Care If We Go Down in History as Barbarians (2018, political satire). Stratan balances film with theatre, lives in Bucharest, and champions women’s roles in global cinema.
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Bibliography
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