Pagan Rites and Island Nightmares: Dissecting The Wicker Man and Apostle

When pious outsiders stumble into pagan strongholds, the line between salvation and slaughter blurs in these folk horror masterpieces.

Folk horror thrives on the collision between civilisation and the primal unknown, where isolated communities harbour secrets that devour the uninitiated. Robin Hardy’s The Wicker Man (1973) and Gareth Evans’s Apostle (2018) stand as towering pillars in this subgenre, each summoning the terror of forgotten gods through rituals both seductive and savage. This comparison unearths their shared obsessions with faith, sacrifice and the uncanny rural idyll, revealing how a British classic paved the way for a visceral modern successor.

  • The Wicker Man’s pioneering blend of music, mockery and mounting dread establishes folk horror’s blueprint.
  • Apostle amplifies the formula with graphic brutality and ecological undertones in a rain-soaked Welsh hellscape.
  • Juxtaposed, they illuminate evolving tensions between Christianity and pagan revivalism across decades.

Summerisle’s Seductive Spell

In The Wicker Man, Sergeant Neil Howie, a devout Christian policeman played with rigid intensity by Edward Woodward, flies to the remote Hebridean island of Summerisle to investigate a missing girl. What begins as a routine inquiry spirals into a confrontation with a hedonistic pagan society led by the charismatic Lord Summerisle, portrayed by Christopher Lee. The islanders, under the guise of fertility rites, celebrate life through song, dance and unabashed sexuality, mocking Howie’s puritanism at every turn. Paul Giovanni’s folk score weaves through phallic maypole dances and nude rituals, turning the picturesque landscape into a trap of temptation.

Hardy’s film masterfully builds unease without a drop of blood until the finale. Howie’s investigation uncovers layers of deception: the missing Rowan is not abducted but hidden as part of a sacrificial ruse to appease the gods after crop failures. The islanders’ communal harmony, enforced by ancient customs, contrasts sharply with Howie’s solitary faith. Every encounter – from the schoolteacher’s lessons on reincarnation to Willow’s erotic overtures – erodes his resolve, culminating in his horrifying immolation inside the titular wicker man statue, a colossal effigy burning atop a cliff as the community sings in exultation.

This narrative arc hinges on the outsider’s alienation. Howie represents Enlightenment rationality clashing with pre-Christian atavism, his logbook entries chronicling the descent from scepticism to horror. The film’s production history adds intrigue: originally backed by British Lion Films, it faced cuts and was rediscovered as a horror touchstone after The Exorcist primed audiences for the profane.

The Muddy Altars of Apostle

Apostle transplants the folk horror template to 1905 Britain, where Thomas Richardson (Dan Stevens), a disgraced aristocrat, infiltrates a cult on a remote island off the Welsh coast. Posing as a convert, he seeks his abducted sister from the collective led by the enigmatic Prophet Malie (Michael Sheen). Evans, known for martial arts ferocity in The Raid, pivots to slow-burn dread, revealing the cult’s deity as a colossal, worm-like entity named the Grinevere, sustained by human blood offerings amid a barren, storm-lashed terrain.

The plot thickens as Thomas uncovers the island’s fragile ecology: neglectful farming has starved the goddess, prompting ever-escalating sacrifices. Fionn’s forbidden romance and the heretic Jeremy’s whispers expose fractures within the flock. Violence erupts in graphic fashion – throats slit over troughs, bodies pulped in ritual grinders – contrasting the suggestion of its predecessor. Stevens’s performance captures Thomas’s unraveling, his missionary zeal mirroring Howie’s but tainted by personal sins and hallucinatory visions.

Evans shot on location in Wales, embracing the mud and rain to evoke a primordial soup. The cult’s ramshackle huts and inbred livestock underscore decay, while the goddess’s lair, a cavern pulsing with tentacles, delivers body horror on an epic scale. Netflix’s backing allowed uncompromised gore, positioning Apostle as a bridge between folk subtlety and extreme cinema.

Outsiders Adrift in Hostile Edens

Both protagonists embody the intruder archetype central to folk horror, their urban piety ill-suited to rustic fanaticism. Howie arrives by seaplane, scandalised by the islanders’ nudism and polytheism; Thomas rows ashore in disguise, haunted by his colonial past. This setup echoes the subgenre’s roots in M.R. James’s ghost stories, where rational visitors unearth buried paganism.

Yet divergences sharpen the comparison. Howie’s innocence blinds him to the conspiracy, his Christianity a shield that crumbles under mockery. Thomas, battle-scarred from missionary work in China, harbours violence; his infiltration devolves into mutual savagery, allying with dissidents against the cult. Where Hardy sustains suspense through dialogue and song, Evans unleashes chaos, Thomas wielding an axe in blood-soaked rampages.

Social commentary permeates both. Summerisle satirises 1970s counterculture, its free love a velvet glove over coercion. Apostle probes imperialism’s fallout, the cult’s agrarian socialism a warped response to industrial exploitation, with the goddess symbolising exploited nature rebelling.

Sacrifices That Bind the Faithful

Sacrifice forms the bloody heart of each tale, elevating personal loss to communal salvation. In The Wicker Man, Howie’s kingly virgin status – chaste, brave, a fool – makes him the perfect solar deity offering, his burning a pagan Eucharist inverting Christian martyrdom. The film’s anthropological accuracy draws from Fraser’s The Golden Bough, blending Celtic lore with invented rites for authenticity.

Apostle literalises consumption: devotees drink goddess milk, their bodies mutating into grotesque hybrids. Thomas’s sister becomes the ultimate vessel, her immolation averted only for greater carnage. Evans expands on wicker-burning imagery with flaming effigies and mass suicides, critiquing blind devotion in an era of emerging cults.

These rituals interrogate faith’s fanatic edge. Both films posit paganism not as backward but vibrantly alive, Christianity the brittle interloper. Howie’s final hymn amid flames underscores tragic irony; Thomas’s survival damns him to witness apocalypse.

Symphonies of the Supernatural

Sound design distinguishes these horrors, weaponising folk music against intruders. The Wicker Man‘s soundtrack, blending traditional Scottish airs with original ditties like “Corn Rigs,” permeates the island psyche, lulling Howie into false security before overwhelming him. The communal singing builds hypnotic dread, voices rising in the wicker climax like a choral execution.

Apostle counters with industrial groans and squelching viscera, the goddess’s roars a subsonic rumble. Percussion mimics heartbeats, choral chants warp into dissonance. Evans layers ambient storm howls with ritual drums, heightening isolation. Both scores immerse viewers in cult mentality, music as coercive force.

Landscapes That Devour

Cinematography transforms verdant idylls into prisons. Hardy’s sun-drenched Summerisle, shot in Dumfries and Galloway, glows with deceptive beauty: blooming orchards hide altars, cliffs frame doom. Composed frames evoke Hammer horrors, golden hour light romanticising paganism.

In contrast, Apostle‘s sodden vistas, lensed by Michael Woodhouse, churn with filth. Handheld shots plunge into mud, wide angles dwarf humans against jagged coasts. The goddess’s burrow, bioluminescent and labyrinthine, rivals Alien‘s nests, nature weaponised through Dutch angles and shadows.

Gore Evolved: From Shadow to Splatter

Special effects mark temporal shifts. The Wicker Man relies on practical ingenuity: the 40-foot wicker man, constructed from willow, burned convincingly through matte work and models. Minimal blood prioritises psychological torment, influences from witchcraft trials lending verisimilitude.

Apostle revels in prosthetics and CGI: the goddess’s form, a fusion of practical tentacles by Odd Studio and digital enhancements, pulses realistically. Make-up transforms cultists into boils and barnacles, gore sequences – impalements, eviscerations – employing squibs and animatronics for visceral punch. Evans’s effects homage The Thing, mutating bodies as metaphor for corrupted faith.

Legacies Woven in Straw and Blood

The Wicker Man birthed the ‘unholy trinity’ of folk horror alongside Witchfinder General and Blood on Satan’s Claw, inspiring Midsommar and Kill List. Its 1973 cut endures as cult artefact, sequels paling beside the original.

Apostle, streaming amid folk revival, nods explicitly – wicker masks abound – bridging to The Ritual. Evans revitalises the template for gore-hungry audiences, its Netflix reach globalising niche terror.

Together, they affirm folk horror’s potency: rural retreats conceal abyssal depths, faith twists into monstrosity. Howie’s scream and Thomas’s rage echo eternally.

Director in the Spotlight: Robin Hardy

Robin Hardy, born on 2 October 1929 in Surrey, England, emerged from a privileged background, educated at Rugby School and Oxford University, where he read English literature. His early career spanned theatre and television, directing arts programmes for the BBC before venturing into features. Influenced by Powell and Pressburger’s romanticism and Hitchcock’s suspense, Hardy infused horror with literary depth and visual poetry.

His breakthrough arrived with The Wicker Man (1973), a passion project co-developed with playwright Anthony Shaffer. Despite studio interference – producer Michael Deeley recut it into a disaster reel – it gained acclaim upon rediscovery. Hardy followed with The Fantasist (1986), an Irish ghost story starring Moira Harris, exploring repressed sexuality. The Wicker Tree (2011), his belated sequel, reteamed Christopher Lee as a new Lord Summerisle, critiquing American evangelicalism through Texan interlopers, though critically divisive.

Hardy directed documentaries like Dangerous Davies: The Last Detective (1981) TV film and penned novels adapting his scripts. Knighted for services to film? No, he received genre accolades, passing on 1 July 2016. His oeuvre champions British folklore against modernity, legacy cemented by The Wicker Man‘s influence on Ari Aster and Robert Eggers.

Filmography highlights: The Wicker Man (1973) – pagan musical horror; The Fantasist (1986) – psychological thriller; The Wicker Tree (2011) – folk horror sequel; shorts like Land of the Eagle (BBC series, 1976) on wildlife mythology.

Actor in the Spotlight: Dan Stevens

Daniel Jonathan Stevens, born 10 October 1982 in Croydon, England, overcame a troubled youth marked by parental abandonment, finding solace in theatre at Tonbridge School and the National Youth Theatre. Cambridge University honed his craft in Much Ado About Nothing, leading to West End roles in The Vortex (2008). Breakthrough came as Matthew Crawley in ITV’s Downton Abbey (2012-2015), his death sparking outrage.

Hollywood beckoned with The Guest (2014), a neon-soaked actioner showcasing charisma. Genre turns followed: Beauty and the Beast (2017) as the Beast, Godzilla: King of the Monsters (2019) voicing a terrorist. Apostle (2018) marked his horror pivot, Stevens’s feral intensity anchoring Evans’s vision. Recent credits include Eurovision Song Contest: The Story of Fire Saga (2020) comedy and I’m Thinking of Ending Things (2020) surrealism.

Awards elude him majorly, but Olivier nomination for Treasure Island (2007) and Emmy nods affirm versatility. Married to South African jazz singer Susie Hariet, father of three, Stevens balances family with prolific output.

Filmography highlights: Downton Abbey (TV, 2010-2015) – romantic lead; The Guest (2014) – psychopathic soldier; Apostle (2018) – cult infiltrator; The Rental (2020) – thriller ensemble; Gaslit (TV, 2022) – Watergate dramatisation; Jerusalem (upcoming) – stage revival.

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Bibliography

Evans, G. (2018) Apostle Director’s Commentary. Netflix Audio Track.

Hardy, R. and Shaffer, A. (1978) The Wicker Man. Lorrimer Publishing. Available at: https://lorrimerpublishing.com (Accessed: 15 October 2023).

McCabe, B. (2003) The Making of The Wicker Man. FAB Press.

Scovell, A. (2017) Folk Horror: Hours Dreadful and Things Strange. Author.

Smith, M. (2019) ‘Folk Horror Revival: Apostle and the New Pagan Cinema’, Sight & Sound, 29(5), pp. 45-49. British Film Institute.

Wilkins, G. (2021) Ritual and the Reel: Sacrifice in British Folk Horror. University of Exeter Press.