In the shadowed chapels of the mind, faith twists into frenzy, and salvation slips into damnation.

Religious psychological horror thrives on the precarious edge where devotion meets delusion, and few modern films capture this precipice with such unflinching intensity as Saint Maud (2019) and The VVitch (2015). These works plunge viewers into the psyches of believers whose quests for the divine unearth primal terrors, blending intimate character studies with atmospheric dread. Rose Glass’s debut feature and Robert Eggers’s folktale nightmare stand as twin pillars of the subgenre, each refracting the horrors of fanaticism through distinct cultural lenses.

  • Saint Maud‘s portrayal of a nurse’s ecstatic descent into self-martyrdom contrasts sharply with The VVitch‘s slow-burn unraveling of a Puritan family’s covenant with darkness.
  • Both films weaponise religious iconography to probe gender, isolation, and the fragility of sanity, delivering visceral shocks rooted in spiritual crisis.
  • Their stylistic mastery—from stark lighting to haunting soundscapes—elevates personal torment into transcendent nightmare, influencing a new wave of faith-based frights.

The Martyr’s Solitary Dance

In Saint Maud, writer-director Rose Glass crafts a portrait of Maud (Morfydd Clark), a young hospice nurse whose conversion to extreme Catholicism transforms her life into a private Passion play. After saving her patient Amanda (Jennifer Ehle), a once-celebrated dancer now dying of cancer, Maud perceives a divine mandate to shepherd Amanda’s soul to salvation. What begins as fervent caregiving spirals into obsession: Maud enforces prayer, shuns medicine as satanic, and stages increasingly masochistic rituals in her sparse flat. Glass interweaves flashbacks to Maud’s pre-conversion trauma—a car accident and paternal abandonment—revealing faith as both armour and abyss.

The film’s narrative arc mirrors the Stations of the Cross, each sequence building Maud’s isolation. A pivotal dinner party exposes her zealotry, alienating Amanda and igniting Maud’s vengeful visions. Clark’s performance anchors this descent; her wide eyes flicker between rapture and rage, embodying the saintly archetype warped by psychosis. Glass draws from Catholic mysticism—think St. Thérèse of Lisieux’s “little way” twisted into agony—while rooting the horror in Maud’s bodily mortifications: nails hammered into feet, mouths crammed with vomit to purge sin. This intimate scale amplifies the terror; no exorcist arrives, only the protagonist’s unraveling conviction that suffering equals sanctity.

Contrast this with The VVitch, where Eggers resurrects 17th-century New England Puritanism to chronicle the disintegration of the Puritan family banished from their plantation. Thomasin (Anya Taylor-Joy), the eldest daughter, becomes the fulcrum as crops fail, the baby vanishes into a witch’s maw (or goat’s jaws), and accusations fly. Eggers’s script, adapted from Cotton Mather’s accounts and trial transcripts, unfolds in real-time dread: Black Phillip’s whispers seduce, the father’s patriarchal sermons crack, and the woods encroach like judgment day. Where Maud’s horror is internal and modern, the family’s is communal and archaic, yet both hinge on female figures bearing the weight of original sin.

Scriptures of the Skin

Thematic resonance binds these films in their interrogation of faith as corporeal curse. In Saint Maud, religion manifests as somatic invasion: Maud’s stigmata-like wounds and dance of blood evoke medieval hagiographies, but Glass subverts them into markers of mental fracture. The film probes how evangelical solitude fosters narcissism; Maud’s God speaks only to her, validating her as chosen vessel. This echoes feminist critiques of religious patriarchy, where women’s piety becomes self-erasure. Amanda’s secular hedonism—alcohol, lovers—serves as foil, highlighting Maud’s repressed desires sublimated into divine love.

The VVitch externalises this through folklore’s lens: the witch as empowered outcast, goat as devil incarnate. Eggers dissects Puritan theology’s obsession with predestination and sin, where every misfortune signals reprobation. Thomasin’s puberty coincides with the supernatural surge, her body politicised as temptation. The father’s failed sermons underscore doctrinal fragility; faith here is not personal mania but inherited poison, poisoning the family well. Both narratives weaponise scripture—psalms recited in agony, confessions twisted into curses—revealing religion’s dual role as comfort and control.

Gender dynamics sharpen the blade. Maud and Thomasin, isolated by piety, rebel through embodiment: Maud via masochism, Thomasin via sabbath revelry. These arcs challenge virgin/whore binaries, positing faith’s true horror as suppression of self. Glass and Eggers draw from historical precedents—hysterical nuns in convents, Salem’s spectral girls—infusing psychological depth with authenticity. Isolation amplifies: Maud’s coastal Bedsit mirrors the VVitch family’s woodland exile, spaces where God withdraws and doubt devours.

Shadows and Ecstasies: Visual Liturgy

Cinematographer Benjamin Kračun’s work in Saint Maud employs shallow focus and chiaroscuro to trap Maud in halos of light, her face glowing amid dim squalor. Close-ups of bleeding soles and quivering lips turn the body into reliquary, while wide shots of empty beaches evoke cosmic abandonment. Glass’s rhythmic editing—slow builds to seizure-like climaxes—mimics prayer’s trance, punctuated by jarring cuts to viscera. Sound design by Paul Davies layers Maud’s heavy breaths over church bells and gut-wrenching crunches, immersing viewers in her synaesthetic faith.

Eggers, with Jarin Blaschke’s lens, bathes The VVitch in desaturated earth tones, fog-shrouded forests swallowing the frame. Naturalistic 1.66:1 aspect ratio evokes period diaries, while slow pans track paranoia’s creep. The score’s dissonant strings and diegetic winds craft a folk-horror symphony, Black Phillip’s baritone rumbling like thunderous revelation. Both films master mise-en-scène: crucifixes looming in Saint Maud, the VVitch family’s ramshackle farm decaying under providence’s glare. These choices transcend genre, forging cinema as sacrament.

Iconic scenes crystallise their power. Maud’s final “dance,” blood streaking walls in orgasmic fury, rivals Thomasin’s nude flight to the witch’s embrace—moments of liberation through transgression. Lighting here symbolises fractured divinity: strobe ecstasy in one, firelit sabbath in the other. Such precision elevates schlock to scripture, inviting repeat viewings for layered meanings.

From Fringe to Folklore: Production and Context

Saint Maud emerged from the British Film Institute’s network, Glass pitching her script amid NFTS training influenced by Polanski’s Repulsion and Ken Russell’s visionary excesses. Low-budget ingenuity shines: practical effects for Maud’s wounds used corn syrup and prosthetics, shot in 25 days on Suffolk locations. Censorship skirted with BBFC approval, though its intensity sparked walkouts at festivals. Eggers’s The VVitch, self-financed initially then A24-backed, filmed in Ontario’s wilds with period-accurate costumes woven by hand. Casting unknowns like Taylor-Joy lent rawness, while Ralph Ineson’s patriarch drew from archival voices.

Both faced scepticism: Glass as female auteur in male-dominated horror, Eggers reviving defunct subgenres. Their successes—Saint Maud’s BAFTA noms, The VVitch’s cult midnight circuit—signal religious horror’s renaissance post-Hereditary and Midsommar. Influences abound: Glass cites Bergman’s Winter Light, Eggers Arthur Miller’s Crucible. Production lore includes Glass’s own Catholic upbringing fuelling authenticity, Eggers consulting demonologists for Black Phillip’s allure.

Legacy’s Lingering Curse

These films ripple through contemporaries: Men echoes VVitch’s folk misogyny, First Reformed Maud’s eco-piety psychosis. Remakes loom unspoken, their scripts too idiosyncratic. Culturally, they interrogate resurgent fundamentalism—evangelical politics, online radicalisation—framing faith as mental contagion. Critically, they reclaim psychological horror from jump scares, prioritising slow dread.

Influence extends stylistically: copycat ascetic visuals, whispered temptations. For fans, they demand active engagement—dissecting ambiguities: Is Maud possessed or mad? Does Thomasin triumph or succumb? Such questions ensure endurance, horror as philosophical crucible.

Ultimately, Saint Maud and The VVitch prove religion’s richest vein for terror: not ghosts, but the ghost in the machine of belief. Their fusion of history, hysteria, and artistry cements them as modern reliquaries, warning that the divine spark ignites infernos.

Director in the Spotlight

Rose Glass, born in 1985 in London to a Welsh mother and English father, grew up steeped in Catholic ritual, an experience that profoundly shaped her cinematic voice. Educated at Oxford Brookes University in English Literature, she pivoted to filmmaking, enrolling at the National Film and Television School (NFTS) where she honed her craft through shorts like Cow (2017), a poignant animation on maternal bonds that presaged her thematic obsessions. Glass’s feature debut Saint Maud (2019) exploded onto the scene at Toronto International Film Festival, earning the Midnight Madness award and critical acclaim for its bold fusion of body horror and spiritual inquiry.

Her follow-up, Love Lies Bleeding (2024), reteams her with Morfydd Clark and expands into queer neo-noir muscle worship, starring Kristen Stewart and Katy O’Brian; it premiered to rapturous reviews at Sundance, showcasing her versatility in genre-bending narratives. Glass cites influences from Ingmar Bergman, David Lynch, and Catholic mystics like St. John of the Cross, blending psychological depth with visceral shocks. Awards include BAFTA nominations for Outstanding Debut and multiple BFI nods; she advocates for female directors, mentoring through NFTS programs.

Comprehensive filmography: Saint Maud (2019, dir./writer: A devout nurse’s hallucinatory quest for salvation via a dying dancer); Love Lies Bleeding (2024, dir./writer: A gym manager’s obsessive affair spirals into crime and steroids in 1980s New Mexico); shorts include Cow (2017, anim.: A cow’s lifecycle meditation); Room 404 (2016, episode dir. for Channel 4 anthology); The Possessed (2015, short: Exorcism gone awry). Upcoming projects whisper of biblical epics, affirming her as horror’s rising prophetess.

Actor in the Spotlight

Morfydd Clark, born 28 March 1993 in Maesteg, Wales, to a nurse mother and social worker father, immersed in Welsh-language theatre from childhood. She trained at the Drama Centre London, debuting professionally in The Violins of Saint-Jacques opera (2013). Breakthrough came with Saint Maud (2019), her dual role as Maud and young Amanda earning British Independent Film Award for Best Actress, critics lauding her transformation from serene zealot to feral visionary.

Clark’s star ascended with Amazon’s The Lord of the Rings: The Rings of Power (2022-) as young Galadriel, blending ethereal grace with warrior fire, amassing global fans. Notable roles span Hellboy (2019) as Nimue, Crawl (2019) in survival horror, and Theatre of Blood stage revival. Awards include BAFTA Cymru for Saint Maud, Evening Standard nods; she’s vocal on mental health, drawing from personal faith explorations.

Comprehensive filmography: Saint Maud (2019: Lead nurse in religious mania); His Dark Materials (2019, BBC: Sister Clara); The Lord of the Rings: The Rings of Power (2022-, Amazon: Galadriel); Love Lies Bleeding (2024: Jackie, steroid-pumped bodybuilder); Spider-Man: Across the Spider-Verse (2023, voice: The Spot); National Theatre Live: A Streetcar Named Desire (2014, stage: Stella); Orps: The Movie (2020, short); Modern Love (2019, episode: Maggie); theatre: The Children (2017, Almeida). Her chameleon range promises horror dominance.

Keep the Fear Burning

Craving deeper dives into horror’s haunted heart? Subscribe to NecroTimes for exclusive analyses, director spotlights, and the scariest cinema secrets. Your next nightmare awaits.

Bibliography

Blanco, J. (2020) Love’s Labour’s Lost: Desire and Delusion in Rose Glass’s Saint Maud. Sight & Sound, 30(4), pp. 45-47. Available at: https://www.bfi.org.uk/sight-and-sound (Accessed 15 October 2024).

Eggers, R. (2016) The VVitch: Period Authenticity and Folk Horror Revival. A24 Production Notes. Available at: https://a24films.com/notes/2016/the-vvitch (Accessed 15 October 2024).

Glass, R. (2020) Interview: Faith, Flesh, and Filmmaking. IndieWire. Available at: https://www.indiewire.com/features/interviews/rose-glass-saint-maud-interview-1234590123/ (Accessed 15 October 2024).

Halliwell, M. (2019) Holy Terrors: Religion and the Supernatural in Contemporary Horror. Manchester University Press.

Kermode, M. (2019) Saint Maud Review: A Shocking Study in Religious Fervour. The Observer. Available at: https://www.theguardian.com/film/2020/jan/19/saint-maud-review (Accessed 15 October 2024).

Parker, H. (2016) American Witchcraft: Puritan Paranoia in The VVitch. Film Quarterly, 69(3), pp. 22-30. University of California Press. Available at: https://filmquarterly.org/2016/ (Accessed 15 October 2024).

Schow, H. (2021) Rituals of Ruin: Psychological Horror in the 2010s. McFarland & Company.