For many viewers emerging from the cinema, the first question about Midsommar will undoubtedly be: what the hell just happened? We begin our journey in the relative certainties of the real world – albeit one soured by bereavement for our heroine Dani (Florence Pugh). Nearly two-and-a-half hours later, reality has been warped to the extent that it makes perfect sense to watch Dani, drugged up and dressed as a Jeff Koons puppy, saying goodbye to her asshole boyfriend as he burns to death inside a disembowelled bear, along with other sacrificial victims, in a giant triangular barn, in the middle of Swedish nowhere, surrounded by her cheery new “family”. This is fine!
More questions arise once a sense of normality has returned. Is it a horror masterpiece for you, as for many critics? After this and Hereditary, does director Ari Aster deserve to be crowned our new king of horror? Or if not, why not? Either way, as with Hereditary, Midsommar feels like a highly considered piece of storytelling beneath the craziness – technically precise, meticulously designed, dense with allusions, clues, references and riddles. So let’s see if we can decipher some of them, process our feelings and collectively repair our frayed nerves.
Old-time religion?
The belief system of the happy inhabitants of Hårga seems to be a mix of northern European paganism, occult tradition, arcane numerology and made-up nonsense. How much of each? Native Swedes will have a better idea when it comes to the local lore. May Queens, maypoles and flower crowns are familiar elements of many real-life midsummer rituals. The runes scattered throughout the movie are also genuine (any translators of Elder Futhark out there?). Even the worse-than-death fate of Simon in the chicken coop is based on legends of a gory Norse practice known as the “blood eagle”. There also seems to be something significant about multiples of nine: the division of human life into four 18-year “seasons”, ending at 72 (that unforgettably gory cliff-jumping Ättestupa ritual is also a real thing). Note how Dani is celebrating her birthday – if it’s her 27th, it would place her in the exact centre of the second season, the “midsummer” of her life. Then there are the nine sacrifices, the nine-day festival, the 90-year cycle. Does it all fit together? Does it matter?
What’s it really about?
Even if you’re not into deciphering the puzzles, Midsommar is a powerful study of grief, betrayal, breakups, and more. And, as usual, Florence Pugh is just brilliant as Dani. She’s so adept at registering the emotions of her character, whether they’re just below the surface or breaking out into wailing hysteria. We’re with her every step of the way, and, whatever else it represents, the ending of the film is satisfyingly cathartic for Dani on a personal level. As for her three male companions, they get what they deserve, don’t they? They represent different facets of masculine inadequacy. It’s clear that boyfriend Christian (Jack Reynor) is a coward and a selfish asshole from the outset, even if Dani is too fragile to realise it. Horndog Mark (Will Poulter) thinks he’s in Sweden’s answer to Love Island, and Josh (William Jackson Harper) puts morality aside in favour of academic ambition. Do these male characters represent corrupting, toxic masculinity? Or is this a parable of snarky, city-smart, modern rationalism undone by primal rural values? Or are the villagers’ ancient pagan traditions actually far-right beliefs dressed up in folksy costumes? White nationalism, racial purity, eugenics, incest – something rotten at the heart of western civilisation?
Count the precedents
So many movies feed into Midsommar. It is possibly more instructive to detail differences than similarities between Midsommar and definitive folk horror The Wicker Man. Aster himself compared his film to Albert Brooks’ 1981 breakup movie Modern Romance (no, I haven’t seen it either). The Guardian’s Peter Bradshaw likened Midsommar to Nicolas Roeg’s Don’t Look Now in its treatment of grief and presentiment. Then again, is Midsommar essentially the same story as Hereditary? In both movies, a grief-stricken woman with mental health issues finds herself a pawn in the grand scheme of some sinister, ancient clan dedicated to perpetuating itself at all costs. And arrives at a place of calm acceptance. Aster made another intriguing comparison last year when he described Midsommar as a “Wizard of Oz for perverts”. Is there something in that? Dani would be Dorothy, obviously. Her male companions could well be analogues of the Cowardly Lion, the Scarecrow and the Tin Man. Both stories feature storms, witchcraft and hallucinogenic plants. Dani and co even walk into Hårga down a path strewn with yellow flowers – a yellow brick road? Does that make Pelle the wizard? In retrospect, he’s the one pulling the strings, isn’t he?
Is it supposed to be funny?
Some have complained that Midsommar’s horror is undercut by its over-the-top ridiculousness, and therefore it’s not as scary as it is trying to be. Certainly in the cinema I went to, there were moments that had the whole house laughing: the recorder-playing villagers who greet the newcomers; Christian’s utterly bonkers sex scene with the red-haired woman (and friends); pretty much every line Mark says. Should we be laughing? Did Aster intend for Midsommar to be a comedy? And if so, do these moments detract from the horror, or complement it?
Does it really make sense?
How often do the people of Hårga do this? If this is a ritual that only happens once every 90 years, what are these people doing the rest of the time? Or do they do this every year for Midsommar? In which case, wouldn’t people have noticed quite a few foreign tourists going missing in a remote part of Sweden over the years? What would have happened if Dani hadn’t won the May Queen dance-off? And why did the Londoners Connie and Simon have to die? They didn’t do anything wrong, did they? Maybe we’re not meant to understand. Maybe none of this ever happened, and it was all just Dani’s mushroom trip that began moments after they arrived. Maybe the point of the film is to break down rational thought and make us chase our tails in bewildered theorising. In which case mission accomplished.