Two films separated by decades, yet bound by the chilling allure of cults that lure the lost into eternal daylight damnation.

 

In the pantheon of horror cinema, few subgenres captivate like cult horror, where communal rituals twist into nightmares of belonging and betrayal. Carnival of Souls (1962) and Midsommar (2019) stand as twin pillars, one a grainy black-and-white relic of mid-century independent filmmaking, the other a lush, sun-drenched provocation from the A24 era. Both plunge protagonists into worlds where the veil between the living and the otherworldly thins under the glare of unrelenting light, forcing us to confront isolation, grief, and the seductive pull of the uncanny collective.

 

  • Exploring parallel journeys of grief-stricken heroines drawn into spectral and pagan cults, revealing timeless fears of abandonment and rebirth.
  • Contrasting low-budget ingenuity with modern artistry in crafting daylight dread, from eerie organ swells to folkloric pageantry.
  • Tracing their enduring cult legacies, from midnight screenings to festival darlings, and their influence on generations of horror innovators.

 

Ghosts of Grief: Parallel Plunges into the Abyss

Mary Henry in Carnival of Souls emerges from a submerged car wreck on a rickety bridge, the sole survivor amid the murky waters of the Kansas River. Her escape feels miraculous, yet it marks the beginning of her unraveling. As she drives to a new life as a church organist in Lawrence, ghostly pallid figures pursue her, materializing in mirrors and empty pavilions. The film, shot on a shoestring budget in Kansas salt mines and abandoned amusement parks, captures Mary’s detachment with stark, documentary-like precision. Her interactions with locals ring hollow; she floats through conversations, her face a mask of quiet horror.

Decades later, Dani Ardor in Midsommar suffers a far more intimate catastrophe: a murderous family annihilation by her bipolar sister. Clinging to her distant boyfriend Christian for solace, she joins his academic trip to the remote Swedish commune of Hårga. What begins as a pastoral idyll under perpetual summer sun devolves into ritualistic barbarity. Dani’s breakdown, captured in Florence Pugh’s raw, heaving sobs during the film’s infamous wailing scene, mirrors Mary’s stoic denial. Both women, unmoored by loss, become vessels for the films’ horrors.

These narratives interlock through the archetype of the grieving outsider. Mary’s ghouls, with their sunken eyes and formal attire, embody the limbo of the undead, beckoning her to join their silent carnival. Hårga’s flower-crowned cultists, conversely, pulse with vibrant life, their dances and meals a grotesque parody of community. Yet the pull is identical: a promise of release from solitary pain. Herk Harvey’s script, improvised from a dream, taps into post-war anxieties of alienation, while Ari Aster’s draws from breakup trauma and millennial ennui.

Key scenes amplify this synergy. Mary’s phantom waltz in the deserted pavilion, soundtracked by swirling organ motifs, prefigures Dani’s maypole dance, where barefoot women twirl in hypnotic unison. In both, the heroine’s body betrays her mind, surrendering to rhythms not her own. Harvey’s use of negative space—vast, echoing halls—evokes the void within Mary, much as Aster’s wide landscapes dwarf Dani, rendering her insignificant against Hårga’s ancient stones.

Daylight as the Ultimate Dread

Horror thrives in shadows, yet both films invert this trope, wielding sunlight as their sharpest weapon. Carnival of Souls unfolds mostly by day, its high-contrast black-and-white cinematography turning sunny streets into slabs of unrelenting gray. The ghouls appear not in midnight fog but broad noon, their pallor stark against bleached skies. This choice, born of practical low-budget shooting, elevates the mundane to menacing; a crowded dance hall empties in Mary’s vision, revealing the spectral horde rising from the floor.

Midsommar, with its saturated cinematography by Pawel Pogorzelski, bathes atrocities in golden haze. The infamous Ättestupa cliff dive, where elders leap to their deaths amid cheering crowds, unfolds under cloudless blue. Blood sprays vivid red, flowers bloom obscenely bright. Aster’s folk horror roots in European paganism—drawing from Swedish midsummer traditions and historical blood sacrifices—clash with the rom-com expectations set by the film’s airy opening. Daylight strips away excuses; there’s no darkness to hide the cult’s fervor.

This shared aesthetic defiance traces back to genre evolution. Harvey predates the ’70s folk horror boom of The Wicker Man, yet anticipates its rural unease. Aster acknowledges Carnival as influence, echoing its protagonist’s inexorable drift. Both directors exploit natural light to expose psychological fractures: Mary’s blank stares reflect her emotional desolation, Dani’s forced smiles crack under communal pressure. The result? Terror that lingers like a sunburn, inescapable and exposing.

Sound design furthers this. Harvey’s pipe organ, played by Gene Kirkham, drones like a funeral dirge, its reverb filling voids. Aster layers folk chants, moans, and Pugh’s hyperventilating cries into a symphony of discomfort. These auditory assaults, unyielding as the light, bind the viewer to the heroines’ disorientation.

Cults of the Pale and the Painted

The titular carnival in Harvey’s film serves as otherworldly nexus, its skeletal funhouse a metaphor for Mary’s soul. Ghouls, led by the pallid man (Harvey himself), emerge from watery depths, their formalwear evoking drowned Victorian dandies. This cult demands assimilation; Mary’s resistance fades as she plays their organ, her fingers compelled by invisible forces. Legends of the Saltair Pavilion, the real Kansas resort that inspired the setting, infuse authenticity—once a thriving lakeside attraction, it burned and decayed, mirroring the film’s themes of faded glory.

Hårga’s cult, by contrast, blooms with fertility symbols: runes etched on wood, maypoles phallic and proud, meals of hallucinogenic roots. Christian’s seduction into their ways—impregnating Maja during a ritual—parallels Mary’s pull toward the ghouls. Both groups invert Christian norms: ghouls reject the living’s clamor, Hårga perverts midsummer joy into sacrifice. Historical precedents abound; Hårga evokes the Ynglinga saga’s Norse blots, while the ghouls nod to Midwest ghost lore of drowned souls haunting waterways.

Recruitment tactics reveal gendered dynamics. Mary, independent yet adrift, resists Reverend Thomas’s advances, preferring spectral suitors. Dani, gaslit by Christian, finds validation in Pelle’s nurturing facade, culminating in her crowning as May Queen. These arcs critique relational failures, with cults offering surrogate families laced with doom.

Performances ground the surreal. Candace Hilligoss’s Mary conveys repression through minimalism—eyes widening fractionally signal terror. Pugh’s Dani erupts volcanically, her arc from victim to queen a tour de force of cathartic rage.

From Grainy Indie to Arthouse Spectacle: Production Parallels

Carnival of Souls exemplifies resourceful filmmaking. Harvey, a industrial film veteran, raised $33,000 from Kansas contacts, shooting in 25 days. Salt mine scenes, lit by harsh fluorescents, lent ethereal glow; no permits needed for the crumbling Riverview Park. Distribution woes followed—shelved by Herts-Lion after TV airings diluted theatrical runs—but midnight circuits cemented its status.

Aster’s Midsommar, budgeted at $9 million, demanded Hungary’s pastoral expanses, built sets, and practical effects like the bear suit finale. Reshoots extended runtime, amplifying dread. Both faced cuts: Harvey’s for pacing, Aster’s for intensity. Censorship echoes era divides—1960s prudery versus modern gore tolerance.

Effects sections merit dissection. Harvey’s ghouls used simple makeup and double exposures, revolutionary for indies. Aster’s prosthetics—eviscerated legs, sewn mouths—blend practical mastery with subtle CGI, honoring forebears like Tom Savini’s squibs.

Enduring Echoes: Legacy and Influence

Carnival inspired David Lynch’s dream logic and The Others‘ twists; its public domain status fueled endless viewings. Midsommar spawned memes, academic papers on trauma horror, and Aster’s elevated rep. Together, they bridge slashers to slow-burn psychodramas, proving cult horror’s mutability.

Remakes abound: Carnival‘s 1998 Wes Craven flop, Midsommar‘s cult staying power sans sequel. Both thrive on reevaluation—feminist reads of empowered heroines, queer undertones in outsider longing.

Director in the Spotlight

Ari Aster, born Johan Relander Aster on July 21, 1986, in New York City to a Swedish father and American mother, grew up immersed in horror. His family relocated to Sweden briefly, instilling fascination with Scandinavian folklore that permeates Midsommar. A child of divorce, Aster channeled personal grief into scripts, studying film at the American Film Institute on a prestigious fellowship. His thesis short The Strange Thing About the Johnsons (2011), a disturbing father-son incest tale, premiered at Slamdance and alerted tastemakers.

Aster’s feature debut Hereditary (2018) shattered box office expectations for original horror, grossing $80 million worldwide on a $10 million budget. Praised for Toni Collette’s tour-de-force, it dissected familial collapse with Paimon demonology. Midsommar followed, inverting night for day in a 168-minute breakup allegory. Beau Is Afraid (2023), starring Joaquin Phoenix, blended surreal odyssey with mommy issues, earning Cannes nods despite mixed reviews.

Influenced by Polanski, Kubrick, and Bergman, Aster favors long takes and domestic horror. Awards include Gotham nods and cult icon status. Upcoming: Eden, a Western-set cannibal tale. Filmography: The Strange Thing About the Johnsons (2011, short); Hereditary (2018); Midsommar (2019); Beau Is Afraid (2023). Commercials and music videos, like Bon Iver’s, showcase visual flair. Aster’s A24 partnership defines prestige horror.

Actor in the Spotlight

Florence Pugh, born January 3, 1996, in Oxford, England, to a restaurateur father and dancer mother, overcame dyslexia to pursue acting. Home-schooled, she trained at the REBD Academy, debuting in The Falling (2014), earning BIFA acclaim for her enigmatic role in a mass hysteria school drama.

Breakthrough came with Lady Macbeth (2016), a steely period antiheroine showcasing feral intensity. Hollywood beckoned: Midsommar (2019) as Dani, Little Women (2019) as Amy March—BAFTA-nominated—Fighting with My Family (2019) as wrestler Paige. Marvel’s Yelena Belova in Black Widow (2021) and Hawkeye (2021) miniseries exploded her fame.

Versatile range shines in Marianne & Leonard: Words of Love (2019 doc narration), The Wonder (2022) as fasting nurse, Oppenheimer (2023) as Jean Tatlock. Directorial debut Orion and the Dark (2024) animated. Awards: BAFTA Rising Star (2021). Filmography: The Falling (2014); Lady Macbeth (2016); Midsommar (2019); Little Women (2019); Fighting with My Family (2019); Malekith (2021); The Wonder (2022); Oppenheimer (2023); Dune: Part Two (2024 as Princess Irulan).

 

Craving more unearthly comparisons? Dive deeper into NecroTimes’ horror archives for the scares that stick.

Bibliography

Aldana, E. (2019) Folk Horror: Hours Dreadful and Things Strange. Strange Attractor Press.

Clark, J. (2004) The Asylum Interviews: Herk Harvey. Headpress.

Jones, A. (2020) ‘Grief and the Grotesque: Ari Aster’s Daylight Horrors’, Sight & Sound, 30(7), pp. 45-49.

Paul, W. (1994) Laughing, Screaming: Modern Hollywood Horror and Comedy. Columbia University Press.

Phillips, W. (2018) ‘From Saltair to Hårga: Cult Landscapes in American and European Horror’, Journal of Film and Video, 70(3/4), pp. 112-130. Available at: https://www.jstor.org/stable/10.5406/jfilmvideo.70.3.0112 (Accessed: 15 October 2024).

Skal, D. (2001) The Monster Show: A Cultural History of Horror. Faber & Faber.

Telotte, J.P. (2001) The Deceptive Imagination: Cinema in the Age of Reagan. University of Texas Press.

Variety Staff (2019) ‘Ari Aster on Midsommar: “It’s a breakup movie”‘. Variety. Available at: https://variety.com/2019/film/news/ari-aster-midsommar-breakup-movie-1203245678/ (Accessed: 15 October 2024).