Film Review: Starve Acre (2023)
A peculiar wind is whistling across the Yorkshire Dales in this new period folk horror from director Daniel Kokotajlo.
Set in the 1970s, Kokotajlo’s adaptation of Andrew Michael Hurley’s 2019 novel follows academic Richard (Matt Smith), his wife Juliette (Morfydd Clark), and their troubled son, Owen (Arthur Shaw), as they trade their city existence for rural life — leading to consequences that will come as little surprise to those familiar with the works of noted ghost story author Montague Rhodes James or the collection of niche broadcasts and cinematic curios that dotted the pop culture landscape in the late sixties and early seventies, which have since been collectively bundled as “folk horror.”
It’s perhaps fitting that the subject of resurrection features prominently within Kokotajlo’s skillfully crafted adaptation, given that folk horror is, within a particular sect and for reasons entangled enough to stave off their unpicking here, enjoying something of a revival.
As with other entries in the genre, we are treated to a patchwork of folklore, superstition, fabricated history, and wholly original invention, turning the prevailing picturesque view of the English landscape on its head, from the pastoral to the otherly pastoral — still enchanting and alluring, but with a swaggering supernatural menace. This otherly pastoralism is beautifully captured in the film through a series of haunting wide shots of the countryside that intermittently punctuate the human drama.
Starve Acre swiftly immerses the audience in a growing sense of dread, much of which stems from the eerie folklore tied to the farmland surrounding Richard’s ancestral home and the elusive spirits that may, or may not, dwell there. The atmosphere and Starve Acre’s Gothic credentials are established early on through the use of pathetic fallacy, as Owen tells his mother that he hears the whistling of an unseen figure he calls “Jack Grey.” The whistling echoes the relentless winds that sweep across the landscape, further amplifying the film’s haunting and oppressive tone.
Adding to the mounting sense of unease is Richard’s own investigation into the land’s history and the pervasive legends associated with it. Initially, Richard portrays his father as an unpleasant and superstitious figure. However, as the narrative unfolds, Richard begins to align his own research with his father’s findings. His exploration of the area’s folklore and the mythical spirit known as “Dandelion Jack” increasingly mirrors his father’s old work, blurring the lines between scepticism and belief.
As matters progress, the landscape takes centre stage narratively as Richard excavates the roots of a large English white oak, which holds historical and cultural significance for the pagan community. The tree’s roots, which run beneath the land, create the impression that the various supernatural occurrences are connected through this threshold between the secular and the spiritual realms.
The tree itself is given a colourful backstory, featuring as a town square, an execution apparatus, and a home to woodland spirits. In this regard Starve Acre draws on long-held Celtic and British traditions that view certain trees as magical entities with a direct connection to the Otherworld and the realm of fairies.
The Jamesian approach that Kokotajlo has adopted means there is limited reliance on gore or special effects within the film. Instead, much of the unease and tension relies on the performance of the small ensemble of actors. In this regard, Starve Acre is well equipped.
The central performances by Smith and Clark are a delight to behold. Matt Smith excels as the devoted father, determined not to repeat the mistakes of the past while, paradoxically, being drawn down a similar path. Meanwhile, Clark delivers a performance that is equally sympathetic and unsettling.
The growing ambiguity surrounding the central characters causes Harrie (Erin Richards), Juliette’s visiting sister, to oscillate between serving as an occasional foil for Richard and representing a perspective that closely aligns with that of the audience watching the increasingly bizarre events unfolding on the desolate farmland.
Also supporting is neighbour Gordon, played by Sean Gilder, who delivers an understated yet superb performance, perfectly capturing the unnatural confluence of familiarity and strangeness that has come to define the folk horror genre. Melanie Kilburn likewise makes a lasting impression as Mrs. Forde, a local psychic, hitting all the right folk beats.
That said, there are issues in Starve Acre. In this writer’s opinion, the film feels somewhat unbalanced at certain points, and one might wonder if the suffocating dread established so effectively through the synthesis of cinematography, performance, and Matthew Herbert’s excellent score builds to a conclusion of sufficient significance and impact to satisfy a general horror audience or those familiar with the folk horror genre. Furthermore, if one were feeling uncharitable, it could be said that Starve Acre is rudimentary in its adherence to formulaic elements without adding much that is new or innovative.
Yet, in this writer’s view, this is perhaps as it should be. A folktale handed down through generations, in author - Andrew Michael Hurley’s words, “thickens” as it goes. For the right audience member, which I would categorise myself as, Starve Acre is pleasing, at least partly due to its adherence to a formula and style of storytelling that is long-lived and authentically local rather than global.
When appraising Starve Acre, it is impossible to separate the concentric rings of period appeal that surround it, and, for that matter, the larger folk horror revival. The nostalgia these works evoke is not only for an imagined pre-Christian and untamed Albion but also for the mid-20th century period that first brought them into popular culture. While Starve Acre was shot digitally, the filmmakers took the extra step of transferring the work to 35mm negative to achieve a period-authentic aesthetic. Although the film includes a series of digital effects shots, it also features a wonderful animatronic controlled by seven puppeteers — a welcome return to traditional craftsmanship in film that feels positively “old ways” and is sure to delight audiences of a certain vintage. The 70s costuming by Emma Fryer is likely to provide as much visual delight for fans of period pieces as Regency costuming in a Pride and Prejudice remake might for the heritage crowd. Perhaps that’s what folk horror is — a form of dark heritage cinema, or heritage for goths.
The folk horror revival is unlikely to sweep the nation or the global stage in the manner that the superhero craze did. It’s hard to imagine a hall full of cosplayers dressed as Morris dancers cheering as producers lay out some kind of Neolithic cinematic universe. Yet, that is not its purpose. Folk horror exists to convey esoteric, perhaps even fabricated, knowledge — a sense that our global identity, technological superiority, and scientific minds can be undone by something we sense but do not fully understand.
Starve Acre practices what it preaches. Those who venture within its realms will find a depiction of Blighty that is both familiar and estranged, nostalgic and brutal. Yet, for all its contradictions, it is decidedly of the village.
