Movie Review ~ The Damned

Fingers crossed, we’ve already experienced the coldest days of Winter here in Minnesota, and perhaps I’m too hopeful, but I feel like I can see the Spring light at the end of a frostbit tunnel.  Watching a movie like The Damned, though, was enough to chill my bones for a few more weeks of below-freezing temps, and not just because of its ruthless Icelandic setting.  Like Wuthering Heights swept out to sea and set adrift in unforgiving Nordic waters, Thordur Palsson’s atmospheric debut feature weaves local folklore with psychological horror, creating a haunting reflection on the price of survival. Following in the footsteps of Robert Eggers’ The Lighthouse and even throwing in shades of Jennifer Kent’s The Babadook, like the biting winds and unrelenting sea that define its setting, this film leaves a demonstrable chill.

Eva (Odessa Young, Shirley) is a young widow steering her late husband’s fishing business in a remote Icelandic village.  As she grapples with conducting a workforce resistant to taking orders from a woman, her leadership is in a precarious position even before a boating accident forces her to choose between saving her crew or the lives of a ship of strangers.  The impossible decision, abandoning those in need as a means of self-preservation, takes on an eerie weight as a psychological (or is it supernatural?) force begins to grip the crew and Eva in a deadly vice.  The consequences of their actions blur the line between guilt and greed, putting Eva front and center as the fragile shield against ravenous human and otherworldly forces.

Above all else, The Damned is one of the best examples recently of a film that uses its location shooting to its maximum advantage.  Iceland’s stark beauty can be a breathtaking wonder to behold, but it provides an equally oppressive atmosphere of menace with its long nights and endless snowfields.  Palsson mines much dread from Eli Arenson’s (The Deliverance) cinematography, using natural light and wide shots of undisturbed landscapes that evoke a sense of utter insignificance for the characters living in the 1870s.  A modest blizzard or a minor avalanche could swallow them whole, and that would be the end of their story.

This isn’t a horror film in the traditional sense but one where unease creeps in with icy precision.  Rather than relying on conventional scares, it builds tension through the interplay of environment and psychology. Folklore begins as whispers in the background, eventually shaping the crews’ actions without overtly manifesting. The ambiguity between real and imagined threats keeps viewers on edge, uncertain of what lies just outside the door or what might be floating in from the wreckage of the downed ship they turned their backs on and attempted to loot later.

Young’s role is tricky.  Beneath her character’s reserved exterior lies steely determination fueled by the will to survive.  She’s already made it through the worst she thought she could imagine, losing her husband and being left to find her way forward on her own.  Now, with the crew and the elements turning against her, her silent stoicism is faltering, uncovering the mask her fragile vulnerability had been wearing.  Young’s performance captures the weight of leadership thrust upon her in a world resistant to female authority. Scenes of her asserting control over her male crew bristle with tension, as Eva’s decisions carry both immediate and long-term repercussions.

The supporting cast surrounding Young compound the film’s increasingly claustrophobic world. Daniel (Joe Cole, Green Room) could be an ally to trust but is his respect purely out of necessity?  Could he hold the same resentment for Eva inward that others in the crew can’t quite hold back from showing to her outwardly?  Lewis Gribben as Jonas and Rory McCann’s imposing Ragnar are other standouts among the men who, at times, can feel unevenly explored as full characters.  Aside from Eva, Siobhan Finneran’s Helga is the only other woman at the outpost, and she’s well-versed enough in local superstitions to point toward draugrs, a malevolent breed of the walking dead, who have come for revenge on Eva and the crew.

Previously known for The Valhalla Murders limited series on Netflix, Palsson transitions seamlessly to feature filmmaking with a concise narrative rhythm.  Frosti Fridriksson’s (The Secret Life of Walter Mitty) simple but immersive production design—from worn fishing gear to wooden planks frozen over with ice and snow—feels authentically lived-in and oh-so-very cold. The film’s pacing mirrors a slow-building winter storm, with tension mounting until it cracks open in blistering intensity. Yet, more often than not, Palsson chooses to let the silence speak louder than words, an approach that proves devastatingly effective.  That makes Stephen McKeon’s score, echoing the rhythm of the sea rising and falling in spooky harmony with the story’s ghostly turns, all the more effective.

So it’s a bit of a letdown when, for all its strengths, The Damned falters slightly in its final act. The tension that builds so meticulously throughout the film dissipates in an ending that feels less resolute than the story demands. While the ambiguity may resonate with some viewers and might be more in line with the film’s thematic core than anything clear-cut could tidy up, the finale felt frustratingly rushed and almost incomplete for me.  It’s as if the film freezes at the last minute, hesitating to deliver the emotional catharsis it has earned.

Despite this, The Damned, with its cold, haunting imagery, is a film that keeps its frosty hooks into you for some time.  Palsson has delivered a well-paced, beautifully filmed exploration of what it means to survive—and what we sacrifice to be free from guilt in the process.  Scandinavian horror can be dominated by spectacle (see the recently released Get Away, or rather, don’t). Still, The Damned stands out for its quiet fury toward nature’s indifference and proves that often the most terrifying monsters are the choices we make when we think no one is watching—and the inevitable consequences that follow.