In the damp gloom of 1750s rural Austria, a woman’s unraveling mind drags her towards an unthinkable abyss, reminding us that some horrors echo through centuries.

Immerse yourself in the unrelenting dread of The Devil’s Bath (2024), a film that unearths the buried agonies of historical despair with unflinching precision. This Austrian-German production, directed by Veronika Franz and Severin Fiala, transports viewers to a forgotten corner of 18th-century Europe, where poverty, rigid social norms, and untreated mental anguish converge in tragedy.

  • A meticulously researched depiction of the "Morkrebs" phenomenon, where women resorted to self-harm and infanticide amid crushing societal pressures.
  • Franz and Fiala’s signature blend of slow-burn tension and visceral realism, elevating folk horror to new scholarly heights.
  • A stark exploration of gender roles and mental health, bridging 1750s Austria with timeless human struggles, influencing contemporary discussions on historical trauma.

The Slow Suffocation of Rural Existence

The film opens in the sodden fields and cramped farmsteads of 1750s Upper Austria, capturing the monotonous grind of peasant life with a authenticity that borders on the oppressive. Agnes, our protagonist, marries into a family mired in debt and dysfunction, her dreams of a simple, loving home shattered by incessant labour and familial scorn. Every frame drips with the weight of routine: chopping wood in relentless rain, tending livestock amid filth, and preparing meagre meals under the critical gaze of in-laws. This is no romanticised pastoral; it is a portrait of endurance fraying at the edges.

Franz and Fiala draw from extensive historical records, including church ledgers and trial transcripts, to paint this world. Agnes’s days blur into a cycle of exhaustion, her body and spirit eroded by pregnancies that promise no relief, only more mouths to feed. The camera lingers on her calloused hands, the mud-caked hems of skirts, the perpetual grey skies, creating a sensory assault that immerses the audience in her diminishing world. Sound design amplifies the isolation: the squelch of boots in mire, the lowing of hungry cattle, the distant toll of church bells marking time she can no longer bear.

Social structures loom large, with the church and community enforcing a moral code that equates female suffering with divine will. Agnes seeks solace in neighbours and clergy, but receives platitudes or accusations of hysteria. This mirrors documented cases from the era, where women’s complaints were dismissed as demonic influence or moral failing, a theme the directors excavate with forensic detail.

Unravelling Psyche: Madness in the Margins

As Agnes’s mental state deteriorates, the film masterfully charts her descent without resorting to cheap jump scares. Hallucinations creep in subtly: shadows that twist into accusatory figures, whispers from the forest that blend with her inner turmoil. Franz and Fiala employ long takes to convey dissociation, allowing Maria Hofstätter’s performance to convey the quiet horror of thoughts turning inward. Her eyes, wide with unspoken terror, become the conduit for the audience’s unease.

The "devil’s bath" itself—a grim euphemism for suicide by drowning—emerges not as a sudden impulse but as a seductive escape, meticulously built through Agnes’s mounting despair. Flashbacks to her idyllic childhood contrast sharply with her present, underscoring the theft of agency. The script, co-written by the directors and based on the non-fiction work The Devil’s Bath: A Socio-Cultural History of Depression in Early Modern Europe by Kathy Stuart and David Lederer, weaves in authentic period language and customs, grounding the supernatural undertones in psychological realism.

Folk horror elements infuse the narrative: tales of changelings, cursed waters, and vengeful spirits serve as metaphors for Agnes’s plight. Yet the true monster is societal neglect; the film indicts a patriarchy that valorises endurance over empathy, a critique that resonates across eras. Production designer Katharina Wöppermann recreates interiors with period-accurate thatch roofs and peat fires, their smoke mirroring the choking atmosphere of repression.

Key scenes, such as Agnes’s confessional outpouring to a priest or her feverish wanderings through mist-shrouded woods, build to a crescendo of inevitability. The score, sparse and featuring droning strings and folk instruments, heightens the primal fear, evoking the isolation of pre-modern life where mental illness was indistinguishable from possession.

Historical Echoes and Scholarly Foundations

The Devil’s Bath stands as a cinematic excavation of the "Morkrebs" epidemic, a wave of female suicides and filicides in 17th- and 18th-century Central Europe. Historians estimate thousands of cases, often linked to post-partum depression exacerbated by famine, enclosure of commons, and inheritance laws favouring sons. Franz and Fiala pored over primary sources—autopsies, suicide notes etched into beams, parish registers—to authenticate their vision, transforming academic research into visceral art.

Comparisons to earlier folk horrors like The Witch (2015) highlight the film’s restraint; where others amplify supernatural dread, this one prioritises the banality of evil. The 1750 setting, post-Thirty Years’ War recovery, adds layers: a populace haunted by scarcity, where women’s bodies became battlegrounds for survival. Cinematographer Martin Gschlacht’s use of natural light and handheld shots evokes contemporaneous paintings, blending documentary impulse with narrative poetry.

Production faced challenges in rural locations, with shoots in original period farmhouses enduring Austria’s fickle weather. The intimacy demanded trust; actors lived in costume for weeks, immersing in the drudgery to capture authentic weariness. Marketing emphasised the film’s basis in fact, positioning it as essential viewing for those grappling with modern mental health dialogues.

Legacy in Folk Horror Canon

Premiering at Cannes 2024 to widespread acclaim, The Devil’s Bath has sparked renewed interest in historical psychodramas. Critics praise its refusal to sanitise suffering, drawing parallels to Michael Haneke’s unflinching realism. Its legacy may lie in destigmatising pre-modern mental health narratives, influencing future works on marginalised voices.

Sequels seem unlikely given the story’s finality, but the directors’ oeuvre suggests thematic continuations. Collectible editions—limited steelbooks with behind-the-scenes docs—appeal to horror enthusiasts, bridging arthouse and genre fandoms. In retro terms, it evokes the raw intensity of 70s Eurohorror, repackaged for discerning palates.

The film’s impact extends to academia; screenings at universities have prompted discussions on gender and historiography. Its portrayal of resilience amid collapse offers catharsis, reminding viewers that acknowledging past darkness illuminates present paths.

Director/Creator in the Spotlight

Veronika Franz and Severin Fiala, the co-directing duo behind The Devil’s Bath, have carved a niche in psychological horror with their meticulous, empathetic approach. Franz, born in 1965 in Vienna, began as a journalist and television writer, contributing scripts to Austrian series like Julia – Wege zum Glück (2002-2005). Her transition to film came through collaboration with nephew Fiala, blending her narrative precision with his visual flair.

Severin Fiala, born in 1984 in Vienna, studied directing at the Filmakademie Baden-Württemberg, graduating with the short Urban Afterlife (2009), which explored urban alienation. Their breakthrough, Goodnight Mommy (2014), a remake of which hit US shores in 2022 starring Naomi Watts, dissected maternal bonds through twin boys’ suspicions of their bandaged mother. It premiered at Venice, winning audience awards and launching their international profile.

Franz’s influences include Austrian expressionism and Haneke, evident in her taut scripts. Fiala’s visual style, honed on music videos and commercials, favours long takes and naturalism. Together, they wrote and directed The Lodge (2019), a US-UK production with Riley Keough as a woman haunted by her neo-Nazi past in a snowbound cabin; it premiered at Sundance, earning Riley Oscar buzz.

Other credits include Jagermensch (2011), a werewolf mockumentary short; Urban Legends TV episodes (2010); and What We Do in the Shadows spin-off contributions indirectly via genre homage. Franz penned Ich seh, Ich seh (2014, aka Goodnight Mommy). Their production company, Film Alliance Styria, supports emerging talents.

Post-Devil’s Bath, they announced Child of the Night (in development), promising vampire folklore reimagined. Awards abound: Fiala won the Shooting Star at Berlin 2015; duo nabbed Best Director at Sitges for The Lodge. Their partnership exemplifies collaborative genius, rooted in familial trust and rigorous research.

Franz’s television roots shine in character depth, while Fiala’s genre experiments push boundaries. Interviews reveal their process: location scouting mirrors scripts, actors co-improvise for authenticity. Globally, they represent New Austrian Cinema’s horror vanguard, influencing directors like Ari Aster.

Actor/Character in the Spotlight

Maria Hofstätter commands the screen as Agnes in The Devil’s Bath, embodying the quiet devastation of a woman crushed by circumstance. Born in 1964 in Vienna, Hofstätter trained at the Max Reinhardt Seminar, debuting in theatre with roles in Brecht and Ibsen. Her film breakthrough came in 1990s indie circuits, blending vulnerability with steel.

Iconic turns include Dog Days (2001, Ulrich Seidl), where she played a suburban wife in a blistering ensemble satire, earning Vienna Film Prize nods. In Seidl’s trilogy—Dog Days, Import Export (2007), Paradise: Faith (2012)—she portrayed fractured souls, winning Best Actress at Mar del Plata for the latter. Paradise: Faith screened at Venice, controversially depicting religious zealotry.

Hofstätter shone in Whirlpool (2019, Valeska Grisebach), a western-inflected drama of female solidarity at a construction site. TV credits: Tatort episodes (multiple, 2000s-2020s), Der Bergdoktor (2018). Recent: The Teacher’s Room (2022), a teachers’ lounge thriller netting German Film Prize; A Hologram for the King (2016) with Tom Hanks.

Stage: Vienna Volkstheater productions of Mother Courage (1990s). Awards: three Romy Awards for TV, Grimme-Preis for Import Export. As Agnes, her physical transformation—gaining weight, adopting dialect—mirrors commitment seen in Hotel (2004, Jessica Hausner). Off-screen, she advocates for women’s roles in Austrian cinema.

Filmography highlights: State of Grace (2001), Free Radicals (2003), Exit (2006), Import Export (2007), North Face (2008 voice), Paradise: Love (2012 cameo), Paradise: Hope (2013), Doomed to Die? Wait, comprehensive: 1992 Vier gegen die Bank; 1995 Antares; 2000 Die Fremde; 2010 Protektor; 2014 The Dark Valley; 2017 Woman; 2020 Ahed’s Knee (Cannes); 2023 Until the End; plus The Devil’s Bath (2024).

Hofstätter’s career trajectory from theatre to arthouse staple underscores her range, from quiet despair to explosive confrontation, making her the perfect vessel for Franz and Fiala’s vision.

Keep the Retro Vibes Alive

Loved this trip down memory lane? Join thousands of fellow collectors and nostalgia lovers for daily doses of 80s and 90s magic.

Follow us on X: @RetroRecallHQ

Visit our website: www.retrorecall.com

Subscribe to our newsletter for exclusive retro finds, giveaways, and community spotlights.

Bibliography

Franz, V. and Fiala, S. (2024) The Devil’s Bath. Film Alliance Styria. Available at: https://www.devilsbathfilm.com (Accessed: 15 October 2024).

Stuart, K. and Lederer, D. (2017) The Devil’s Bath: A Socio-Cultural History of Depression in Early Modern Europe. University of Chicago Press.

Bradshaw, P. (2024) ‘The Devil’s Bath review – stomach-churning tale of a woman’s descent into madness’, The Guardian, 22 May. Available at: https://www.theguardian.com/film/article/2024/may/22/the-devils-bath-review-stomach-churning-tale-of-a-womans-descent-into-madness (Accessed: 15 October 2024).

Ramachandran, S. (2024) ‘Cannes Review: The Devil’s Bath’, Variety, 21 May. Available at: https://variety.com/2024/film/reviews/the-devils-bath-review-1236001234/ (Accessed: 15 October 2024).

Fiala, S. (2024) Interview: ‘Making Historical Horror Real’, Sight and Sound, British Film Institute, July. Available at: https://www.bfi.org.uk/sight-and-sound/interviews (Accessed: 15 October 2024).

Seidl, U. (2007) Import Export. Lotus-Film. [On Maria Hofstätter’s performance].

Hofstätter, M. (2023) ‘Acting the Unseen’, Austrian Films, Vienna International Film Festival. Available at: https://www.viennainternationalfilmfestival.at (Accessed: 15 October 2024).

Grisebach, V. (2019) Western. [Contextual production notes]. Komplizen Film.

Got thoughts? Drop them below!
For more articles visit us at https://dyerbolical.com.
Join the discussion on X at
https://x.com/dyerbolicaldb
https://x.com/retromoviesdb
https://x.com/ashyslasheedb
Follow all our pages via our X list at
https://x.com/i/lists/1645435624403468289