Britain and folk horror: it’s as arguably as iconic a pairing as Italy and splattery nightmare-logic terror. From the early ‘70s foundations like Robin Redbreast, The Blood on Satan’s Claw, and The Wicker Man to modern entries such as Ben Wheatley’s Kill List, the country’s contributions to that distinct subgenre have thrived and evolved across the decades. Based on the novel by Andrew Michael Hurley, Starve Acre is another intriguing addition to that long history of terror, although the suffocating atmosphere and a gradually satisfying finale can’t quite carry director Daniel Kokotajlo’s otherwise too-familiar tale.
Led by the intense pairing of Matt Smith and Morfydd Clark, Starve Acre grounds its haze of the occult and arcane in grief, trauma and a crumbling relationship. The two play parents Richard and Juliette as their family moves into the former’s eponymous childhood manor to raise their son, Owen. It doesn’t take long for the boy to begin hearing whispers from someone known as Jack Grey and start acting out in odd ways, all while the dark memories that haunt the manor loom over Richard and the gray of the moors. As events take a turn for the worse and tension begins to mount, bits of local folklore seep into the narrative, ritual and legends unearthed from the land and from Richard’s past, and supernatural scares hang at the fringes of the domestic dysfunctions and hamlet tensions.
As a gloomy drama cloaked in unease and lingering scars, Starve Acre is engaging throughout. Smith and Clark both play their roles with a subdued intensity that begins to feel as otherworldly and unnerving as the landscape and folklore eeriness, as if the surrounding pallor had insinuated itself into their being. With Richard dealing with his own demons and Juliette seeking solace through other means, the theme of emotional vulnerability in the face of supernatural menace recalls the intimate sense of doom that pervades films like Hereditary or Don’t Look Now. The childhood rhymes, ancient rituals and folkloric whispers that weave through Starve Acre’s drama doesn’t grip quite as effectively. Until its visceral and eerie finale, the film unfolds at such a deliberate register, hinging its horror on such well-trodden subgenre cliches, that the folk horror elements never rise above the mild throughline amid the more crushing aspects of trauma and grief.
Adam Scarth’s cinematography might be Starve Acre’s secret weapon. The earthy Yorkshire expanse swallows the screen and the characters; the manor interiors, with their desaturated, faded aura, seem to drain the colors and personality from everything that inhabits them. When grisly imagery and viscera enters the film, the moments are startling not just for their nasty immediacy but for the rot, grime and fleshy hues contrast with the muted palette.
For better and for worse, Starve Acre is firmly entrenched in the familiar rhythms and imagery of British folk horror. Any seasoned horror fan may find themselves counting the minutes and checking off plot points as the pagan rites are dismissed and local talk of old ways linger through conversations. But the strong cast and equally strong visuals make this creepy entry in the canon worth watching, in spite of the all-too-familiar beats.
Photo courtesy of Brainstorm Media
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