Midsommar ★★★★☆
Ari Aster’s Midsommar is what happens when a breakup, a pagan cult, and a Swedish summer festival are thrown into a blender—and somehow the result is more unsettling than it sounds. It’s a folk horror that swaps the gloom of Hereditary for eternal daylight, which only amplifies the unease. You know, because nothing says “relaxing vacation” like floral crowns and ritualistic human sacrifices.
The film begins with Dani (Florence Pugh), a woman teetering on the edge of emotional collapse after a devastating family tragedy. Her boyfriend, Christian (Jack Reynor), would rather ghost her than offer any meaningful support. But because this is horror—and Aster is the kind of filmmaker who believes in “maximum discomfort”—Dani ends up tagging along with Christian and his frat-boy friends on a trip to rural Sweden. The destination? A seemingly idyllic commune celebrating a once-in-a-lifetime midsummer festival. Spoiler: It’s less flower crowns and more flesh burns.
On the surface, Midsommar is about culture clash—city slickers who become pawns in a remote village’s ancient traditions. But dig a little deeper, and it’s a story about grief, isolation, and rebirth. Dani, utterly alienated from her old life, starts off suffocating under the weight of her trauma and a toxic relationship. By the end, she finds a twisted sense of community and catharsis within the cult, which is as comforting as it is horrifying. This film is less “scary movie” and more a grotesque fairy tale about purging what no longer serves you. And in Dani’s case, that means dumping her emotionally stunted boyfriend… into a bear suit… and setting him on fire.
Aster masterfully contrasts the film’s idyllic aesthetic with its creeping dread. The cinematography is blindingly bright—fields of endless flowers and sunshine—but underneath the warmth is a gnawing tension that something unspeakable is coming. The lack of shadows makes the grotesque moments (oh, there are plenty) even more jarring. Visually, Midsommar feels like a fever dream where everything looks beautiful, until it doesn’t.
Florence Pugh is phenomenal. Her portrayal of Dani is raw, emotionally chaotic, and so unfiltered you can practically feel her grief in your bones. She anchors the film, and by the time we get to the infamous May Queen scene, it’s clear she’s fully absorbed into this new, disturbing family. Reynor as Christian perfectly embodies the clueless, detached boyfriend, more interested in personal convenience than his partner’s emotional well-being, making his eventual fiery demise all the more satisfying.
Midsommar takes its time—perhaps a little too much at points. At 140 minutes, the pacing is deliberately slow, giving the audience ample opportunity to squirm as tension builds. Some might argue it overstays its welcome, with long stretches where not much happens besides philosophical discussions and ominous chanting. But when the horror hits, it’s bone-chilling. The film’s slow-burn structure is a double-edged sword: it allows for thorough world-building but occasionally drags.
It’s hard to watch Midsommar without reflecting on relationships—the good, the bad, and the ones that make you want to run screaming into the woods. Dani’s journey of finding acceptance within a cult, while her real friends disappear one by one, feels like an extreme allegory for anyone who’s ever felt alone in a crowd. Watching her slowly smile amidst the burning temple is strangely cathartic, even if you’re not planning on joining a commune anytime soon.
If you like your horror with a side of existential dread and Swedish folk music, Midsommar is for you. It’s not a film for the squeamish or those expecting traditional jump scares, but it’s a beautifully unsettling exploration of grief, rebirth, and yes—sometimes, your significant other really is the bear you need to burn. Aster has crafted a sun-drenched nightmare that will linger long after the credits roll. Just don’t drink the tea.
