Runtime: 147 minutes
MPAA Rating: R (for ritualistic violence, grisly images, strong sexual content, graphic nudity, drug use, and language)
Who should see it? Adults who are interested in the disturbed mind of filmmaker Ari Aster.
On the heels of Hereditary, Midsommar is writer-director Ari Aster's second feature. Though Aster's approach to Midsommar differs considerably from Hereditary, the two are equally unsettling. Neither picture fits in the conventional confines of the horror genre, considering they aren't traditionally "scary." However, both films are immaculately crafted and feature sequences which many may deem peculiar and perturbing at the very least.
Contrary to Hereditary's darkened gloomy atmosphere, much of the pagan ritualism present in Midsommar transpires in broad daylight. Violence is scarce and abrupt, but gruesome nonetheless. Viewers who are easily repulsed by the sight of blood will want to avoid Midsommar, as the camera tends to linger on the grotesque injuries which I, myself, found difficult to watch at times. Aster's sophomore effort is an uncomfortable, tedious experience full of bizarre symbolism which begs to be dissected for its deeper, profound meaning. A majority of the iconography is ambiguous and left to the viewer's interpretation, but Aster occasionally lends a hand via on-the-nose expositional dialogue.
Though I deemed the onscreen events frequently repulsive, I was persistently mesmerized by the masterful craftsmanship on display. Midsommar depicts a nine-day long Swedish festival, which certainly felt nine days long, and an uneasy ambiance is central to Aster's examination of grief and codependency. The atmospheric dread beneath the surface of a bright, flowery environment is brilliantly realized as Bobby Krlic's score eerily accompanies the picturesque imagery staged by Aster's crew (notably, director of photography Pawel Pogorzelski and production designer Henrik Svensson). I'd also be remiss to forget editor Lucian Johnson's contribution, as he incorporates seamless transitions.
Front and center, Florence Pugh is extraordinary. Dani's an emotionally troubled individual coping with grief, trauma, codependency, and denial, which Pugh portrays wonderfully. Opposite Pugh, Jack Reynor provides a multi-faceted performance as Dani's despondent boyfriend, Christian. The relationship clearly isn't meant to be, but, understandably, these characters think otherwise. Will Poulter's a particularly pleasant source of comic relief, Vilhelm Blomgren and William Jackson Harper are solid supporting players, and the cast of Swedish villagers are ominously hospitable.
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