When I quit my job in Washington, D.C. and moved to California, in many ways I did a lot more than hop on a plane and sign a new lease—I was stepping into another culture. Before I knew it, new coworkers and neighbors were approaching me with their recommended oh-so-hippie rituals straight out of #thatcalilifemagazine—breathe this essential oil in deeply, visit that acupuncturist, rub this crystal, try on this peasant top, leave work by 5:00 pm. I enjoyed joking with my East Coast friends how much it felt like I was joining a cult. Midsommar is a lot like that. Except that it’s set in Sweden. And with many more floral crowns. Oh and gore. A whole heck of a lot of disturbing, ritualistic gore.
Ok maybe my move to California is nothing like Midsommar. But that’s also because Midsommar is unlike any other film I’ve ever seen. Does that make it one you shouldn’t miss? Maybe. Does that mean you’ll hate it? Maybe. Honestly, I think I fall somewhere in the middle.
The film starts by introducing us to Dani and Christian, a young couple struggling through an almost jarringly realistic relationship, replete with communication failures and deep-seated insecurities. When tragedy strikes, everything is turned upside down, and in an attempt to find a quick fix, they decide to take a trip to Sweden to visit a hippie-dippy commune where Christian’s friend grew up. 
Some quality time in the countryside and everything will be better, right? Wrong. One bad sip of tea after another, and a few bad mushroom trips later, the friends find themselves trying to make sense of the religious customs and practices that surround them, and even begin to wonder if they will make it home ok.
There are a few things Midsommar does impressively well. Director 
Ari Aster of Hereditary fame has already proven he can build suspense and foreboding with nothing but a few slow pans of the camera and a handful of string instruments. He does so again in Midsommar, but with an additionally crafty use of juxtaposition. The film’s photography and art direction are phenomenal, and it simply stuns with its blend of vintage 1960s style and geometric designs, yielding an overall vibe of a backyard picnic Martha Stewart would kill for. 
But when Aster sets these spring flowers, children dancing all in white, and golden wheat fields against stylistic choices in music and cinematography that are otherwise deeply foreboding, the plastered smiles start to look more than a twinge malevolent. You soon begin to question the intentions of this otherwise quite pleasant but oddly agoraphilic crowd.
Midsommar also plays masterfully with themes of life cycles 
and seasons, of family and community, and of relationships, reciprocity, and revenge. The acting is also quite good, especially thanks to Florence Pugh’s Dani, who captivates every time she’s on screen, drawing the audience into every motivation and emotion she experiences.
But Midsommar falls short of the insurmountably high bar Aster sets in Hereditary in a few ways. First, it’s simply not as scary. Gore, even in a disturbing and cultish fashion, can only be spread so thin before 
you start to see right through it. I miss how Aster plays with different genres of horror in Hereditary, leaving you wondering what’s around the next corner. I could tell with this one Aster is trying to dig deeper, longer, and harder into the disturbing aspects of human nature. But because he keeps hammering away at the same note, about halfway through, this film actually starts to feel quite predictable in its hyperbole, and simply becomes excessive and unsurprising. I suppose a runtime of two hours and 27 minutes will also do that.
Additionally, Aster weaves in humor as he did in Hereditary, but with a much heavier hand this time and in a way that often disrupts the sinister mood he works so hard to create—even in some of the more intense and climactic moments of the film.
SpecialK Verdict: In the end, dear readers, I have to admit that this one is a bit of a letdown. However, I simply can’t deny that its stunning beauty, artistic mastery, and eerie mood combine in a way I’ve never seen before, and amount to a horror flick that’s still worth checking out. But whatever you do, make sure you don’t drink the Kool-Aid.
Midsommar opens everywhere Wednesday, July 3.
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