Enys men ★★★☆☆
Imagine a film where the protagonist’s morning ritual involves jotting down “no change” in a logbook as she stares at a patch of flowers on a desolate island. Welcome to Enys Men, where monotony is both the villain and the star of the show.
Set in 1973 Cornwall, the film follows an unnamed woman (Mary Woodvine) tasked with observing a rare flower on an uninhabited island. If you think this sounds like a peaceful retreat from the chaos of modern life, think again. As her days blur into one another, reality starts to unravel. Are the visions of strange children, ghostly miners, and an ominous stone monolith real, or is she simply losing her mind to island isolation? This is a question that director Mark Jenkin, clearly having fun with ambiguity, has no interest in answering.
Thematically, Enys Men sits squarely in the folk horror genre but swaps overt scares for eerie, atmospheric dread. Jenkin’s use of 16mm film heightens the sense of timelessness—this could be a reel from some forgotten past or a future no one wants to visit. The film taps into ideas about grief and connection to nature, but leaves much to interpretation. If you like your movies spoon-fed, this might not be your cup of tea (which, coincidentally, runs out for the protagonist in a true moment of British horror).
Visually, Enys Men is all about mood. The stark, rugged Cornish landscape is both breathtaking and unsettling, with shots that feel like they’ve been plucked from a dream or, more likely, a nightmare. Jenkin’s slow, deliberate pacing mirrors the repetitive nature of the protagonist’s life, and while this will drive some viewers mad with impatience, it’s undeniably immersive. By the time we reach the body horror twist involving the flowers, we’re not even sure if it’s real—but it’s disturbing all the same.
Woodvine’s performance is a quiet tour de force. She brings an intensity to the role that carries the film, even when nothing seems to be happening. Her character is often alone on screen, yet her haunted expression and methodical routine keep us glued to her descent into a kind of floral madness.
While Jenkin’s devotion to crafting an enigmatic, meditative horror film is admirable, it’s not without its frustrations. The film often feels like it’s caught in its own loop, much like its protagonist, and by the end, you might be jotting down “no change” in your own notes. But for those who appreciate slow-burn horror with a healthy dose of existential dread, Enys Men offers a hypnotic, albeit perplexing, experience.
Who’s it for? Fans of experimental cinema, and anyone who finds joy in wandering foggy moors with no clear destination in sight.
Verdict? Enys Men is visually haunting and intellectually challenging but runs the risk of alienating those who like a bit more plot with their pictures. Three stars for mood, mystery, and mossy existentialism.
