Director: Aislinn Clarke Starring: Clare Monnelly, Bríd Ní Neachtain, Aleksandra Bystrzhitskaya Running Time: 103 minutes
With Irish horror going through its Golden Age, the current trend for horror to be up front about its metaphors for trauma (of which our island has plenty), and an increased experience on screen in tapping into our rich resources of myths and monsters, the eye for horror imagery within our cultural iconography is keener than ever. Aislinn Clarke is one director particularly attuned in that way, and in Fréwaka she follows up her 2018 Magdalene-based found footage film The Devil’s Doorway with a confident and creepy folk horror that weaves together Ireland’s ancient traditions and modern abuses into a gripping, gut-sinking story.
We start in the 70s, a young bride in a Gaeltacht town vanishing from her wedding reception after an encounter with a creepy goat. The film then follows Clare Monnelly (Doineann, Moone Boy) as Shoo, a primary care worker pushing down the grief of her mother’s death and pushing away her pregnant partner Mila (Aleksandra Bystrzhitskaya) as she ups sticks from Dublin and heads to an isolated village to look after the elderly Peig (Bríd Ní Neachtain, The Banshees of Inisherin, Róise & Frank).
In an old house filled with wards and warnings, with an ominously sealed red cellar door always looming, the pair began their mutually wary stay together. Shoo is belatedly briefed about Peig’s dementia and delusions, and it’s not hard to see why the old women’s dependence on iron nick knacks, her demanding counting and compulsions, and her habit of chucking piss at strangers would be interpreted as the sad symptoms of a vulnerable person in terminal decline. Her behaviours may sound familiar to those with more knowledge of Irish myths and pagan beliefs though, and while Shoo, who also has her mental health challenges, strengthens her bond with Peig, her own fears and paranoia starts knocking at the door. “There is a house, under the house” Peig tells Shoo, and between that sealed door and the suspicious villagers, the fear deepens that they’re both surrounded by the Bad variety of Good Neighbours.
The way that the film uses the Irish language adds to the isolation, Shoo speaking English at home, assigned to Peig because a fluent speaker was needed. It also ties nicely together themes with how the film generally draws from Irish culture, tightening the titular roots in this story where Ireland’s history is itself a haunting spectre.
The history and folklore Clarke uses in the film is well researched and well used. From the creepiness modern viewers see in imagery like wrenboys and their Silent Hill looking heads, to the distrust we implicitly understand in the Church when Shoo talks about her past abuses, an uncertain and uneasy atmosphere stays with the viewer right through the film, trying to get to grips with what’s happening to Shoo. That feeling is capably compounded by the abrasive score by Die Hexen, the secret weapon of modern Irish horror who wrenches us deeper into Shoo’s wracked mindset with every blaring horn and deafening beat.
Themes of generational trauma are perhaps well trodden territory, but the story here plays out effectively and affectingly, thanks in huge part to the performances of Monnelly and Ní Neachtain. They develop an endearing chemistry that makes them easy to root for, and Ní Neachtain’s assertive and assured take on Peig, along with Clarke’s strong writing, helps the film avoid the ‘hagspolitation’ that comes up all too often in modern horror, where women’s aging bodies are cheaply used for scares. Here the fear, like in other Irish horror hits like You Are Not My Mother and The Hole in the Ground, is compounded for characters who live in a cultural context that’s very inclined to dismiss women, especially medically.
Those neat story beats and straightforward themes would make Fréwaka a simple and effective spooky story. It’s the elements where the film digs deeper that elevate it though, avoiding easy outs, amping up the uncertainty and getting stronger as it goes. Not only going bump in the night, it’s possibly Ireland’s best daytime horror, an effectively unnerving experience that builds to an impressively dreadful climax. From the kitsch of the glow in the dark Virgin Mary’s to the corniness of the Puck Fair (Black Phillip can trot off because there’s a new GOAT goat in horror), the film twists the Irish traditions we shake our heads at together with the ones we whisper about, creating an effectively unsettling cross breed.
(4 / 5)