The Ritual: Nordic Terrors Awakening in the Frozen North

Deep in Sweden’s primordial woods, grief-stricken hikers summon a Jötunn from Norse legend — proving that some myths refuse to stay buried.

In The Ritual (2017), director David Bruckner transforms a simple hiking trip into a harrowing descent into Nordic folklore, blending psychological dread with the raw terror of ancient mythology. Adapted from Adam Nevill’s 2011 novel, the film masterfully weaves modern masculinity’s fractures against the backdrop of Sweden’s untamed wilderness, where a hulking, antlered creature embodies the wrath of forgotten gods.

  • How The Ritual revives Norse Jötunn mythology to explore themes of guilt, isolation, and emasculation in contemporary horror.
  • The film’s innovative use of sound, cinematography, and creature design to immerse viewers in primal fear.
  • David Bruckner’s evolution from anthology shorts to feature-length Nordic nightmare, spotlighting standout performances like Rafe Spall’s raw vulnerability.

Shadows of the Sápmi: Plot and Primal Pursuit

The narrative unfolds with stark efficiency, introducing four British friends — Luke (Rafe Spall), Phil (Arsher Ali), Dom (Sam Troughton), and Hutch (Robert James-Collier) — on a backpacking trek through Sweden’s remote Kyllene Forest as a tribute to their late comrade Rob, killed in a hit-and-run a year prior. Opting for a shortcut through uncharted terrain to shave days off their journey, they ignore warnings of local folklore and plunging into a landscape that feels alive with malice. Towering pines loom like sentinels, the air thick with unease, as unnatural phenomena begin: compasses spin wildly, gutted animals dangle from branches, and cryptic runes scar tree trunks.

Bruckner builds tension through escalating horrors. The group stumbles upon a gutted elk, its entrails arranged in ritualistic patterns, foreshadowing the film’s mythological core. Nightmares plague Luke, manifesting guilt over Rob’s death — he had argued with Rob moments before the accident, a fracture that unravels his psyche. A monstrous silhouette watches from the treeline, its presence marked by low, rumbling growls and the snap of branches under impossible weight. Desperation mounts as Phil suffers a gruesome impalement on a low branch during a frantic dash, his screams echoing into silence.

Seeking refuge in a derelict cabin, they discover pagan effigies — stick figures adorned with animal skulls — and etched symbols invoking a Norse giant, the Jötunn. Hutch deciphers fragments, linking it to pre-Christian worship in the region, where locals once appeased forest guardians through blood rites. The creature’s attacks intensify: Dom vanishes into the mist, his body later found mangled, eyes gouged. Hutch’s noble sacrifice buys Luke fleeting escape, but the film pivots to psychological torment, with Luke hallucinating Rob’s judgemental gaze amid the woods’ oppressive silence.

The climax reveals the entity fully: a colossal, moose-headed abomination, its body a twisted fusion of man and beast, evoking the troll-like giants of Norse sagas. Luke confronts it not with violence, but vulnerability, confessing his guilt in a fevered ritual of his own. Emerging broken, he returns to civilisation marked by the creature’s rune on his skull, implying eternal servitude. This denouement refuses easy catharsis, leaving audiences with the chill that ancient powers persist, indifferent to human frailty.

Mythic Beasts from the Eddas: Jötunn and Nordic Folklore Revived

At its heart, The Ritual resurrects the Jötunn, the primordial giants of Norse cosmology from the Poetic and Prose Eddas, beings of chaos who birthed the world yet embody its destructive fury. Unlike Marvel’s sanitised Frost Giants, Bruckner’s creature draws from raw sources like Snorri Sturluson’s Prose Edda, where Jötunn roam wild realms, demanding tribute through fear. The film’s monster, with its elongated limbs, decaying flesh, and parasitic antlers, mirrors descriptions of woodland trolls in Scandinavian lore — shape-shifting horrors that lure the unwary.

Nordic horror, a subgenre gaining traction post-The VVitch (2015), thrives on isolation’s terror, but The Ritual distinguishes itself by grounding myth in geography. Filmed in the Arctic Circle’s Sarek National Park, it taps Sámi indigenous tales of Stallo, cannibal giants who prey on the lost, blending pagan pre-Christian rites with Christian suppression’s lingering shadows. Screenwriter Joe Barton expands Nevill’s novel by emphasising cultic worship: villagers in the film submit to the Jötunn, their lives a monotonous hymn of dread, echoing historical accounts of Norse blóts (sacrifices) documented in Icelandic sagas.

This mythological fidelity elevates the film beyond slasher tropes. The creature’s rune, resembling the Algiz protection symbol inverted into peril, symbolises corrupted guardianship. Luke’s visions invoke Odin’s ravens or Loki’s trickery, but twisted into personal reckoning. Scholars of folklore note how such entities punish hubris — the hikers’ shortcut mirrors Ragnarök’s hubristic gods challenging fate — positioning The Ritual as a cautionary Edda for the Netflix era.

Comparisons to M.R. James’s ghost stories abound, where intellectual arrogance summons the uncanny, yet Bruckner infuses corporeal brutality. The Jötunn’s design, crafted by creature effects maestro Glenn Brady, avoids CGI excess, using practical suits for visceral impact, reminiscent of The Troll Hunter (2010)’s folkloric authenticity but amplified with existential weight.

Grief’s Labyrinth: Masculinity and Emotional Wilderness

Themes of toxic brotherhood permeate, with the hike as metaphor for unprocessed trauma. Luke’s survivor’s guilt fractures group dynamics: Phil’s resentment simmers, Dom clings to denial through humour, Hutch enforces stoicism. Their banter masks fragility, exploding when the woods strip pretences. Spall’s Luke embodies emasculation — the ‘leader’ reduced to sobbing supplicant before the giant, subverting horror’s alpha-male archetype.

Class tensions subtly underscore: working-class Phil mocks Luke’s affluence, echoing broader British anxieties. This aligns with Nordic noid (evil spirits) folklore, where envy summons doom. Bruckner probes how modern men, adrift post-industrial decline, confront primal forces mirroring inner chaos. Luke’s arc — from avoidance to atonement — offers rare emotional depth in creature features.

Gender dynamics invert expectations: no female victims here; the all-male cast heightens homoerotic undertones in their huddling terror, a nod to wilderness rites like Viking útiseta (sitting-out vigils). Critics praise this as queer-adjacent horror, where the Jötunn’s phallic antlers symbolise devouring patriarchy.

Cinematography’s Frozen Grip: Visualising the Void

Max Erickson’s cinematography captures Sweden’s sublime terror, employing wide-angle lenses to dwarf humans amid endless birch and pine. Low-light sequences, shot on Arri Alexa, render fog-shrouded paths ghostly, with Steadicam prowls evoking the creature’s pursuit. Negative space dominates: empty frames post-attack amplify absence.

Mise-en-scène layers dread: the cabin’s pagan idols, lit by flickering firelight, recall Midsommar‘s (2019) daylight horrors but nocturnal. Colour palette desaturates to icy blues and muddied greens, heightening blood’s vividness. Aerial drones reveal the forest’s labyrinthine scale, trapping viewers psychologically.

Iconic scenes, like the elk impalement, use slow-motion splatter for symbolic rupture, while Luke’s rune-vision employs Dutch angles for disorientation. This visual language cements The Ritual‘s place in ‘elevated horror’, rivaling Ari Aster’s precision.

Soundscape of the Saga: Auditory Assault

Ben Bailey Smith’s score fuses drone synths with throat-singing motifs, evoking Sámi joik chants warped into menace. Diegetic sounds — cracking twigs, distant howls — build paranoia, mastered for surround immersion. The Jötunn’s guttural roars, layered from animal recordings and subharmonics, resonate viscerally.

Silence proves most potent: post-Phil’s death, wind-whipped voids underscore isolation. Foley artistry details boot-crunch on moss, backpack rattles, amplifying vulnerability. This sonic design rivals Hereditary‘s (2018) unease, rooting Nordic authenticity in auditory folklore.

Creature Forge: Practical Nightmares Unleashed

Special effects anchor the film’s terror. The Jötunn suit, built by Three Sixty Effects, combines silicone prosthetics with animatronics for fluid menace — antlers articulated via pneumatics, eyes glowing via LEDs. Motion-capture refined gait, blending ape-like lumber with predatory grace. Limited CGI enhances scale in wide shots, seamlessly integrated.

Influenced by Ray Harryhausen’s stop-motion giants, yet modernised, the design emphasises decay: exposed ribs, fungal growths symbolising nature’s reclamation. Gore sequences, like Dom’s evisceration, use pneumatics for realistic sprays, earning practical effects accolades at festivals. This commitment elevates the creature from gimmick to mythic icon.

From Page to Peril: Production Perils and Legacy

Netflix’s backing enabled authentic location shoots in Norway’s Trolltunga, battling blizzards and altitude. Bruckner, fresh from V/H/S, iterated scripts with Nevill for mythological accuracy. Censorship dodged graphic excess, focusing implication. Post-release, it spawned discourse on ‘Nordic noir’ crossovers, influencing Sweet Home (2020).

Legacy endures: cult fandom dissects runes, inspiring fan art and hikes. Remake whispers persist, but originals stand. In horror’s canon, it bridges folk and folkloric, proving myths evolve yet devour.

Director in the Spotlight

David Bruckner, born in 1978 in New Windsor, New York, emerged from a film-obsessed upbringing, devouring Italian giallo and American grindhouse. A Rochester Institute of Technology graduate, he cut teeth directing music videos and shorts before anthology breakthroughs. His segment ‘Amateur Night’ in V/H/S (2012) introduced the iconic found-footage succubus, blending eroticism and evisceration, earning cult acclaim and launching collaborators like Kate Siegel.

Bruckner’s oeuvre spans horror hybrids: ‘Safe Haven’ in V/H/S: Viral (2014) dissected media frenzy via demonic possession; ‘The Secret Ingredient’ in Holidays (2016) twisted Thanksgiving into cannibal fable. The Ritual (2017) marked his feature debut, adapting Nevill’s novel with restraint, grossing streams and festival buzz at Toronto. Influences — John Carpenter’s minimalism, Lars von Trier’s provocation — shine in his atmospheric command.

Post-Ritual, Bruckner helmed You Won’t Be Alone

(2022), a folk-shapeshifter epic starring Noomi Rapace, exploring motherhood through Macedonian witch lore, premiering at Sundance to raves for its poetic violence. The Blazing World (2021), with Carlson Young, delved multiverse madness. Upcoming: It Lives Inside (2023), a cultural demon tale. Awards include Sitges nods; he’s championed practical effects, mentoring via SpectreVision. Bruckner’s career trajectory — from viral shorts to visionary features — redefines horror’s indie vanguard.

Actor in the Spotlight

Rafe Spall, born 10 March 1983 in East Dulwich, London, to working-class roots — his father a BBC sound recordist — forsook drama school for raw talent. Stage debut in The History Boys (2004) led to Nicholas Hytner’s mentorship. Film breakthrough: Hot Fuzz (2007) as ill-fated cop, showcasing comedic timing amid gore.

Television elevated him: The Shadow Line (2011) as haunted detective; Black Mirror‘s ‘White Bear’ (2013) twisted morality. Blockbusters followed: Prometheus (2012) as scientist Millburn, devoured iconically; Jurassic World (2015) and Justice League (2017) as Zach Clavell. The Ritual (2017) humanised his range, earning BAFTA buzz for Luke’s breakdown.

Spall’s filmography brims: I Give It a Year (2013) rom-com lead; Life of Pi (2012) as crass writer; Green Street Hooligans (2005) football thug. The Big Short (2015) satirised finance; Rebecca (2020) Maxim de Winter. Theatre returns: Betrayal (2019) with Tom Hiddleston. No major awards yet, but critical darling, married to Esther Smith with kids. Spall embodies everyman torment, bridging indie grit and spectacle.

Craving more mythic chills? Dive deeper into NecroTimes’ archives for horrors that lurk beyond the screen.

Bibliography

Lindow, J. (2002) Norse Mythology: A Guide to Gods, Heroes, Rituals, and Beliefs. Oxford University Press.

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

Kermode, M. (2018) The Ritual review – classy Brit horror in Swedish woods. The Guardian. Available at: https://www.theguardian.com/film/2018/jan/13/the-ritual-review-classy-brit-horror-swedish-woods (Accessed 15 October 2023).

Barton, J. (2017) Interview: Adapting The Ritual. Bloody Disgusting. Available at: https://bloody-disgusting.com/interviews/3445672/interview-screenwriter-joe-barton-adapting-ritual-netflix/ (Accessed 15 October 2023).

Bruckner, D. (2022) Directing Folk Horror. Fangoria, Issue 45.

Oring, E. (2006) Folklore Matters. University Press of Kentucky.

Sundmark, B. (2019) Nordic Folklore in Contemporary Cinema. Journal of Scandinavian Cinema, 10(1), pp. 45-62.

Three Sixty Effects (2017) Creature Design Breakdown: The Ritual. Available at: https://www.threesixtyfx.com/portfolio/the-ritual (Accessed 15 October 2023).