Ari Aster’s Midsommar begins, ends, and is punctuated with screaming. Screaming in films is generally a sign of catharsis, right? Sure. Well, and abject horror. Midsommar gives us both, of course.
You know what’s cathartic for me? Terrible things happening to white people in a horror movie. And who is committing these atrocities? Why, the forgotten sect of eastern Europe that they haven’t appropriated from yet! How fitting.
There’s a reason we’re still singing the summery praises of Midsommar weeks after its US premier for better or for worse. I spent my 4th of July with a large container of an alcoholic beverage watching Dani’s gang get picked off one by one, only to culminate in an orgy of shrieks and… slight disappointment. Why? Because Aster didn’t give me the Pelle & Dani ship that I wanted. Yes, I’m mad.
(Hear me out.)
I hate forced romance in movies; I hate most romance tropes. But friends, I ask you: in this whole cauldron of toxic masculinity, self-care, drugs, unsuccessfully coping, and graphic ceremonial murder, where was Dani’s catharsis? Was it screaming in a room full of strangers? Was it in acknowledging her boyfriend’s absolute lack of support? Was it in that giant flower crown? Where!
Answer: it’s in Pelle. No, that’s not quite right. The movie wants us to think Dani’s solace is in Pelle, who is positioned as Christian’s complete opposite. Christian is aloof and manipulative, the kind of “bewildered” as described by Elizabeth Proctor in The Crucible. Pelle is sensitive, thoughtful, caring, and non-confrontational. He tells Dani the things she wants to hear – he tells her anything at all, reversing the isolation Christian’s friends group insists on imposing on her. It’s all a different type of manipulation, of course. If Christian is your stereotypical dudebro, then Pelle is the newer but no less obvious “movement man”, a woke spiritual leader that sneaks in, guides you to his goals.
But, I’m not off the train just yet. This could still work, you know? Pelle doesn’t need any fixing and he’s not evil, and Dani is clearly going to need some new friends soon. Pelle gently introduces Dani to the cult’s rather morbid ways and guides her through it while everyone runs off on her. Okay, so maybe they’re getting killed. But that’s no excuse. Let their friendship blossom into some strange kind of romance. Let Dani have a decent man in her life!
Despite my protests, Midsommar is far too nihilistic for such a romance to occur, and I love it for that. Midsommar goes far beyond the “silly X in foreign country” that one might expect. Those tropes earned it rightful comparison to The Wicker Man, but let me tell you something. The Wicker Man had a purpose. The Summerisle residents just happened to hold a very firm beliefs that made their society run. They were sincere. The cultists of Midsommar are not above lying to accomplish their goals, and for what? The sheer pleasure of watching people die? Going through the motions of carrying out arcane rituals as their population diminishes? The pictures of the May Queens make me wonder how long this has been going on and how long it intends to go on. And how do I join?
Yes, maybe I’m being harsh. The one thing the commune seems to be sincere about, at least, is giving lost and vulnerable souls a home. Until it’s sacrifice time. And is that not the state of affairs in the world today? Acceptance that asks far too much of you, morally, ethically, spiritually, emotionally, and mentally? Acceptance on the condition of assimilation.
By the end of Midsommar’s nearly three hour run, I can’t say we all didn’t get what we wanted. I was delightfully buzzed and entertained, Dani was home, our mutual enemies were dead. We should all be so pleased as everything burns down around us!