If you’re familiar with the up-and-coming art house director Ari Aster, you most likely have some very strong opinions about his creations. Whether you love them or hate them, you can’t deny that they are unique, even in their own genre of psychological horror.
This is why we decided to discuss Aster’s films Hereditary (2018) and Midsommar (2019) and more specifically how they relate to each other and achieve their horror. As much as we would have liked to do that, we could not keep this discussion spoiler-free and if you’re an Aster fan, you already know why.
Comparisons Between the Films
Let’s start off by mentioning the most obvious similarities of the two films contained in their plots. One, we have two female protagonists, Annie (Hereditary) and Dani (Midsommar), even their names rhyme! Second, both films deal with cults; while Hereditary builds up the tension and only reveals this in its climax, Midsommar is framed around it from the very beginning.
Last, and most important, once you strip both films off their pomp and circumstance, you’re left with the bare structure and driving force, that of the exploration of human relationships. Hereditary deals with family tragedies, while Midsommar is literally described by Aster as a break-up movie (we can’t imagine how Ari’s ex-girlfriend feels about that).
Not only that, but we believe that the horror of these horror movies is precisely the result of various familial, romantic, and social (cultish) relationships.
Hereditary starts by exploring the relationship Annie had with her recently deceased mother, Ellen. It’s revealed that they weren’t on good terms for most of Annie’s life, but she made concessions once her own daughter was born.
In a shocking twist, we find out that was Annie’s mistake; Ellen only used Charlie as a vessel for Paimon, thus sentencing her to death as the demon sought a male physical form, so he killed Charlie to get to her brother Peter.
Midsommar depicts another tragic familial relation, that of Dani and her sister Terri. While Hereditary punishes Annie for keeping her mother close, Midsommar punishes Dani for the opposite. Assured by Christian that Terri’s messages are innocuous, Dani doesn’t go to their familial home to check on her.
It’s shown in the first scene that her parents were still breathing when she called them the first time, so she could have prevented the tragedy. Both Annie and Dani could have avoided losing everyone they love.
However, despite all this, both films are deeply entrenched in predeterminism. One of Hereditary’s first shots depicts the tree that decapitates Charlie; it bears the symbol of Paimon, implying that he’s also probably the one to influence Annie’s decision to patch things up with her mother.
In a similar symbolic fashion, Midsommar’s first shot is a beautiful painted mural that depicts everything from the murder-suicide to the May Queen dance. Although Dani could have possibly prevented the events back home, everything is carefully mapped out in the Swedish commune.
Horrors usually don’t work that way; they always leave a glimmer of hope that our protagonist would somehow survive and defeat the external threat. Apparently, Aster has never heard of that.
Let’s talk a bit how that works in both films. Hereditary has a more familiar horror movie structure. It starts with death and the reaction to it, then Ellen’s body mysteriously disappears. While we’re busy trying to figure that out, Charlie dies in a freakish accident. The cycle repeats and we see Annie trying to cope with another loss.
Then, we get to the supernatural as our heroine attempts to speak to her deceased daughter, and appears to have succeeded. Only then do we find out the underbelly or the cult of Paimon that Ellen belonged to.
Annie does everything in her power to prevent further deaths. She burns Charlie’s diary to do that, but it counter-acts as her husband is engulfed by flames and Annie becomes possessed, thus later leading to the death of her son as well. The message is clear – nothing could have stopped the events set in motion.
Midsommar, on the other hand, portrays predeterminism through cultural practices. The Hårga abide to the rules set by their ancestors centuries if not millennia ago. Their whole lives are mapped out in a similar way to the mural we see in the opening; what they do in certain life periods and even how they die.
The same applies to the foreign guests brought in. There’s an illusion that you can leave and sometimes you even feel bad for judging this new culture, but it’s just that, an illusion. Simon and Connie were both killed when they tried to leave, and they were soon followed by everyone else but Dani. After all, the Hårga have seats to fill in the yellow house.
Even Dani’s predetermined fate as the sole survivor is hinted throughout. In the first scene, one can see Dani’s picture on her parents’ bedside cabinet covered in flowers. The Hårga also explain that they sometimes take foreign partners to avoid inbreeding. We think they hint at Maja and Christian, but it was Dani and Pelle all along; he was the one inviting her in the first place.
So, how can you feel excited and suspenseful watching a horror if everything is already determined? We would have probably avoided such films in the past, but Ari shows us the raw potential of the ambitious predetermined horror.