Saying goodbye to a loved one is never easy, and we often find that it is made more difficult when we feel that sense of deep regret for all that we didn’t say and do when they were alive, knowing that we are going to be burdened with that remorse for the rest of our own lives. Many have secretly yearned for their loved ones to come back, even just for a moment, so everything that was left unsaid could finally be spoken, but the laws of biology obviously make this beyond impossible. However, we’ve seen some incredible works of art that address this subject directly, such as in the case of Handling the Undead (Norwegian: Håndtering av udøde), the feature directorial debut of Thea Hvistendahl, who adapts the novel of the same title by John Ajvide Lindqvist (who most will recognize from his chilling Let the Right One In), and which tells a powerful and deeply unsettling story about three families in Oslo who are mourning loved ones, and after a mysterious power failure they find the dead have somehow risen. Initially, they seem to be only shells of their former selves, nonviolent but also not entirely present, but this is enough to bring the living a sense of comfort and joy since they are reunited with the people that they thought they had lost and would never see again. There is much more to this premise, and Hvistendahl certainly puts in the work to ensure that Handling the Undead is a far more nuanced work that appears to be based on the premise but still has a very simple approach that feels much more compelling than many other entries into the horror genre, particularly this category of stories that revolve around the undead and their interactions with the living, which prove to be much more complex under this film’s vision than many other similarly-themed works that don’t possess as much dedication to actually examining some of these fundamental themes, leading to a film that is beautiful and disturbing in equal measure, and which carries a sincerity often rare for this specific kind of storytelling.

Trauma has always been one of the cornerstones of the horror genre – there are far too many films that revolve around grief and the process of working through the complex emotions associated with certain events for us to view this as merely incidental. Handling the Undead directly confronts these themes, exploring it through simple, evocative storytelling which revolves around three families as they process their loss, and then eventually find themselves deeply conflicted after a bizarre event in which their loved ones are reanimated, but yet are not quite the people they remember. There have been many works that look at supernatural occurrences in which someone we know arises from the dead in some form, but rather than taking a more fantastical approach in which they are the same people they were before they died, this film goes in another direction, portraying the undead as mere shadows of who they were previously. They do not speak, move extremely slowly and seem entirely detached from reality, which stirs in the living characters a sense of unease, confusion and deep sadness, since despite being reunited with those whom they sorely missed after their passing, they cannot feel the joy they expected during those long days of yearning for one more moment with their loved ones. Hvistendahl is not interested in concealing the themes of this story, and it is quite obvious what Handling the Undead is implying throughout, which leaves space for the film to explore the concept of mourning in detail, rather than expending too much time on establishing its intentions, which are instead made very clear almost immediately. It is certainly not the first film to examine grief about unexplained events or do so with broad overtures of horror (which is often designed as a genre in which these themes can be examined quite closely while still being quite creative and artistically resonant), but its creativity in how it defines the parameters of its story is certainly worth our time.

While the storyline itself does lend itself to a more downbeat, depressing approach, many viewers might be taken aback at just how bleak Handling the Undead is, which should not be too surprising considering the nature of the material, but it is still one of the characteristics that give it such a unique appearance, both visually and in terms of its mood. Those seeking a horror film that is filled with frights and gratuitous gore are going to be severely disappointed – we only see the first “undead” forty minutes into the film, with the process to get to that point being a long, detailed exploration of these characters as they process their grief. It’s a slow-burning, carefully-paced work in which the horror is not present as a means to scare the viewer, but rather to place us in something of a daze, a quiet, methodical deconstruction of the human condition as seen through the eyes of a group of characters processing their grief. The number of outright terrifying moments number less than half a dozen (and are almost entirely restricted to the climactic moments, when the characters realize their reanimated loved ones are not as placid as they initially appeared), and Hvistendahl instead focuses on establishing a very particular tone, in the hopes of stirring a visceral reaction in the audience. Handling the Undead is very much driven by its atmosphere, which is supported by the visual aesthetic, which is extremely bleak and dull (to the point where even the smallest burst of colour injects a moment of energy into the film), and is designed to plunge us into a state of existential dread, which it does quite effectively, but in a way that will likely cause some friction amongst those seeking a more traditional story of the undead and their relationship to the living world, which was not the priority for anyone involved in this film.

When developing this adaptation, the director had quite a challenge ahead of her – Handling the Undead is not a film that prioritises its narrative as we’ve already noted, and instead focuses on establishing a particular mood and allowing the film to flourish organically from these quiet observations into the process of grieving. It is a character-driven film, but one that demands much more from its actors than we would expect – primarily, we find that most of the film takes place without dialogue. Words are sparse, and restricted for those moments in which the ideas and themes cannot be communicated non-verbally. This required a degree of commitment from the entire cast, who had to convey the grief and sadness that exists within these characters through subtler and much more challenging cues. Needless to say, they all rise to the occasion. There are four key roles in terms of the living protagonists – Bjørn Sundquist and Renate Reinsve play a father and daughter who are grieving the loss of the latter’s young son, with their relationship growing strained and difficult, as they are mourning in radically different ways. Anders Danielsen Lie is a stand-up comedian whose wife dies in a tragic accident while he is performing, and he is left to care for their two children, neither of whom can process the enormity of this loss. Acting veteran Bente Børsum makes a very rare return to the screen the part of an elderly woman who has just lost her domestic partner with whom she has spent decades of her life. Each one of these characters is beautifully portrayed by the actors, the entire cast being united under the principle of finding the truth beneath the surface of each one of them, and demonstrating the full extent of the trauma these people would be enduring, as well as the overwhelming sense of conflict that would emerge when their loved ones inexplicably return. There are some genuinely powerful performances at the heart of this film, and Hvistendahl makes it clear that she is seeking something much more profound from this material.

The prospect of watching a film that is essentially 97 minutes of bleak, harrowing psychological commentary in which every ounce of positivity or joy is entirely extinguished within the first few minutes is daunting, and it is certainly true that Handling the Undead is not a film that everyone will appreciate or understand, and its dour approach is certainly not going to appeal to those looking for something more upbeat or thrilling. It’s slow, quiet and very disturbing, not in the traditional sense where we are shown the most gory, nauseating images, but rather in how it observes trauma in the most raw, visceral manner imaginable. There isn’t any hope to be found in this film, and it avoids implying that there is going to be any resolution – the film ends as it began, with these characters being hopelessly depressed and shattered (perhaps even more, since they realized that their loved ones truly are gone and nothing can bring them back to the way they were before), and we are forced to reckon with our mortality, as well as those of those closest to us, in one of the most haunting but powerful depictions of grief ever committed to film. It’s a simple film, but one that offers profound meditations on the nature of mourning, examining the process of coming to terms with the death of a loved one, and the realization that we are all only here temporarily. The questions are ambigious and the answers are never provided, but we are utterly entranced by this poetic depiction of life and death and the vague moments that exist in between them.