Examining Abuse in MIDSOMMAR
Going into Ari Aster’s Midsommar, I was prepared to come out writing another one of my full reviews. For most horror movies, I think reading spoiler-free reviews can be crucial. Midsommar is not one of those movies.
So, this is your spoiler warning. If you want to experience Midsommar at its best, I would recommend staying far away from reviews. Go in blind. So, instead of reviewing it, I’m going to discuss what aspect of the film I found most impactful.
After seeing the trailers for Midsommar, it’s easy to believe that you know what to expect. A European cult in the middle of the woods who are hosting a celebration that they only hold every ninety years? Any horror fan could immediately recall The Wicker Man. But, as Aster films are showing, the story is much more than what it seems.
If you have seen this movie’s predecessor, Hereditary, you may have an understanding of what I mean. There is something genuinely disturbing about the trauma that Aster begs us to witness in his films. While that trauma is dramatic and forceful in his debut, it is much more insidious in Midsommar.
…the story is much more than what it seems.
Ari Aster’s uncanny ability to mask true horror with the tropes that we’ve come to love is honestly magical. As with Hereditary, that discomfort is something that you may not be able to understand if you can’t relate to it in some way. For Hereditary, it was family trauma. For Midsommar, it is domestic emotional abuse.
Dani’s character is one that any woman who lives with mental illness can relate to. Her anxiety is only amplified by her relationship with Christian. For so many of us who struggle with mental illness, we are drawn to those that seem strong. Unfortunately, a lack of emotional intelligence can very easily be mistaken for strength. Thus, we have Christian’s gaslighting of Dani’s emotional struggles for the entirety of the film.
The ending of this film is electric.
To be clear, I am not ignoring the death of Dani’s family during the opening of the film. It’s clear that Aster revels in exploring the pain of the loss of a loved one, I found it much less important in this film.
Dani’s grief felt like a lot of unnecessary things: a plot device to make her panic attacks more commonly understandable, a way to isolate her so that she has nothing to lose by the end of the film, a commentary on the fleetingness of life and a reminder that, yes, Aster is still the master of grief in film. At the end of it, though, it’s still not really needed.
By basing Dani’s trauma in something so tangible, it reinforces the idea that those suffering from mental illness need a reason. From the beginning, it is made clear that Dani struggles with anxiety. Aster had the chance to explore the struggles of just living with mental illness, but he, unfortunately, fell on what he knew. While it’s definitely not so disappointing that it soils my opinion of the film, I can recognize that it could be better.
The ending of this film is electric. Unlike the finale of The Wicker Man, where we are left unsettled and upset over the loss of our protagonist, this ending is almost celebratory. As Dani watches Christian burn to death, she feels the release of his grip on her. She’s free of his unengaged judgment and has finally found a family that sees how beautiful she is.
For anyone who struggles with mental illness, has dealt with the loss of a family member, or has been in an emotionally abusive relationship, this film is very cathartic. Just make sure to have someone to talk to afterward. From experience, it is a lot to process.
