Midsommar (2019)

Midsommar was one of my very favorite films of 2019, and in the years since its release, I've heard plenty of complaints lodged against it. While the arguments for and against it are pretty set in stone at this point, I still feel the urge to set the record straight after my most recent viewing, which by the way, happened to be the director's cut; not the preferred way to view the film by any means, but as a fan, I couldn't help but be curious about what was cut and why. So without further ado, let's dive in.

The film opens with a mundane tragedy so raw and upsetting that we simply must be watching an Ari Aster film. He is no stranger to melodrama, and this film sports plenty of it in its opening moments. It tears open a wound and displays it proudly, as it will repeatedly come back to haunt both us and our protagonist, Dani, periodically through the narrative. Once it gets going as a horror film, it becomes much easier to actively enjoy, but the opening half-hour is tough-going. There's the tease of what's to come, the tragedy itself, the mourning that follows the tragedy, a series of awkward scenes involving Dani hanging with her better half's buds, and then finally, the film can begin. But in the not-insignificant chunk of the film that comes before that moment arrives, a few in the audience could be forgiven for thinking they'd walked into the wrong theater and were watching some kind of misery porn for psychos when all they wanted was The Wicker Man. It's not to say all of it isn't necessary and doesn't make the film better overall, but I'd be lying to you if I told you it was pleasant viewing.

You see, this isn't any old horror flick we're dealing with here. No, this one is way into allegory, and the topic it has in mind is fairly universal: long, messy break-ups. Dani's boyfriend, Christian, doesn't care for her anymore and finds himself struggling to tell her. He longs for something more carefree and less committed, feeling that Dani is getting in the way of him being able to enjoy college life to the fullest. This already uncomfortable situation is made so much worse when our opening tragedy suddenly makes it that much harder for him to get rid of her. Meanwhile, our heart breaks for poor, poor Dani: she just wants someone who will listen to her and be there for her, no matter how hard the going gets. But both refuse to make the first move and thus stay tethered together in a totally joyless existence. This is why I excuse the stark opening: it manages to make this situation feel so real and really bring across the mundane, greyish misery that comes from living an existence you despise but are equally afraid to walk away from. It's obviously autobiographical, in any case.

Speaking of which, let's talk about one of the major criticisms of the film: that the characters aren't exactly likable and the tone isn't exactly light. Certainly, I don't disagree: Will Poulter's character is annoying, Josh is extremely hard to like considering his pompous attitude and refusal to translate important things for his friends, and Christian is seemingly sleepwalking through everything with zero interest, which begs the question of how he's managed to make it through years of university to get to where he is now. Hell, even Dani isn't perfect; an early scene of her and Christian arguing comes off as extremely wrong and desperate on both sides. All of these dynamic personalities get a little extra time to embarrass themselves in the shiny new director's cut, but most significantly does Christian, who is now revealed to be a manipulator playing dumb rather than a distracted slacker, which cleans up the originally ambiguous character a little too much for my tastes. Ultimately, I think that the characters and the distant, cold feeling they leave in their wake only add to the film's horror. They feel so true-to-life, and so help to ground the film once things take a turn for the occult.

Another thing that makes it a cut above in terms of horror is its subtlety and ever-increasing tension. There is so much we aren't privy to, even in the director's cut, which makes the most revealing sequences that take place in the daylight at the climax of the film so disturbing. There's a twisted logic to it all that shows that it was all thought out to the letter, even though they don't give you everything. It definitely has an iceberg-like quality: we are bound to our characters' point of view and only know what they know at any given time.

It all culminates in a truly wonderful, triumphantly bleak ending that always cheers me up immensely. Aster did something similar in Hereditary, but now it's driven by a more relatable sort of catharsis. Take it at face value, or look at it as a fable about breaking up, where everything that happens is no more than metaphor: either way, it's satisfying, and decidedly not the usual sort of Hollywood ending you might expect. There has been significant controversy over whether or not it works, but the group that doesn't like it seems most upset that Dani does a bad thing and that they feel the film is somehow 'glorifying' her. "Don't they know it's bad to do bad things?" It's a horror film, dummy. It's supposed to be dark and twisted and give you something to remember. It's supposed to explore things you can't in a format where everything must be a-okay by the time credits roll.

Though I hate most of the characters as people, I can't deny that their actors bring them to life perfectly. Florence Pugh's legendary pout is definitely the highlight, but the rest of the cast is universally strong across the board. The audio-visual component of the film, likewise, is incredible, and may even be Midsommar's strongest asset. The rustic folk songs and shrieking strings from none other than the Haxan Cloak himself, the brilliant cinematography (special mention goes to the upside-down car ride,) the psychedelic CG effects, and especially all the little pieces of artwork displayed throughout the village: it's all quite immaculate. It does the classic folk horror thing of contrasting serene natural environments with brutal violence, and beautifully, I might add. The infamous 'attestupa' scene, featuring chalk-white mountains getting splattered with sacrificial blood? Pure genre nirvana.

I'm just going to remind you once more that I don't particularly care for the director's cut versus the theatrical one. The extra stuff we get is far from illuminating when it isn't simply repetitive and/or shockingly amateurish (an early deleted scene taking place during the car ride springs to mind,) and let's face it: the movie was already long without adding an additional twenty-odd minutes to it. I never get exhausted waiting for the end to come, but that is one of the more common complaints about the film from general audiences, so do keep that in mind. If you're a huge fan and you already own the theatrical cut, perhaps the director's cut release could safely be recommended, but for everyone else, the theatrical cut is the only one I'd be comfortable recommending.

And I think that about covers it. This is a brutal horror film, and one without very much to cling onto, but I think its handling of serious themes in a horror context, nihilistic as it may seem, warrants praise. It isn't perfect, obviously, but it doesn't need to be. It's messy, not unlike a break-up, and often hard to watch, but for the patient and dedicated horror fan, it will satisfy. It adds up to more than the sum of its parts, and lends itself well to multiple viewing, not unlike a Stanley Kubrick film. And also like a Kubrick film, it can turn off those in the audience looking for a little human warmth to go along with their narratives, but to each his own, I suppose.