Movie Review ~ Starve Acre

Few films have captured the festering core of grief as frighteningly as the beautifully eerie horror classic Don’t Look Now, released in 1973.  Directed by Nicolas Roeg and starring Donald Sutherland and Julie Christie, the adaptation of Daphne du Maurier’s short story has a creeping unease as parents experience the anguish of losing a child in different ways while abroad in Venice.  It’s far from your typical horror experience. While the finale still packs a nightmarish gut punch to this day, it’s remembered not only for its ending or the physical intimacy of its stars but also for using skilled cinematic techniques to show raw emotion.

Fast-forward to the present day, to director Daniel Kokotajlo’s adaptation of Andrew Michael Hurley’s 2019 novel Starve Acre. You can draw several parallels between Hurley’s contemporary tale set on the English Moors in the 1970s and du Maurier’s story, first published in 1971 as part of a larger collection. Both are brooding explorations of loss and unsettling obsession, incorporating elements of rural mysticism and ancient occultism to bring a whispering dread to the forefront of their narratives.

Having recently returned to the idyllic (if ominously named) country home of his youth, Richard Willougby and his wife Juliette have settled into Starve Acre with their son, Owen.  Then, the worst thing possible happens.  Five-year-old Owen dies suddenly while Richard is at work at a nearby college, leaving the couple shattered.  Starve Acre gradually becomes a hotbed of sorrow and increasingly bizarre happenings as Richard (Matt Smith, Last Night in Soho) and Juliette (Morfydd Clark, Saint Maud) attempt to find passage forward with their lives.  Juliette’s sister Harrie (Erin Richards) comes to stay for a bit, and their nearest neighbor, Gordon, checks in on them when they can.

Desperate for a distraction, Richard becomes obsessed with uncovering what lies beneath the grounds of their farm, excavating the roots of a legendary oak tree and the bones of a rabbit.  At the same time, Juliette leaves herself open to a seemingly benevolent source of support that might not be the precise comfort she seeks.  With her husband’s attention turned to the barren dirt in the nearby field, a guilt-ridden Juliette becomes convinced Owen hasn’t entirely left Starve Acre and will seize any opportunity to identify his spirit as it continues to emerge.  However, this is a farm with a history that has stretched back generations.

What sets Starve Acre apart is its subtle period backdrop that harkens back to the best part of British folk horror.  This is where Kokotajlo’s talent shines the brightest, enhancing the isolation and timelessness of Hurley’s tale that is infused with an early ’70s look by costume designer Emma Fryer and a production design from Francesca Massariol that doesn’t overplay the aesthetics.  The gloomy opening hour is a preamble to the high-class tension of the final act.  Kokotajlo slowly builds the momentum, flirting with séances and creature feature cliches to a bewildering and terrifying crescendo.

Never one to be pinned down in his roles, Smith pivots again as Richard.  With his academic skepticism eroding slowly as inexplicable events unravel around him, his descent into obsession and desperation is compelling and tragic.  The more we learn about Richard and his history with the farm, the more we see the warning signs Richard could have watched for that may have protected his family…signs he now recognizes, too.  His intensity is matched by Clark, who conveys haunting grief with believable conviction.  As guilt consumes her, she takes solace in a destructive belief that will tear her further apart from those she loves.

Though Smith and Clark are the leads, a quartet of more minor roles also leave an impression behind, starting with Richards as Juliette’s sister.  Offering to help ease the chill that sets in when the mourners have moved on, Harrie hopes to support but winds up as a witness to the unfolding mystery that settles in the farmhouse.  Sean Gilder, as the old family friend Gordon, and Robert Emms, as Richard’s co-worker Steven, each add different layers of complexity to the story as they interact with Richard and attempt to intervene with his work.  However, Melanie Kilburn’s brief, juicy scene as a local woman attuned to the area’s ancient energies is the most memorable.  I won’t spoil it, but it’s an unnerving few minutes (aided by Matthew Herbert’s spine-chilling score) that also provide vital clues to the solution of the puzzle being assembled by Juliette and Richard.

In a genre consistently defined by its clichés, Starve Acre stands out from the crowd by combining the slow-burn terror of classic folk horror with a modern awareness of how human beings respond in an emotional crisis.  It’s a thought-provoking watch, even when it starts to shed its realistic roots for something more fantastical and disturbing.  I liked it best when it was solely introspective on loss and less so when it rolled up its sleeves and wanted to be viscerally freaky.  When the lines between reality and nightmare get blurred, they defy straightforward interpretation, and that may challenge viewers, even if that vagueness feels intentional.  For those willing to brave the shadows at Starve Acre and the windswept moors surrounding it, Kokotajlo offers a resonant journey into the center of grief, myth, and the power of belief.