Some of the biggest surprises come in the smallest packages, which is almost universally applicable to any situation. However, who of us could’ve predicted one of the most unsettling horrors ever made would come in the form of a small, 73-minute long Norwegian film that is almost entirely obscure, being kept alive only by a small but radically passionate group of supporters? Lake of the Dead (Norwegian: De dødes tjern), is a terrific film, a harrowing and complex psychological thriller that introduced the central tenets of both the possession horror and slasher film decades before Hollywood had its hands on them, ready to exploit them by building an entire generation’s perception of horror on these ideas. Kåre Bergstrøm, the director of the film, put together an absolutely remarkable film that doesn’t immediately announce itself as something particularly noteworthy, but gradually captures our attention in some truly surprising ways, and through virtue of simply being willing to venture out into the narrative wilderness and take a few risks, Lake of the Dead somehow manages to be a pioneering work, not even realizing how it was helping in setting the foundation for numerous entries into a variety of different sub-genres. Yet, as we’ve seen before, the most revolutionary works are often those that don’t realize their own brilliance – and through simply just making the time to put together a story that is well-told and made with clear effort, Bergstrøm succeeds wholeheartedly in terrifying us, a long time before it was something audiences actively sought out.

The story of Lake of the Dead is almost frustratingly simple – half a dozen middle-aged friends decide that they’re going to go on a short vacation to spend time with their significant others and a few of their friends. They decide to go to a lakeside cottage, which is owned by another one of their friends – however, their arrival is marked by his distinct absence, and the thoughts of the guests immediately wander to the negative, since it isn’t very common for someone to simply disappear like this. The secluded nature of the cottage doesn’t help, since they appear to be far from anyone who could help them locate their friend. However, despite the clear warning signs that something is amiss, none of them seem very serious about leaving, instead entertaining themselves with ghost stories and legends that apparently linger over the region. One such story is that of an old farmer who built this cottage, but met a grisly end after he murdered his lover and her boyfriend. The spectre of this murderous man apparently haunts the area, and while he doesn’t manifest as an entity himself, he instead possesses the bodies of anyone he encounters, driving them to dive into the seemingly bottomless lake, and find their fate below the water, never to be located ever again. These entertaining myths start to feel increasingly real, especially when the visitors gradually start to act erratically, launching themselves into the black lake one by one, while those who survive each visit from this ghostly figure watch in horror and bewilderment, desperately trying to find some explanation for this behaviour, rather than surrendering to the growingly obvious explanation that they are being terrorized by a malevolent spirit who wants to see them meet the same tragic end that he did all those years before.

We have a tendency to over-rationalize everything, especially those concepts that we don’t fully understand. It’s far easier to explain the paranormal through the lens of logic than it is to believe the words of those who are more enamoured with the idea of the supernatural. It’s a fascinating contrast that Bergstrøm explores beautifully in Lake of the Dead, which is one of the more critically-minded horrors of its generation, occurring a long while before this kind of deconstructive horror made its debut on our screens. The director has a clear sense of wanting to delineate between the perils of both blind belief and arrogant logic, showing how both states of mind are equally as dangerous – for the former, allowing your mind to be taken over by beliefs in what we can’t ever truly prove can lead to insanity, while for the latter, trying to explain everything around you can lead to a cynicism that makes us even more vulnerable to falling victim to the unexplained. Lake of the Dead is an incredibly clever film, because all the horror can easily be defined by either one of these states of mind, and it’s the responsibility of the viewer to determine which one we believe. Bergstrøm doesn’t ever show anything as being either conjecture or the work of the paranormal – nothing in this film has an explanation in either regard, and it’s our prerogative to figure it out and come to an understanding of what we’re seeing on screen. It’s an inventive approach, albeit one that doesn’t require much work on the part of the filmmaker – he simply immerses us into the world and gives us the opportunity to work our way out of it through our own individual methods, which leads to an even more frightening experience, since this film does have some twisted surprises awaiting us at every turn.

It’s easy to frighten an audience, since all a filmmaker needs to scare us is a few well-placed gags that startle us for a brief moment, before allowing us to settle back down, anxiously awaiting the next thrilling moment. It takes much more work to make it stick with us – and through the efforts of trying to give audiences something that we not only could relate to on some universal level (since niche horrors rarely work, since they tend to lose the impact when they focus on specific narrative idiosyncrasies that we might not all be aware of), Bergstrøm succeeds wholeheartedly in showing us something new and revolutionary, while not deviating too far from the simple, folkloric roots of the story. Lake of the Dead is one of the more interesting entries into the canon of folk horrors, films that look at the terrors that underpin the pastoral and natural lives of those who attempt to escape the angst-filled cities, only to find themselves confronted by a new set of challenges in the environment they were led to believe was free of such issues. I have an enormous appreciation for any horror film that can take place in broad daylight, in wide-open spaces, and still terrify us to our wit’s end – and Lake of the Dead certainly does this, burrowing into our psyche and scaring us from within, with its combination of abstract storytelling and striking visuals painting a portrait of a landscape that we feel just as trapped in as the characters, inescapable and filled with an overpowering dread that works our last nerve until we’re ready to surrender to whatever dangerous lurk just out of view.

Lake of the Dead is a fascinating film, and a truly insidious little horror that deserves a much wider viewership. At just over an hour in length, it is perfectly compact and never overstays its welcome. It also comes across as a lot more intelligent than many mainstream horror films, with its deft balance of psychological pondering and unhinged terror making for a profoundly interesting experience that will appeal to devotees of more cerebral horror, especially those that take their time in building the suspense. By the time we’ve made it past the halfway point, we’ve already been put on edge multiple times, while being falsely led to believe that we’ve seen the worse. While it might not be necessarily scary by modern standards (although there is one scene squarely in the middle that is more terrifying than nearly anything made in the last two decades), there is an underlying despair that keeps us engaged, while still stirring a number of conflicted thoughts, since we want to venture deeper into this world, but are deeply afraid of what is lurking just around the corner. It’s a fascinating experiment that pays off beautifully throughout, each new step this film takes towards an underlying terror only increasing the experience and making us even more intrepid to explore the unknown than we were before.