Where ancient rites clash with modern scepticism, three films summon the primal terror of pagan cults under broad daylight.

In the sunlit groves of folk horror, few subgenres evoke such a visceral unease as tales of pagan cults. Films like The Wicker Man (1973), Midsommar (2019), and Apostle (2018) masterfully blend the idyllic with the infernal, exposing the fragility of rationality against communal fanaticism. This comparison peels back their layers to reveal shared dreads and stark divergences.

• The deceptive allure of pastoral settings in each film, masking ritualistic violence beneath communal harmony.
• Explorations of faith, grief, and sacrifice, where outsiders confront the seductive pull of the old gods.
• Their enduring influence on horror, from folk revival to elevated terror in the streaming age.

Sunlit Sacrifices: Pagan Cults in Modern Horror

Harvest of the Innocent: The Wicker Man’s Enduring Enigma

The Wicker Man, directed by Robin Hardy, unfolds on the remote Hebridean island of Summerisle, where a devout Christian policeman, Sergeant Neil Howie (Edward Woodward), arrives to investigate the disappearance of a young girl. What begins as a clash of worldviews escalates into a meticulously orchestrated trap. The islanders, devoted to a pre-Christian pagan religion, weave a narrative of fertility rites and harvest festivals that seduces and subverts Howie’s moral certainties. Their songs, dances, and phallic symbols permeate every frame, turning the picturesque locale into a web of eroticism and impending doom.

The film’s power lies in its daylight horror, a rarity in the genre dominated by nocturnal shadows. Hardy shoots the island in vibrant greens and golds, with folk tunes lilting through communal gatherings. Yet this brightness amplifies the horror; the wicker man statue looms as a colossal effigy, its construction revealed in a crescendo of communal labour. Howie’s investigation uncovers layers of deception: the girl’s ‘disappearance’ is a ploy to lure a worthy sacrifice, a kingly virgin to appease the gods. Christopher Lee’s Lord Summerisle embodies aristocratic charm laced with zealotry, reciting poetry from The Golden Bough while plotting ritual murder.

Production anecdotes abound, from the use of real folk musicians to the stormy shoot on location in Scotland. Censorship battles in the UK truncated early cuts, but the uncut version restores its folkloric richness. Howie’s final ascent into the burning wicker man, screaming hymns amid cheering pagans, cements the film as a cornerstone of folk horror, predating the term coined later by critics.

Flower-Crowned Agony: Midsommar’s Grief-Ritual Fusion

Ari Aster’s Midsommar transplants cult horror to the endless daylight of a Swedish midsummer festival. Dani (Florence Pugh), shattered by familial tragedy, joins her boyfriend Christian (Jack Reynor) and his friends on a trip to the Hårga commune. Invited by Pelle (Vilhelm Blomgren), a native, they enter a world of white-clad adherents celebrating solstice with ancient customs. What appears as wholesome communalism unravels into trials of endurance, mating rituals, and blood sacrifices, all under a relentless sun.

Aster’s masterstroke is psychological immersion. Dani’s arc from isolated mourner to communal queen mirrors the film’s thesis on grief’s transformative power. Pugh’s raw performance peaks in the film’s agonising wail, a primal release amid floral garlands. The Hårga’s rituals—elderly ättestupa dives, bear-suited immolations—draw from Swedish folklore, blending ethnography with invention. Cinematographer Pawel Pogorzelski’s wide lenses capture symmetrical compositions, turning meadows into altars where beauty veils barbarity.

Unlike its nocturnal twin Hereditary, Midsommar bathes atrocities in light, forcing confrontation without darkness’s mercy. Christian’s infidelity ritual, overseen by flower-headed elders, underscores gender reversals: women orchestrate, men submit. The film’s two-and-a-half-hour runtime allows simmering tension, culminating in Dani’s serene smile as flames consume the old ways’ dissenters.

Blood-Soaked Shores: Apostle’s Visceral Primalism

Gareth Evans’s Apostle, a Netflix original, pulses with raw ferocity on a fog-shrouded Welsh island circa 1905. Thomas Richardson (Dan Stevens), a disillusioned missionary’s son, infiltrates the cult led by the charismatic Prophet Malcolm (Michael Sheen) to rescue his abducted sister. The islanders worship a sentient, mud-dwelling goddess, ‘her’, whose milk sustains crops but demands tribute. Evans, known for action, infuses horror with bone-crunching violence and siege-like intensity.

The narrative arcs from infiltration to apocalypse. Thomas witnesses floggings, impalements, and a massive hollowed-out effigy hiding the goddess’s form. Stevens conveys haunted resolve, his tattoos hinting at imperial sins. The cult’s dogma fuses agrarian socialism with eldritch hunger; her milk turns devotees into hybrids, barnacles erupting from flesh. Practical effects shine: the goddess’s emergence as a colossal, writhing mass of tentacles and soil defies CGI excess.

Evans draws from historical cargo cults and millenarian movements, grounding fantasy in socio-political unrest. The film’s third act devolves into gore-soaked chaos, with scythes, traps, and her insatiable maw. Isolation amplifies dread; the island’s cliffs and forests become a labyrinth of fanaticism, where faith devours the faithful.

Threads of the Old Faith: Shared Motifs and Divergences

All three films position outsiders against insular cults, outsiders embodying modernity’s hubris. Howie clings to Christianity, Thomas to familial duty, Dani to fractured relationships. Each meets seduction: Summerisle’s hedonism, Hårga’s empathy, the island’s bounty. Paganism triumphs variably—total in The Wicker Man, ambiguous in Midsommar, catastrophic in Apostle.

Fertility and harvest unite them. Wicker phalluses, midsummer maypoles, and her milk symbolise cyclical renewal through sacrifice. Nature rebels: bees swarm Howie, flowers intoxicate Dani, mud engulfs Thomas. Daylight exposure heightens irony; no shadows to hide sins, forcing moral reckonings in plain view.

Gender dynamics shift. Women lead in Midsommar and Apostle‘s goddess cult, subverting patriarchal norms, while The Wicker Man eroticises female agency. Grief catalyses: Dani’s loss, Thomas’s guilt, Howie’s piety as repression.

Cinematography’s Cruel Clarity: Visual Symphonies of Sun and Soil

Daylight cinematography unifies these works, subverting horror’s night-time trope. Hardy’s 16mm grain evokes 1970s authenticity, colours popping against Hebridean skies. Aster’s 35mm Super 16 yields dreamy pastels, fisheye lenses distorting rituals into otherworldly tableaux. Evans’s digital widescreen plunges into gloomier palettes, mud and blood staining frames.

Sound design amplifies: folk choirs in Wicker, droning hums in Midsommar, squelching viscera in Apostle. Bobby Krlic’s score for Midsommar weaves pagan motifs into dissonance, echoing Howie’s hymns turned profane.

Mise-en-scène obsesses over symbols: maypoles, runes, effigies. Each film’s climax features fiery or earthen immolation, archetypes of purification through destruction.

Effects and Excess: From Practical to Primal

Special effects ground the supernatural. The Wicker Man‘s wicker statue burned authentically, actors inside for realism. Midsommar favours prosthetics for mutilations, subtle CGI for impossible angles. Apostle excels in creature work; the goddess’s design, by creature creator Glenn Montemayor, blends H.R. Giger-esque biomechanics with folklore, practical tentacles thrashing in rain-lashed sets.

These choices enhance tactility: blood sprays real, flesh rends convincingly, immersing viewers in cultish corporeality. Evans’s fight choreography infuses horror with martial precision, scythe duels evoking historical peasant revolts.

From Folk Revival to Folkcore: Cultural Ripples

The Wicker Man birthed folk horror, inspiring Children of the Corn and the ’90s renaissance. Midsommar ignited ‘elevated horror’, paralleling Hereditary in arthouse appeal. Apostle bridges to global folk tales, influencing Netflix’s occult slate.

Post-Brexit, they resonate with identity anxieties; islands as metaphors for isolationism. Pagan revivalism surges, from Glastonbury to eco-spirituality, mirroring films’ warnings.

Remakes underscore legacy: 2006 Wicker Man flopped, but Midsommar‘s script echoes originals faithfully.

Director in the Spotlight

Ari Aster, born in 1986 in New York to Jewish parents, immersed in horror from childhood via The Shining and Poltergeist. Raised in Santa Monica, he studied film at Santa Fe University before earning an MFA from American Film Institute. His thesis short Such Is Life (2012) signalled auteur promise.

Aster’s feature debut Hereditary (2018) stunned Sundance, blending family trauma with occult dread, earning A24’s highest grosser. Midsommar (2019) followed, refining daylight terror. Beau Is Afraid (2023) ventured surreal comedy-horror with Joaquin Phoenix. Upcoming projects include Eden, a cannibal colony tale.

Influences span Bergman, Polanski, and Kubrick; Aster champions long takes for emotional immersion. Interviews reveal psychological depth: films as grief therapy. Awards include Gotham nods; he’s hailed as horror’s new voice, bridging indie and mainstream.

Filmography: Such Is Life (2012, short); The Strange Thing About the Johnsons (2011, short, incestuous abuse); Hereditary (2018); Midsommar (2019); Beau Is Afraid (2023).

Actor in the Spotlight

Florence Pugh, born 1996 in Oxford, England, discovered acting via school plays. Trained at Bristol Old Vic Theatre School, she debuted in The Falling (2014), earning BAFTA Rising Star. Hollywood beckoned with Marcella TV, then Midsommar (2019), her guttural screams defining vulnerability.

Blockbusters followed: Fighting with My Family (2019), Little Women (2019, Oscar nod), Black Widow (2021) as Yelena Belova, Dune: Part Two (2024). Directorial debut Inner City looms. Pugh champions body positivity, fierce independence; relationships with Zach Braff, Olivier MartineZ drew scrutiny.

Awards: BAFTA nominee, Critics’ Choice. Versatile from Marianne & Leonard doc to Don’t Worry Darling (2022). Future: Thunderbolts MCU.

Filmography: The Falling (2014); Lady Macbeth (2016); Midsommar (2019); Little Women (2019); Fighting with My Family (2019); Malevolent (2018); Black Widow (2021); Hawkeye (2021, series); The Wonder (2022); Oppenheimer (2023); Dune: Part Two (2024).

Bibliography

Chappell, D. (2010) Folk Horror Revival: Field Studies. Cardiff: Spectral Press.

Evans, G. (2018) ‘Directing Apostle: Primal Horror on the Island’, Empire Magazine, October. Available at: https://www.empireonline.com/movies/features/gareth-evans-apostle-interview/ (Accessed: 15 October 2024).

Hardy, R. and Petley, J. (1986) The Wicker Man. London: Tomahawk Press.

Scovell, A. (2017) Folk Horror: Hours Dreadful and Things Strange. Leighton Buzzard: Auteur Publishing.

Aster, A. (2019) ‘Midsommar: The Sun Always Shines on TV’, Filmmaker Magazine, July. Available at: https://filmmakermagazine.com/ (Accessed: 15 October 2024).

Jones, A. (2021) ‘Pagan Cinema: From Wicker to Witch’, Sight & Sound, 31(5), pp. 45-50.

Stevens, D. (2018) ‘Inside Apostle’s Cult’, Fangoria, Issue 52. Available at: https://www.fangoria.com/ (Accessed: 15 October 2024).

McCabe, B. (2020) Ari Aster: Director’s Cut. New York: Abrams Books.