There are many different motivations for making a horror film, and perhaps the most common comes in the form of those who aim to create films that reflect the darkest aspects of our psychological state, the nightmares that prevent us from falling asleep and haunt our daily lives – this doesn’t apply to every horror film, but it is something that is reflected in a vast majority of them, especially those that are somehow far more sinister than they appear to be at a cursory glance. Independent filmmakers have always had an advantage when it comes to terrifying audiences since the lack of studio interference means that they could essentially go as far as they desire, granted it was within reason and didn’t cause too much harm (not that this stopped a few extremists who have been known to push the boundaries of the medium to their breaking point) – and considering there is even more freedom to pursue more abstract stories in Europe, it should not be a surprise that some of the horror films produced there are amongst the darkest. Scandinavian horror in particular has become quite a potent sub-genre since the blend of ancient mythology, black magic and the general sense of the unknown has given many directors the chance to explore the region and its customs through the lens of unsettling stories of terror and defiance – even international filmmakers like Ari Aster and Guillermo del Toro have ventured into the region in some capacity to explore its potential for horror. Roope Olenius took the opportunity in his directorial debut to make Tuftland (Finnish: Kyrsyä), in which he tells the story of a young woman desperate to escape the pressure of modern life by taking an offer to work on a remote farm for a few months, not being aware that she is making her way right into the hands of an insidious cult, which hopes to harvest her vitality and fertile body for their sinister means and this all leads to a film that harbours many surprises, many of which the viewer could never quite anticipate.

Folk horror has been a genre that has fascinated artists and audiences alike for decades, with the idea of exploring the terrors that lurk not in looming castles or man-made structures, but rather in the natural world, being a source of a lot of compelling commentary. We are most terrified by the unknown, so the idea that the most horrifying entities come from the most organic, natural parts of our world is quite unsettling. Tuftland is a film that evokes the feeling of dread and terror that comes from being lost in the forest, making our way through the undeveloped wilderness that conceals many sinister secrets. Scandinavian culture has always had a very strong bond with the mythology of the wilderness, and even from an outsider’s perspective, there is something about these traditions that strikes us as being quite captivating, even when they are distinctly unsettling. This film captures that sensation perfectly, bringing to life a story that combines elements of both traditional myths and fictional concepts brought to the story by the director, who had a passion for this kind of manipulative storyline that skirts around the edges of excess in a profoundly unsettling way. There have been attempts to shoehorn Tuftland into the further sub-category of “hillbilly horror”, which does seem somewhat inappropriate, since the villains in this film adhere more to a cult collective than a group of hillbillies (although the concept of inbreeding does allow this to have some credence, even if only marginally), and which all redirects our attention to that uncomfortable feeling of finding yourself in a position of enormous peril, and where escape is not possible, since retreating only pushes you further into the dangers since one can never tell what is lurking in the surrounding wilderness, with the possibility that something even more malicious is just out of view.

However, as is often the case with any effective horror, the real impact is not in the actual attempts to scare the viewer, but rather the subtext. A horror film doesn’t necessarily need to contain any allegory to be considered successful, but it is a good way to ensure that the audience walks away feeling more than just unsettled from tales of the paranormal. Tuftland centres on the concept of tradition and modernity, a common theme that has been explored on countless occasions in every conceivable medium. The film starts with a young woman growing weary of a life that is almost too comfortable – her biggest concerns are around a breakup with her boyfriend and how he chose to end their relationship through social media, rather than in a more conventional manner. As a result, she looks towards a completely different way of life, one that is based on almost puritanical, conservative values that reject technology as far as possible, which is often quite an appealing concept to those of us who have grown tired of a world driven by innovations that strip us of our humanity. The difference here is that Olenius is actively trying to show that the simple life does not necessarily deserve to be romanticized and that a Luddite lifestyle can have its darker aspects as well. Perhaps the idea of intentionally villainizing a community that wants to lead a more conservative life is harsh, but the film handles it in a way where it isn’t the lifestyle that is attacked, but rather the cult mentality that comes with preserving traditions, with the lengths to which some may go to defend their archaic customs being just as insidious as the lack of soul that persists in the modern world. Tuftland can be objectively clumsy in some parts, but expecting perfection from a film such as this (which is also a directorial debut) doesn’t feel overly appropriate, and can diminish the immense creativity that we find scattered throughout this film.

In terms of the realization, Olenius truly proves that he has an abundance of talent since, despite its limited budget and the fact that he was a newcomer, his filmmaking prowess is astonishing. The visual scope of this film is truly impressive – there is a level of detail that guides the film, with the audience becoming increasingly immersed in this world. Both visually and aurally, the director creates such a profoundly fascinating atmosphere, and working with Mikko Peltonen and Jussi Huhtala who were responsible for the cinematography and musical score respectively, Olenius transports us to another world, with how these forested landscapes are shot provoking a sense of fear in us, which is only intensified by the musical compositions, which blend traditional Scandinavian folk songs with a more contemporary film score, which is both strikingly beautiful and deeply unsettling since we feel as if we are on the border between the past and present, which stirs a sense of unease and despair, which the film successfully uses to tell this enrapturing story. The cast is also vital to the success of the film, with Veera W. Vilo being quite a formidable lead (even if she is mostly giving a performance that is defined by her reacting to the growing despair that surrounds her), while the supporting cast is uniformly terrifying, particular Miikka J. Anttila, Saara Elina and Neea Viitamäki, who oscillate between exuberant and sinister, seemingly with very little difficulty. Tuftland has a very strong set of ideas that underpin it, and we are never entirely sure where we stand with this story – but it is undeniable that once we make our way through this film, we have experienced a truly artistically resonant piece of filmmaking, which is quite an achievement all on its own.

Dark and deceptive, but also strikingly beautiful in some moments, Tuftland is quite an achievement, a film that leaves us both horrified and enthralled, which is a combination that can only come on behalf of a very gifted set of artistic collaborators, which we have already outlined as being the collective involved in bringing this film to life. It is not a perfect film, and some of it can feel like it is intentionally fighting against logic in a way that is difficult to justify (as well as the fact that it ends almost prematurely, which makes us wonder whether this was supposed to be the start of a series of films, or if it was always meant to end on such a frustrating and ambigious note), which does prevent it from being more celebrated. However, despite all its artistic misdemeanours, this is the rare instance of a film easily be forgiven for some of its shortcomings based purely on the fact that, beneath the surface, it has more than enough ambition to keep us engaged and invested, which is quite a remarkable achievement all on its own. Olenius is an extremely gifted filmmaker, and it is heartening to see that he has continued to work, on both sides of the camera, since he is a deeply fascinating artist with a distinct point of view and a lot of interesting knowledge that draws the viewer in. By no means a definitive folk horror film, nor one that is particularly thorough in terms of its academic subject matter, Tuftland is still quite a remarkable piece of filmmaking, and all the evidence one needs when it comes to appreciating more alternative forms of storytelling.