There are many qualities about the work of Jerzy Skolimowski that capture our attention, but none of them is as notable as the fact that he seems impossible to pin down to a particular style, and over the course of a career that has lasted over half a century, he has seemingly evaded making the same film twice, whether in terms of genre, narrative or contextual milieux. Instead, he’s consistently engaged in an act of reinventing his vision, and exploring subjects that many would not imagine could be fertile ground for fascinating films. One of his more under-discussed works is The Shout, in which he adapts the short story of the same title by Robert Graves (who was known for challenging texts that pushed narrative and stylistic boundaries), which tells the story of a mild-mannered couple living in Devon who are introduced to quite an unexpected visitor, a supposed musicologist and expert in sounds, and while their initial meeting is pleasant, their guest overstays his welcome, to the point of becoming not only a burden on the couple, but a genuine threat, especially when he begins to discuss “the shout”, a technique he supposedly learned from the Aboriginal people with whom he spent large volumes of time, and which could essentially kill the hearer should they have the misfortune of crossing paths with this dreadful sound. A tightly-constructed psychological thriller that represents many of the best qualities the director has exhibited to date, The Shout is an immense achievement for several reasons, primarily in how it couples a terrifying story with aesthetic choices that only highlight the underlying terror, creating a deeply unsettling and profoundly unorthodox blend of psychological horror and existentialist satire, both of which are actively examined by Skolimowski as he takes us on this unforgettable voyage into the lives of these unorthodox characters and their flirtations with a kind of danger they all agree should be avoided at all costs, which is often easier said than done, as demonstrated in this film.

As with many works of horror, it helps to be able to contextualise the story within the life and career of the people who created it, which may not be essential but can provide some much-needed clarity, especially for those which are slightly more unconventional. In the case of The Shout, it isn’t a matter of interrogating Skolimowski and his style, but rather that of Graves, a fascinating writer and talented artist whose fascination with a number of concepts was the anchor for a lot of his work. One of his primary areas of study was the intersection between mythology and cultural practices, both aspects of society that he viewed as not only entirely essential to their function, but woven together in ways that may be surprising for a lot of his readers. This translates over to the film adaptation of “The Shout”, which is crafted as a complex folk horror about the interactions between an ordinary couple trying to lead a peaceful existence, and an enigmatic visitor that leaps into their lives and disrupts their pleasant solitude, leading to some unexpected consequences that threaten their lives and sanity. Culture is a fascinating concept, and many terrific works of art have been built around the idea of exploring how they influence one another, often in quite unsettling ways when the contact between the two is not as seamless as we may anticipate. Firmly rooted in postcolonial theory, The Shout is about the weaponising of culture as a tool for social unrest – the premise is extremely simple, centring on the growing relationship between an ordinary pair of middle-class folk, and the destructive force that comes in the form of their unwanted houseguest, who gradually wreaks havoc on not only their domestic life, but the functioning of their entire community. One of the most unsettling tropes in horror is that of the persistent intruder, the people who enter your home (whether literal or metaphorical), with their intentions not being to leave once they have gotten what they set out to attain, but rather to taunt and torture those who were reckless enough to let them in, a poor decision but one that we do understand in some contexts. The domestic intruder gradually makes his way into the protagonists’ minds, which is where the most destructive chaos ensues.

There are a multitude of themes woven into the brisk 86 minutes that this film runs, which means that Skolimowski had the responsibility for finding ways to tie all the different narrative threads together so that they not only made sense, but were interesting and engaging. A large portion of this is due to The Shout being primarily driven by its atmosphere, which is the source of most of the horror – there are very few moments of traditional terror scattered throughout this film, with the primary focus being on establishing a very particular mood and then allowing the story to flourish from there. The result is a film that moves at an intentionally slow pace throughout, with only a few sporadic moment of unhinged terror, which is primarily when we hear the titular primal scream, which is only heard a couple of times in a classic case of building the suspense to a particular point, and then allowing all the built-up tension to be unleashed into some truly disturbing moments where we feel rattled to our core. The horror that drives this film is certainly unorthodox – I’ve often said that some of the most terrifying films are not those which take place in darkened rooms or labyrinthine passageways, but rather in broad daylight, which is certainly applicable here, with the majority of the film occuring in the idyllic landscapes of Devon, taking place in the wide-open pastoral surroundings and the quaint homes and village locations that make up the community. Skolimowski understands that the best way to unsettle is to present something familiar, and then gradually dismantle it to the point where it is still recognisable, but still slightly uncanny, stirring a sense of unease that begins to compound until it reaches its apex, after which point all the terror is unleashed. It also helps that the director doesn’t sacrifice the spectacle in the process – The Shout is superbly well-crafted, with Skolimowski highlighting the natural beauty of the surroundings, and finding ways to combine haunting imagery with the striking setting, a pairing that we may not have expected to be so effective, but which proves to support the weight of the entire film and its often overly broad intentions.

For a small, intimate folk horror, Skolimowski manages to recruit quite an impressive cast to bring this story to life, which is a testament to both his immense skills and his tendency to challenge conventions, even when it comes to casting. The trio of anchors of The Shout are John Hurt and Susannah York as the central couple who find their lives disrupted by the arrival of an unexpected visitor, and Alan Bates as this intruder who makes his way into their domestic space and proceeds to gradually dismantle their sanity in the process. It should not be at all surprising that these actors deliver spellbinding, complex work that rises above even the most intricate of the film’s flaws, which are rendered almost completely non-existent based on how compelling they make the material seem. Bates in particular stands out – it is very easy to play the parts of a couple who are experiencing such bizarre circumstances, but portraying the root of this terror is quite a task, especially when Bates has to walk the narrow boundary between deceptively charismatic and outright evil, which is the primary propellant for his extraordinary performance. There are some terrific supporting performances – a young Tim Curry plays Graves in a bit of metafictional casting, acting as the companion to Bates’ deeply terrifying villain as he recounts his past experiences. There are very brief performances from the likes of Jim Broadbent and Colin Higgins, who do not register as central to the plot, but are nonetheless welcome additions to a film that gives a lot of attention to its actors, all of whom deliver exceptional, compelling work that feels oddly quite moving, not a trait we would expect from a film that is built on such cold, clinical ideas, and which only goes to prove that a well-placed performance can be extremely effective when done correctly.

The Shout is a very simple film, and one that proves that a solid concept is more than enough to kickstart a genuinely compelling exploration of the darker side of the human condition, and how it can be corrupted by something as simple as becoming too invested in another culture. There are a few small issues (such as the use of Aboriginal populations as some malicious force – this is something that is not as pronounced in Graves’ original story, but which becomes more prominent through this adaptation), but they’re easily overcome by the sheer ambition that went into this film, which proves to be a far more engaging and intricately-woven text than we may have initially imagined. It is almost worth our time simply to see the exceptional work being done by the cast, with Bates rarely being better (and playing a role that has sincere echoes of his superlative work in The Caretaker, another instance of this dashingly handsome leading man playing the pure embodiment of evil), and Hurt and York being perfect victims of his malicious intentions. The Shout is a peculiar film, but one anchored deeply within Skolimowski’s continued attempts to reinvent various genres, taking specialised ideas and making them his own in some way or another, which is the foundation for quite an engaging and daring work of horror. It has only recently been rediscovered after decades of sitting in relative obscurity, and its pitch-black humour, nihilistic outlook and surprisingly comprehensive account of the cultures at the core of the story make it extremely appealing to modern audiences, who will likely be entirely taken by this wonderfully strange film about the dangers that lurk within our own homes, and how escape can sometimes be futile if the perpetrator is always a few steps ahead, which is the same with this film, which is a triumph of 1970s folk horror, and a worthy addition to the canon of unorthodox horror films that have defined entire generations and continue to be influential to the present day.