Midsommar (2019)

A sunlit descent into grief and ritual that turns emotional collapse into something disturbingly serene.

Release Date: July 3, 2019 (U.S. theatrical)
Runtime: 147 minutes
Rating: R for disturbing ritualistic violence, graphic nudity and sexual content, drug use, and some language.
Rotten Tomatoes: Critics 83% • Audience 63%
Metacritic: Critics 72 • User 6.6
Letterboxd: 3.8 / 5
EncoreCraft Score: 86 / 100
Where to Watch: View current streaming availability on JustWatch

EncoreCraft Breakdown (0–10)

• Rewatch Value: 6 / 10
• Scare Factor: 7 / 10
• Performances: 9 / 10
• Violence and Disturbance: 8 / 10
• Pacing: 7 / 10

Synopsis

Grief hits Dani like a physical force, folding her inward as she gasps for breath and struggles to keep herself upright in the aftermath of an unspeakable family tragedy. Her emotions arrive without warning, spilling out in sobs and silences that make the people around her visibly uncomfortable. Clinging to her failing relationship out of fear rather than affection, she agrees to follow her boyfriend and his friends to a remote Swedish commune for a midsummer festival. The constant daylight, the open fields, and the soft ritual chants create an atmosphere that feels both exposed and strangely soothing. For the first time since her loss, Dani is surrounded by people who appear to see her pain rather than avoid it.

Inside the commune, grief is not something to be hidden or managed quietly. It is mirrored, shared, and ritualized through synchronized breathing, communal meals, and collective emotional release. What initially feels like relief begins to shift as customs repeat and explanations grow thinner. The longer Dani stays, the more difficult it becomes to separate healing from indoctrination. Comfort and control slowly merge, blurring the line between belonging and surrender.

Spoiler-Free Review

Midsommar opens in emotional darkness before dragging that grief into relentless daylight, stripping away the protective shadows most horror films rely on. Screams echo across open fields instead of being swallowed by darkness, and violence is framed against clear skies rather than hidden corners. This choice creates a persistent unease, making the horror feel unavoidable rather than surprising. The brightness becomes oppressive, forcing both the characters and the audience to sit with every ritual and reaction without relief. From its first act, the film establishes that nothing will be concealed.

Florence Pugh anchors the film through a performance that treats grief as something bodily rather than poetic. Her breathing stutters, her voice cracks mid-sentence, and her posture collapses when she thinks no one is watching. These details accumulate gradually, grounding the film’s escalating dread in emotional realism. Even when the narrative drifts into ritual and symbolism, her presence keeps the story painfully human. The horror feels earned because it grows out of recognizable emotional behavior rather than spectacle.

The commune itself is unnerving because of its consistency. White garments flutter in the breeze, smiles never falter, and every emotional response is echoed by the group as if rehearsed. At first, this mirrored empathy feels comforting, especially compared to the emotional distance Dani experiences outside the village. Over time, repetition becomes pressure, and agreement begins to feel mandatory. Tension builds not through jump scares, but through the slow realization that harmony has replaced choice.

Ari Aster’s pacing demands patience, lingering on rituals long enough for discomfort to take root. Sound design plays a crucial role, blending chanting, wind, and distant cries into a constant hum that never fully resolves. Even moments of beauty feel slightly off, as if the film is daring the audience to relax before tightening its grip again. By the time the emotional climax arrives, the horror has shifted inward, shaped by grief, loneliness, and the need to be understood. Its 86 EncoreCraft Score reflects a film that challenges endurance, but rewards attention with an experience that lingers long after the final image.

Craft Notes & Background (Non-Spoiler)

• The film was written and directed by Ari Aster following the success of Hereditary.
• Much of the outdoor village was built as a full practical set rather than relying on digital extensions.
• Florence Pugh described the role as emotionally exhausting due to the sustained portrayal of grief.
• The story draws inspiration from real Scandinavian folklore and midsummer traditions.
• An extended director’s cut was later released featuring additional character material.

⚠️ ⚠️ SPOILERS BELOW ⚠️ ⚠️

The rest of this review discusses the full plot and ending.

⚠️ ⚠️ SPOILERS BELOW ⚠️ ⚠️

Full Plot Recap (Spoilers)

Dani arrives in Sweden emotionally hollowed out, still reeling from the murder-suicide of her family and clinging to Christian despite his obvious detachment. From the moment they enter the commune, the contrast between Dani’s internal chaos and the village’s rigid order is striking. Meals are eaten in silence or perfect unison, conversations are guided gently but firmly, and every emotional display is acknowledged by the group. Early rituals are disturbing but framed as cultural differences, allowing the visitors to rationalize what they witness. Dani, desperate for stability, begins to find comfort in the structure.

As the days stretch on beneath the unsetting sun, the festival sheds any remaining ambiguity. Violence is introduced ceremonially, accompanied by chanting, stillness, and an insistence that what is happening is both necessary and beautiful. When guests disappear, their absence is explained away with soft voices and practiced phrases that discourage further questions. Dani is drawn closer to the community during this period, her grief openly validated through shared sobbing and synchronized breathing. Meanwhile, Christian becomes increasingly disoriented, isolated through manipulation and hallucinogens that erode his agency and clarity.

The power shift becomes explicit when Dani is crowned May Queen, lifted above the group and celebrated as something sacred. Her elevation grants her visibility and approval, but also distances her from her old life. Christian, now fully separated from Dani, is exploited and stripped of autonomy under the guise of tradition. His betrayal, both emotional and physical, becomes the final fracture point. Dani’s old attachments feel smaller and weaker compared to the overwhelming affirmation offered by the commune.

The climax forces Dani into a ritual choice between sacrificing a stranger or Christian. As the temple burns and screams fill the air, the villagers wail in unison, mirroring Dani’s emotions rather than questioning her decision. Her face shifts from anguish to something resembling peace, tears streaking across a smile that feels both earned and deeply unsettling. The final image leaves Dani fully absorbed into the community, her grief transformed into belonging through destruction.

Spoiler Analysis

Fear reshapes Dani’s behavior long before it hardens into belief. Outside the commune, her grief is treated as an inconvenience, met with awkward silences and emotional withdrawal. Inside, every sob is echoed, every breath mirrored, until her pain feels communal rather than isolating. That validation alters her decision-making, making the village feel safer than ambiguity ever could. What begins as relief gradually becomes dependency, as grief is no longer something she owns, but something the group manages for her.

The film’s formal horror lies in exposure rather than concealment. By eliminating darkness entirely, Aster denies both the characters and the audience the comfort of looking away. Violence unfolds in wide shots, accompanied by ritual music and synchronized movement, forcing endurance instead of shock. The camera lingers just long enough to normalize what should feel unbearable. This refusal to cut away mirrors the commune’s insistence that witnessing is participation.

Christian’s deterioration provides a counterpoint to Dani’s ascent. While Dani is elevated through affirmation, Christian is reduced to a body moved from place to place, drugged, directed, and silenced. His fear manifests as confusion and passivity, highlighting how easily autonomy collapses under sustained pressure. The imbalance reframes Dani’s final choice not as cruelty, but as inevitability shaped by environment.

The ending suggests that healing without boundaries can become another form of control. Dani’s smile is not triumph, but surrender, a visible release that comes at the cost of her former self. The structure of the film offers no return to normalcy, only replacement. Midsommar argues that belonging, when earned through destruction, carries its own quiet and permanent cost.

Hidden Craft & Story Secrets (Spoilers)

• The mural imagery seen throughout the commune subtly foreshadows major plot events.
• Dani’s costume becomes progressively more elaborate as her connection to the Hårga deepens.
• The final smile was carefully staged to remain emotionally ambiguous rather than triumphant.