Midsommar Review

[Author: Alessandro De Carli]

Imagine you are floating in sky filled with; you can see mountains, rocks, and trees, but everything has blurred edges, vanishing into a fine veil of white.

The light starts to drown you; are you flying ot falling? The breeze becomes wind, and the wind becomes a storm.

This is what Midsommar by Ari Aster feels like. 

A reasonable question might be: why review Midsommar, a film from five years ago? The answer is that this film represents a kind of horror that is slowly disappearing, a well-crafted, haunting horror. 

Midsommar tells the story of five friends who decide to spend their summer in a secluded Pagan community deep in Sweden. One of them, the protagonist Dani, seeks to leave her difficult past behind and rediscover a little peace in this experience. But as days pass, the community’s behavior grows increasingly “uncomfortable” for the outsiders until it becomes, ultimately, quite deadly. This is a story about loss, family, and obviously about a very, very, but very weird community… but no spoiler.

Enough about the plot; let’s focus on why Midsommar is such a great film and what sets it apart from other horror movies. 

Midsommar avoids jump scares and fast cuts, instead favoring a slow and calculated way of creating tension and fear through music, stunning cinematography, and an outstanding performance by Florence Pugh. This slowness shouldn’t be mistaken for boredom, as every scene has a purpose; nothing is random. Details that seem unrelated at first come to matter later, weaving a tight narrative. This means Midsommar isn’t a film you can watch absentmindedly on some random night in November; it provides the puzzle pieces, but you must put them together. 

The cinematography is also strikingly unusual: in the first part of the film, emotions are reflected through colors and light. But when they arrive in Sweden, everything changes. The overwhelming brightness, as if the sky itself is engulfing everything, is like a punch: “Am I watching a horror movie or a celebration in paradise?” This reversal creates an unsettling feeling. 

The cinematography, paired with precise direction, keeps you aware that you’re watching a film, which at times may slightly interrupt character immersion. But the light and visuals create disorientation for the viewer, a mirror to the confusion the characters feel. 

The fear in Midsommar comes from disorientation, a sense of helplessness. There are no grotesque monsters, only the unease of not understanding the community’s motives. The horror lies in the characters’ total immersion in a culture that surrounds, suffocates, and psychologically—and then physically—overwhelms them, leaving them no way out. 

Unfortunately, some character behaviors feel less than realistic in certain scenes, prompting a “Why?” that may repeat until you conclude: “Okay, they’re just being foolish.” This is the film’s only resemblance to mainstream horror tropes. 

A word on Florence Pugh’s performance: it’s truly stunning. Her emotional expression fills entire scenes, especially in the beginning when she endures a devastating event. Here, the supporting characters and settings serve only to heighten her emotions. 

Midsommar isn’t for everyone. But for those willing to delve deeply into Dani’s journey, piece together the unsettling puzzle, and surrender to the creeping dread, it offers a cinematic experience beyond horror. This is a film that doesn’t easily let you go, lingering like an afterimage and reminding you that sometimes the most terrifying monsters are the ones hiding in the light.