The film centers around Dani Ardor (Florence Pugh, masterfully doing for Midsommar what Toni Collette did for Hereditary) and her lackluster relationship with boyfriend Christian (Jack Reynor). Forgoing the archetypical shitty boyfriend tropes of Hollywood, Christian embodies a pedestrian awfulness - lazy, aimless, and particularly spineless when it comes to communication, he's constantly goaded by his friends to call it quits with Dani. However, just as Christian is about to pull the plug on the relationship, Dani suffers a soul-shattering tragedy that understandably derails the breakup. The relationship persists, but so does the awkward tension, further exacerbated when Dani invites herself on an overseas trip arranged by the guys to visit the ancestral village of their Swedish friend Pelle (Vilhelm Blomgren). Quickly shifting gears from the wintry mix of the States to the sunlit idyll of Hälsingland, Midsommar plunges into the foreign customs of the local people, the Hårga, celebrating their midsummer traditions and a secretive festival that only takes place once every 90 years.

An expert at weaponizing dread, Aster deploys an entirely different toolset than he did for Hereditary, delivering shocks in broad daylight and away from the confines of shadows and dark corners. Midsommar also traffics in a different brand of terror - a slow-burn creep rather than adrenaline-fueled jolts. A lingering camera here, a dollop of gore there, every meticulous detail of the film contributes to a singular focus: not to scare, but to disturb and discombobulate. There isn’t a single aspect of Midsommar that isn’t deliberate, and as a testament to Aster’s world-building abilities, the Hårga are a fully lived-in people with their own rituals, demeanor, and aesthetic. The film’s harrowing State-side opening act tips its hand, but the narrative camouflages its sinister intent under the foreignness of Scandinavian tradition, and by the time the first big reveal rolls around, it’s too late - for both the characters and the audience. It’s also worth noting that no one portrays death quite like Ari Aster; with a notable absence of Hollywood veneer, his depictions of death and decay offer a disturbing verisimilitude unlike anything you’ve seen in film. Whether it’s a chewed up severed head in Hereditary, or the bloated and sun-bleached cadavers of Midsommar, Aster’s grip on the macabre is unflinching.

It’s not an Ari Aster film without a riveting performance, and Midsommar more than delivers on that front with Florence Pugh; one could even argue that the film peaks early. Through his easy-going nature and genial interviews, it’s difficult to imagine Aster as a demanding taskmaster of any kind, but there’s something undeniably Kubrick-ian about Pugh’s soul-crushing wails of grief in the film’s opening salvo. It’s the closest thing there is to a thespian paradox: as gut-wrenchingly difficult to watch as it is mesmerizing. Pugh’s performance as Dani also envelops the entire film, and at times casts a shadow over her supporting cast. While Jack Reynor isn’t peddling in stereotypes, his character, Christian, is a bit of a vanilla cad relegated to being the audience hate-object. Will Poulter provides most of the film’s laughs, but aside from some humorous cultural misunderstandings, there’s not much more to the character than being the resident jackass.

Hereditary is a film steeped in visual style, but Midsommar is the one to really stand out in terms of its cinematic identity. Longtime collaborator Pawel Pogorzelski once again assumes cinematographer duties, as he’s done for much of Ari Aster’s filmography, and it’s easy to categorize the film as gorgeous. Seamlessly weightless in his movements, yet beautifully deliberate, Pogorzelski pulls off some breathtaking shots. His mastery behind the lens also gives life to Hälsingland, a setting that almost becomes a character of its own with its colorful structures and symmetries reminiscent of a twisted Wes Anderson.

Midsommar is a superbly confident sophomore effort by Ari Aster. While it may not be as clear in its intent as Hereditary, it completes a brutalizing diptych that solidifies its director’s horror chops. Searing in its imagery and bracing in Florence Pugh’s incredible performance, Midsommar strikes a much needed win for original stories, especially in a 2019 dominated by franchises and blockbusters.

GRADE: A-