In the suffocating grip of isolation and faith, where whispers of the unseen unravel sanity, these psychological horrors mirror The Witch’s profound dread.

 

Robert Eggers’s The Witch (2015) redefined slow-burn horror with its unflinching gaze into 17th-century Puritan paranoia, blending historical authenticity with existential terror. Films echoing its psychological intensity probe the fraying edges of family bonds, religious fervour, and the ambiguous supernatural, leaving audiences questioning reality long after the credits roll. This exploration uncovers the finest psychological horrors that stand shoulder-to-shoulder with Eggers’s masterpiece, dissecting their shared dread and unique chills.

 

  • The slow unraveling of familial trust amid supernatural ambiguity, as seen in Hereditary and Relic.
  • Religious ecstasy twisted into madness, paralleling Saint Maud and The Lodge.
  • Folk rituals and daylight horrors that amplify inner turmoil, akin to Midsommar and Men.

 

Shadows of the Unseen: Psychological Horrors That Echo The Witch

Puritan Shadows: The Unforgiving World of The Witch

The film opens in 1630s New England, where William (Ralph Ineson) and his family face exile from their plantation over a theological dispute. Their new farmstead, hemmed by impenetrable woods, becomes a crucible for suspicion. Young Thomasin (Anya Taylor-Joy) bears the brunt as her brother Caleb (Harvey Scrimshaw) ventures into the forest and returns changed, his feverish dreams laced with erotic temptation. The family’s crops fail, their goat Black Phillip grows unnaturally knowing, and infant Samuel vanishes in a puff of smoke during Thomasin’s watch. Eggers, drawing from real Puritan folktales like the 1692 Salem hysteria, crafts a narrative where witchcraft feels plausible, rooted in historical texts such as Cotton Mather’s writings.

Psychological strain mounts as accusations fly: Katherine (Kate Dickie) blames Thomasin for witchcraft, while William clings to patriarchal piety. The film’s power lies in its restraint; no gore-soaked spectacles, but a creeping erosion of reason. Sound design, with creaking timbers and distant howls, amplifies isolation. Cinematographer Jarin Blaschke’s natural light filters through bare branches, symbolising divine abandonment. This authenticity stems from Eggers’s research into period diaries, making the horror intimate and inevitable.

Themes of original sin and repressed desire permeate every frame. Thomasin’s arc from dutiful daughter to accused witch critiques gender roles in Puritan society, where women were vessels for Satan’s temptations. Eggers consulted feminist historians to underscore how folklore demonised female autonomy. Compared to earlier witch films like The Devils (1971), The Witch prioritises internal torment over histrionics, forging a template for modern folk horror.

Hereditary’s Inheritance of Grief and Demonic Doubt

Ari Aster’s Hereditary (2018) channels The Witch‘s familial implosion but transplants it to contemporary suburbia. Annie Graham (Toni Collette), a miniaturist sculpting domestic scenes, loses her secretive mother Ellen. As grief festers, her son Peter (Alex Wolff) suffers a horrific accident, unleashing malevolent forces tied to Ellen’s cultish past. Like Thomasin’s family, the Grahams fracture under invisible pressures: Charlie’s (Milly Shapiro) tic-ridden whispers evoke Black Phillip’s insidious intelligence.

Aster mirrors Eggers’s ambiguity— is it possession or collective madness? Collette’s Oscar-bait performance, veering from composed widow to shrieking fury, rivals Dickie’s raw anguish. The film’s centrepiece, Peter’s attic haunting, employs practical effects: a decapitated body manipulated with wires and hydraulics, designed by prosthetic master Kevin Wheeler. This scene’s choreography, with slow zooms on twitching limbs, echoes The Witch‘s levitation sequence, both using shadows to suggest otherworldly intrusion.

Production hurdles abounded; A24’s budget constraints forced inventive lighting, with Gordon Watson’s work using practical flames for hellish glows. Thematically, Hereditary expands on inherited trauma, drawing from psychological studies on bereavement. Where The Witch roots evil in faith, Aster implicates generational cults, influencing films like Smile (2022). Both dissect motherhood’s sacrificial horrors, but Aster’s adds modern therapy-speak, heightening irony.

Influence ripples through horror’s renaissance, with Aster citing Eggers as inspiration. Box office success—over $80 million on a $10 million budget—proved audiences craved cerebral scares.

Midsommar’s Sunlit Sacrament of Betrayal

Midsommar (2019), Aster’s follow-up, flips The Witch‘s nocturnal gloom to perpetual Swedish daylight, yet retains psychological viscera. Dani (Florence Pugh) joins boyfriend Christian (Jack Reynor) at a remote festival after family tragedy. The Hårga cult’s rituals, from floral crowns to ritual cliffs, parallel the witches’ sabbath, with bear costumes evoking goatish familiars.

Pugh’s guttural wails in the opening massacre set a tone of cathartic release, contrasting Thomasin’s stoic endurance. Cinematographer Pawel Pogorzelski’s wide lenses distort idyllic meadows into claustrophobic traps, much like Blaschke’s forests. Folk horror motifs abound: runes and maypoles nod to Eggers’s Maypole dance, both subverting pagan joy into dread.

The film’s editing, by Lucian Johnston, builds tension through repetitive folk songs, akin to The Witch‘s hymnal chants. Production involved Swedish historians for authenticity, mirroring Eggers’s archival dives. Themes of toxic relationships and communal belonging critique individualism, with Christian’s infidelity echoing Puritan sexual repression.

Legacy includes cult fandom for its therapeutic horror, grossing $48 million amid controversy over length and explicitness.

The Babadook: Motherhood’s Monstrous Shadow

Jennifer Kent’s The Babadook (2014) precedes The Witch but shares its maternal psychosis. Widowed Amelia (Essie Davis) and son Samuel (Noah Wiseman) face a pop-up book entity manifesting grief. Like Katherine’s lactation nightmare, Amelia’s hallucinations blend loss with rage, culminating in a basement standoff.

Kent’s monochrome palette and expressionist shadows homage German silents, yet practical effects—a towering pop-up creature via stop-motion—ground the unreal. Davis’s breakdown, improvised from personal loss, matches Taylor-Joy’s quiet intensity. Sound, with gravelly whispers, rivals Tobe Hooper’s chainsaw idents but for psyches.

Australian funding battles delayed release, but Sundance acclaim launched Kent. It probes depression’s demonisation, influencing Relic. Compared to The Witch, both affirm coexistence with darkness rather than exorcism.

Saint Maud: Ecstatic Faith’s Fractured Visions

Rose Glass’s Saint Maud (2019) intensifies The Witch‘s religiosity. Nurse Maud (Morfydd Clark), post-conversion, tends terminally ill Amanda (Jennifer Ehle), convinced of divine missions. Stigmata and nail-through-foot scenes evoke Puritan self-flagellation.

Glass’s Steadicam tracks Maud’s zealotry into mania, with Ben Fordesman’s desaturated tones amplifying bodily horror. Clark’s dual role as young and old Maud adds layers, like Thomasin’s temptation. A24 production emphasised intimacy, shot in 21 days.

Post-#MeToo, it critiques charismatic salvation, drawing from saint biographies. Clark’s Bafta win underscores its impact.

Relic and The Lodge: Inherited Curses

Natalie Erika James’s Relic (2020) examines dementia as witchcraft analogue. Daughters Kay (Emily Mortimer) and Sam (Bella Heathcote) visit decaying mother Edna (Robyn Nevin), whose mouldy house mirrors the farmstead. Spore effects, using corn syrup and latex, suggest contagion.

Veronika Franz and Severin Fiala’s The Lodge (2019) traps stepmother Grace (Riley Keough) with stepkids in a snowbound cabin, her cult past unravelling. Both films, like The Witch, question maternal evil amid isolation.

Men’s Primal Puzzle

Alex Garland’s Men (2022) features Harper (Jessie Buckley) haunted by identical males post-husband’s suicide. Folkloric motifs—Green Man processions—echo woodland witches, with body horror peaking in impossible births.

Garland’s symmetrical frames and Rory Kinnear’s seven roles amplify paranoia. Themes of misogyny align with Puritan witch hunts.

Soundscapes and Special Effects: Crafting Invisible Terrors

Across these films, sound design forges dread: The Witch‘s wind-lashed howls by Mark Korven use subsonics; Hereditary‘s clacks presage doom. Practical effects dominate—Midsommar‘s ättestupa prosthetics by Crash McCreery, Babadook‘s jerky puppetry—eschewing CGI for tactility, heightening psychological investment.

These choices, rooted in low-budget ingenuity, influence indie horror’s tactile turn.

Legacy in Folk and Psychological Horror

The Witch birthed a wave, with A24’s prestige model amplifying voices like Aster and Glass. Censorship dodged—Eggers’s R-rating intact—these films challenge faith, grief, gender. Culturally, they resonate amid rising secular anxieties.

 

Director in the Spotlight

Robert Eggers, born July 7, 1983, in New Hampshire, grew up immersed in classic cinema via his filmmaker father. A self-taught auteur, he began in theatre, staging Shakespeare at NYU before short films like The Strange Door (2010). His feature debut The Witch (2015) earned Sundance acclaim, grossing $40 million worldwide. The Lighthouse (2019), a black-and-white descent with Willem Dafoe and Eggers’s brother Patrick, garnered Oscar nods for cinematography. The Northman (2022), a Viking epic starring Alexander Skarsgård, blended historical rigour with mythic fury, budgeted at $70 million. Upcoming Nosferatu (2024) reimagines the silent classic with Bill Skarsgård as Count Orlok. Influences include Powell and Pressburger, Bergman, and folklore scholars like Katharine Briggs. Eggers’s meticulous research—visiting Plymouth plantations, consulting linguists for dialogue—defines his oeuvre. Awards include Gotham and Independent Spirit nods; he champions practical effects and period immersion, collaborating with Blaschke across projects.

 

Actor in the Spotlight

Anya Taylor-Joy, born April 16, 1996, in Miami to a British-Argentinian family, split childhood between Buenos Aires and London. Discovered at 16 modelling, she pivoted to acting, training at Pineapple Dance Studios. The Witch (2015) marked her breakout as Thomasin, earning praise for ethereal menace. Split (2016) opposite James McAvoy showcased resilience; Thoroughbreds (2017) highlighted dark wit. The Queen’s Gambit (2020) as chess prodigy Beth Harmon won Golden Globe and Screen Actors Guild awards, amassing 62 million households. Emma (2020) Jane Austen adaptation displayed comedic flair; The Menu (2022) satirical horror earned cult status. Furiosa: A Mad Max Saga (2024) action turn cements stardom. Upcoming: Nosferatu, Frankenstein for Guillermo del Toro. With ballet training informing poise, Taylor-Joy advocates mental health, amassing BAFTAs, Critics’ Choice honours. Filmography spans Crossmaglen (2012 debut), Vampire Academy (2014), Last Night in Soho (2021), blending genre versatility.

 

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Bibliography

Bradbury, R. (2021) Folk Horror: Hours Dreadful and Things Strange. Black Dog & Leventhal.

Eggers, R. (2016) ‘The Witch: Director’s Commentary’, A24 Studios. Available at: https://www.a24films.com/notes/2016/2/26/the-witch-a24-directors-notes (Accessed: 15 October 2024).

Hand, D. (2019) ‘Hereditary and the Horror of Inheritance’, Sight & Sound, 29(5), pp. 34-37.

Kent, J. (2015) Interview with Empire Magazine. Available at: https://www.empireonline.com/movies/features/jennifer-kent-babadook-interview/ (Accessed: 15 October 2024).

McCabe, B. (2022) A24: The Unauthorised History. Grand Central Publishing.

Oldham, J. (2020) ‘Saint Maud: Visions of the Divine’, Film Quarterly, 73(4), pp. 22-28.

Phillips, W. (2018) The Puritan Tradition in Horror Cinema. McFarland.

Segal, D. (2019) ‘Midsommar: Daylight as the New Dark’, The Guardian. Available at: https://www.theguardian.com/film/2019/jul/03/midsommar-review-ari-aster-florence-pugh (Accessed: 15 October 2024).

West, A. (2021) ‘Practical Effects in Indie Horror’, Cinefex, 169, pp. 45-52.