Why Folk Horror Is Experiencing a Massive Resurgence
In the shadowed corners of modern cinema, where ancient rituals meet contemporary dread, folk horror is clawing its way back into the spotlight. Once confined to the cult classics of the 1970s, this subgenre—rooted in rural isolation, pagan myths, and the uncanny clash between old-world superstitions and modern life—is surging anew. Films like Ari Aster’s Midsommar (2019) and Robert Eggers’ The Witch (2015) paved the way, but 2023 and 2024 have unleashed a torrent of titles that prove this is no fleeting trend. From the chilling British landscapes of Enys Men to the folkloric ferocity of Godland, audiences are flocking to stories that unearth the primal fears lurking beneath pastoral idylls. Why now? In an era of global uncertainty, folk horror offers a visceral mirror to our collective anxieties, blending the familiar with the folkloric grotesque.
This resurgence manifests not just in box office hauls—Aster’s Midsommar grossed over $48 million worldwide on a modest budget—but in streaming dominance and festival buzz. Platforms like Shudder and Netflix have amplified its reach, turning niche arthouse into mainstream must-watch. Directors are drawing from authentic folklore, from Cornish legends to Icelandic sagas, infusing their work with a authenticity that resonates deeply. As climate crises and cultural fragmentation intensify, folk horror’s themes of nature’s revenge and communal breakdown feel eerily prescient. This article delves into the forces propelling this revival, spotlighting key films, cultural shifts, and what lies ahead for the genre.
The Roots of Folk Horror: A Brief History
Folk horror traces its lineage to the British ‘unholy trinity’ of films from the early 1970s: Piers Haggard’s The Blood on Satan’s Claw (1971), Robin Hardy’s The Wicker Man (1973), and Nigel Kneale’s Penda’s Fen (1974). These works captured a post-war Britain grappling with the erosion of tradition amid industrialisation and secularism. Outsiders stumble into isolated communities bound by archaic rites, leading to inevitable doom. The genre’s blueprint—landscape as malevolent force, folk customs twisted into horror, and a sense of inescapable folk memory—remained dormant for decades, overshadowed by slashers and supernatural spectacles.
Revived in the 2010s by American auteurs, it gained transatlantic traction. Eggers’ The Witch, set in 1630s New England, evoked Puritan paranoia with meticulous period detail, earning three Oscar nominations and cult status. Aster’s Midsommar flipped the script to sunlit Swedish midsummer festivals, grossing $10 million domestically despite limited release.[1] These successes signalled a hunger for horror that intellectualises terror, demanding viewers confront the eerie beauty of the unknown.
Key Films Fueling the 2020s Resurgence
British Folk Horror Revival
The UK leads this charge with a wave of low-budget gems. Mark Jenkin’s Enys Men (2022), shot on 16mm in Cornwall, follows a naturalist observing a rare flower that mirrors her descent into madness. Its repetitive structure and folkloric ambiguity earned raves at Tribeca, embodying the genre’s hypnotic pull. Similarly, Starve Acre (2024), adapted from Andrew Michael Hurley’s novel and directed by Daniel Kokotajlo, stars Morfydd Clark and Matt Smith as parents unravelling amid Yorkshire moors haunted by folklore. Early reviews praise its atmospheric dread, positioning it as a successor to Apostasy.
Further north, She Will
(2021) by Charlotte Colbert blends Scottish highlands with vengeful witchcraft, starring Alice Krige. These films reclaim Britain’s pagan heritage, from Green Man myths to fairy lore, often shot on location to amplify authenticity.
International Flavours
Scandinavia and beyond expand the palette. Iceland’s Lamb (2021), directed by Valdimar Jóhannsson, stunned at Cannes with its tale of a couple birthing a lamb-human hybrid from folklore. Noomi Rapace’s raw performance propelled it to streaming success. Denmark’s Godland (2022) by Hlynur Pálmason pits an Icelandic priest against unforgiving terrain, blending biblical horror with folk fatalism.
Even Eastern Europe contributes: You Won’t Be Alone (2022), a Macedonian shape-shifting witch saga by Goran Stolevski, wowed Sundance. These global entries highlight folk horror’s universality—every culture harbours dark rural tales waiting to be exhumed.
Cultural and Societal Drivers
What ignites this boom? Post-pandemic isolation has heightened appreciation for nature’s dual allure and threat. Folk horror thrives on ecofear: overgrown landscapes devouring civilisation, as in Midsommar‘s floral horrors or Enys Men‘s mutating flora. Climate anxiety finds voice in rituals punishing human hubris, mirroring real-world wildfires and floods.
Socially, it probes identity crises. In a fragmenting world of migration and online echo chambers, films like Penda’s Fen (reappraised via BFI restorations) and modern echoes such as Men (2022) by Alex Garland dissect masculinity, fertility cults, and communal toxicity. Garland’s folk-infused nightmare, with its grotesque births and Rory Kinnear’s multifaceted performance, grossed $10.6 million and sparked debates on misogyny in folklore.[2]
Moreover, decolonisation narratives emerge. Indigenous folklore reclaims space, as in New Zealand’s Petrol or Australia’s The Moogai (2024), where Aboriginal spirits haunt settler guilt. This diversification enriches the genre, moving beyond Celtic tropes.
The Role of Streaming and Festivals
Platforms are accelerators. Shudder’s folk horror collections, featuring restored classics alongside Lamb and Gaia (2021)—a South African fungal apocalypse—have cultivated dedicated viewers. Netflix’s His House (2020) infused refugee horror with African folklore, broadening appeal.
Festivals like Sitges, Fantasia, and FrightFest spotlight newcomers. A24 and Neon continue championing prestige folk, with Midsommar as blueprint. Indie crowdfunding via Kickstarter sustains micro-budget visions, democratising production.
Production Insights and Challenges
Crafting folk horror demands immersion. Directors like Jenkin edit their own films for singular vision, while Eggers researches dialects obsessively. Challenges persist: rural shoots battle weather, and subtle scares risk alienating jump-scare fans. Yet, VFX innovations—like Lamb‘s prosthetics—enhance without overpowering atmosphere.
Sound design reigns supreme: droning folk instruments, wind-swept moors, ritual chants build unease organically. Scores by composers like Bobby Krlic (Midsommar) evoke ancient dread, proving less is more.
Box Office and Audience Impact
Financially, folk horror punches above weight. The Witch earned $40 million on $4 million; Midsommar similar ROI. 2024’s Longlegs, though serial-killer adjacent, nods folk with occult vibes, topping $100 million. Audience metrics show repeat viewings and discourse on TikTok/Letterboxd, where #FolkHorror trends.
Demographically, it skews Gen Z and millennials, drawn to slow-burn arthouse amid franchise fatigue. Podcasts like The Folk Horror Podcast and books such as Adam Scovell’s Folk Horror: Hours Dreadful and Things Strange fuel fandom.
Future Outlook: What’s Next?
2025 promises more: The Damned by Thordur Palsson, Icelandic folk sea-horror; Folk by Bally Kaur Gill, British-Punjabi rituals. Sequels? Whispers of Wicker Man reboots persist. Hybrids emerge—folk-slasher like In a Violent Nature (2024), blending backwoods lore with gore.
Television dips in: Archie (upcoming) channels 1970s vibes; Midnight Mass echoed folk isolation. Global south rises, with Brazilian and Indian folk horrors on horizon, promising diverse terrors.
Conclusion
Folk horror’s resurgence is no accident; it taps primal veins in our psyche, where modernity frays against eternal landscapes and forgotten gods. From festival darlings to streaming staples, these films remind us that true horror blooms not in shadows, but in broad daylight amid the whispering grasses. As societal fault lines deepen, expect this genre to thrive, offering catharsis through its ritualistic unflinching gaze. Whether you’re revisiting The Wicker Man or anticipating the next pagan nightmare, folk horror proves the countryside harbours secrets sharper than any blade.
For the latest in genre evolutions, keep eyes on Shudder and indie circuits— the old ways are awakening.
References
- Box Office Mojo: Midsommar
- Variety Review: Men
- Scovell, Adam. Folk Horror: Hours Dreadful and Things Strange. Hatchet Press, 2017.