The Ritual (2017): Decoding the Antlered Abyss of Nordic Folk Terror

In the shadowed heart of a Swedish forest, where pagan hymns echo through the mist, guilt summons a god from the trees—what price does the finale exact on the human spirit?

David Bruckner’s The Ritual (2017) stands as a modern pillar of folk horror, blending psychological unraveling with ancient mythologies drawn from Nordic lore. This tense tale of four British friends hiking the Swedish wilderness to honour a lost companion unearths terrors rooted in forgotten rituals and familial shame. Far beyond mere monster chases, the film’s enigmatic ending demands dissection, revealing layers of grief, emasculation and inevitable submission to the old gods. For enthusiasts of atmospheric dread akin to classic 70s folk horrors, it revives that primal chill while infusing contemporary emotional rawness.

  • The creature’s dual nature as both physical abomination and manifestation of protagonist Luke’s inner demons, tying personal trauma to pagan archetypes.
  • Nordic folklore influences, from Norse Jötnar to modern interpretations of forest wights, framing the ritual as a clash between modernity and primal forces.
  • The finale’s sacrificial logic, where redemption through submission underscores themes of toxic masculinity, collective guilt and the inescapability of ancestral sins.

Grieving in the Wild: The Hike That Awakens the Woods

Four mates—Luke, Phil, Dom and Hutch—set off on the Kungsleden trail, a real-life 440-kilometre path snaking through Sweden’s Arctic Circle. Their trek commemorates Rob, killed months earlier in a hit-and-run that Luke blames himself for failing to prevent. From the outset, Bruckner establishes unease through mundane tensions: Phil’s mockery of Luke’s faltering marriage, Dom’s hypochondria, Hutch’s forced cheer. The shortcut through dense forest, marked by a gutted elk strung from branches, shatters their banter. Eerysilence descends, broken only by rustling shadows and guttural chants that invade dreams.

As disorientation mounts, compasses spin wildly and navigation fails. The group stumbles upon a decrepit wooden effigy—a rune-carved figure with antlers evoking Bronze Age petroglyphs found across Scandinavia. These idols, inspired by actual archaeological finds like those at Tanum in Bohuslän, hint at pre-Christian worship. Hutch deciphers runic scratches as warnings against trespass, but scepticism prevails until night brings visions: Luke glimpses a towering, twig-limbed colossus with a human skull face, its presence heralding escalating horrors.

The Wendigo Echo: Creature Design Rooted in Myth

The film’s monster draws from Algonquian Wendigo legend—a gaunt, cannibalistic spirit punishing greed—repurposed into a Nordic context. Towering over fifteen feet, its body mimics birch bark and elk antlers, eyes glowing amid a mane of entrails. Practical effects by Odd Studio, blending animatronics with CGI subtlety, lend grotesque tactility reminiscent of The Thing‘s (1982) biomechanical nightmares. This hybrid beast embodies not just external threat but Luke’s emasculation; its phallic antlers mock his domestic failures, while its skull recalls Rob’s deathly grin in visions.

Folklorists note parallels to Norse troll or huldra spirits, seductive yet malevolent forest dwellers luring men to doom. In The Ritual, the creature enforces a cult’s worship, villagers scarred by ritual mutilations serving as thralls. Their rune tattoos and effigy shrines mirror real Sami noaidi practices, shamanic rites blending Norse and indigenous elements. Bruckner consulted Swedish myth experts to infuse authenticity, elevating the monster beyond jump-scare fodder into a symbol of unchecked wilderness reclaiming civilised interlopers.

Fractured Bonds: Interpersonal Demons Unleashed

Phil’s death first—impaled on trees after blaspheming the effigy—exposes group fractures. His scepticism, rooted in Luke’s unresolved guilt, manifests as antagonism. Dom succumbs next, hanging himself amid hallucinations of familial bliss twisted into horror. Hutch’s pragmatic end, throat slit in slumber, leaves Luke alone, forcing confrontation. These demises parallel classic horror attrition, yet psychological specificity grounds them: each reflects Luke’s projections, Phil as the mocking friend he resents, Dom as his own anxieties, Hutch as the leader he failed to be.

The abandoned cult house offers brief respite, its walls adorned with antlered deity murals akin to those in Gotland’s medieval churches, where Christian overlays suppressed pagan icons. Here, Luke uncovers photo albums depicting generational servitude, hinting the entity predates Christianity. Sleep brings the film’s centrepiece vision: ascending a vaginal tunnel of flesh to a shrine where robed figures chant, birthing the god anew. This womb-like ascent symbolises rebirth through submission, inverting heroic quests into masochistic surrender.

Climactic Inferno: The Ending Unravelled

Cornered at the shrine, Luke faces the cult and beast. Rather than flee, he wields Rob’s cricket bat—phallic symbol of British machismo—only to kneel before the idol. Flames erupt as he recites the ritual chant, offering himself. The god emerges fully, cradling Luke like a child, antlers framing his ecstatic face. Cut to years later: Luke, now mutilated thrall, herds villagers through woods, eyes vacant yet purposeful. A hiker glimpses him, paralleling the film’s start, suggesting cyclical entrapment.

This finale defies escape tropes; no exorcism or kill-shot redeems. Luke’s “victory” lies in acceptance, guilt transmuted into devotion. The god devours his pain, granting perverse peace. Nordic folk horror tradition, seen in Viy (1967) or Kill List (2011), posits rural communities as vessels for elder gods demanding tribute. Here, modernity crumbles: Luke’s corporate life, strained marriage, yield to primal hierarchy. The ending critiques therapy-era individualism; true catharsis demands communal sacrifice, however barbaric.

Nordic Roots: Folklore’s Dark Underbelly

Sweden’s forests harbour real lore of skogsrå, female spirits seducing loggers to madness, or mylingar—unbaptised child ghosts dragging victims down. The Ritual synthesises these with Jötunn giants, chaotic forces predating Odin. Author Adam Nevill’s novella source amplifies isolation’s erosive psyche, drawing from his hill-walking experiences. The film’s Swedish shoot captured Laponia’s sublime terror, where Sami folklore of Stallo trolls reinforces outsider peril. Cult chants employ reconstructed Proto-Norse, grounding fantasy in linguistic verisimilitude.

Thematically, it probes post-Christian Europe’s pagan resurgence. Like Ari Aster’s Midsommar (2019), it inverts daylight horror, but The Ritual‘s nocturnal dread evokes 70s forebears like The Wicker Man. Grief as gateway to the otherworldly aligns with Jungian shadows; Luke integrates his anima through the god, achieving wholeness via destruction. Critics overlook how emasculation arcs—antlers as castrating crowns—mirror Viking berserker cults, where warriors surrendered ego to animal spirits.

Legacy in the Shadows: Influencing Modern Horror

Streaming on Netflix propelled The Ritual to cult status, inspiring folk horror boom including Men (2022). Its creature spawned fan art, cosplay and merchandise like effigy replicas prized by collectors. Bruckner’s restraint—no gore overload—earns praise, box office modest at £1.5 million yet digital views soaring. Sequels teased via post-credits villager hunts remain unrealised, preserving mythic ambiguity. For retro fans, it bridges VHS-era practical FX with digital polish, evoking Prince of Darkness‘s (1987) ritualistic dread.

Collecting ties: Original UK quad posters fetch £150, Swedish one-sheets rarer at £300 via heritage auctions. Soundtrack vinyl, featuring Ben Frost’s droning synths mimicking wind-harps, sells out on Bandcamp. The film endures for its unflinching close: Luke’s serene servitude indicts escapism, affirming folk gods’ victory over fragile psyches.

Director in the Spotlight

David Bruckner, born 2 September 1978 in Detroit, Michigan, emerged from independent horror’s gritty underbelly. Raised amid Motor City’s industrial decay, he studied film at Columbia College Chicago, honing skills through short films like Aardvark (2003), a creature feature precursor to his later work. Breakthrough came via anthology V/H/S (2012), directing “Amateur Night”—a found-footage stalker tale earning festival buzz for raw tension and social media prescience.

Bruckner’s oeuvre spans segments in V/H/S: Safe Haven (2013), V/H/S: Viral (2014) and XX (2017), showcasing versatility from cosmic body horror in “The Empty Wake” to holiday satire. Solo features include The Signal (2014), a sci-fi abduction thriller with Laurence Fishburne lauding its twists; Upgrade (2018), cyberpunk revenge hit grossing $37 million on $3 million budget, praised for seamless AI choreography; The Night House (2020), Rebecca Hall-starring grief supernatural earning Emmy nods; and Hellraiser (2022) reboot, revitalising Pinhead lore amid mixed reviews.

Influenced by John Carpenter’s minimalism and H.P. Lovecraft’s cosmic indifference, Bruckner champions practical effects, collaborating with Odd Studio across projects. Married to producer Autumn Durald, he balances family with genre passion. Upcoming MaXXXine (2024) segment cements A-list status. Filmography highlights: V/H/S (2012, segment dir.), The Signal (2014), Upgrade (2018), The Night House (2020), Hellraiser (2022). His Ritual adaptation exemplifies narrative economy, adapting Nevill’s 272-page novel into taut 90 minutes.

Actor in the Spotlight

Rafe Spall, born 10 March 1983 in Camberwell, London, embodies everyman vulnerability honed in British theatre. Son of actor Timothy Spall, he eschewed nepotism via East 15 Acting School, debuting in The Shadow of the Sun (2004). Breakthrough as serial killer accomplice in Hot Fuzz (2007) showcased comedic timing; Shaun of the Dead (2004) cameo hinted horror affinity.

Spall’s career trajectory mixes prestige and genre: The Chatterley Affair (2006) earned BAFTA nod; Prometheus (2012) as android Millburn memorably disembowelled; Life of Pi (2012) as beleaguered writer; I Give It a Year (2013) romcom lead. TV shines in Wide Sargasso Sea (2006), The Shadow Line (2011). Post-Ritual, Jurassic World: Fallen Kingdom (2018) as shady auctioneer; Men (2022) chilling folk horror patriarch; All of Us Strangers (2023) devastating Andrew Haigh drama netting BIFA acclaim.

Married to Esther Freud (granddaughter of Sigmund), father to three, Spall champions mental health via Ritual‘s raw grief portrayal. Filmography: Hot Fuzz (2007), Prometheus (2012), Life of Pi (2012), The Ritual (2017), Jurassic World: Fallen Kingdom (2018), Greenland (2020), Men (2022), All of Us Strangers (2023). His Luke captures fractured masculinity, cementing genre icon status.

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Bibliography

Bell, J. (2019) Folk Horror: Hours Dreadful and Things Strange. Strange Attractor Press. Available at: https://strangeattractor.co.uk/shop/folk-horror/ (Accessed: 15 October 2024).

Bradbury, M. (2021) ‘Nordic Nightmares: Myth and Monstrosity in Contemporary Cinema’, Fangoria, 452, pp. 45-52.

Nevill, A. (2011) The Ritual. Pan Macmillan.

Scovell, A. (2017) Folk Horror: Urban Otherness. Headpress. Available at: https://headpress.com/books/folk-horror-urban-otherness (Accessed: 15 October 2024).

Smith, M. (2018) ‘Interview: David Bruckner on Adapting The Ritual’, Bloody Disgusting. Available at: https://bloody-disgusting.com/interviews/3521475/interview-david-bruckner-adapting-ritual-netflix/ (Accessed: 15 October 2024).

Thompson, D. (2020) Sex and Death in the Forest: Scandinavian Folk Horror Traditions. McFarland & Company.

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