Film Review — "All You Need Is Death"

I always forget how much I admire folk horror until I’m watching it again. When done well, folk horror movies are so easily devoured, and All You Need Is Death has the requisite pieces to be a great one.

It follows Anne and Aleks, a young couple in present-day Ireland, as they traverse the countryside recording old Irish folk songs for a weird network of music collectors who seek the forgotten histories and secret magics weaved into the lyrics. Their investigation leads them to a recluse named Rita Concannon who knows an ancient ballad that the women of her family have been passing down for many, many generations. The song has never been written down or recorded—and ought never be! The words harbor too much power, which is why mothers teach it only to their daughters, never their sons, otherwise Bad Shit could get unleashed, because… men.

The arresting and always reliable Olwen Fouéré plays Rita Concannon. Between Tarot, She Will, The Watchers, The Northman, and Texas Chainsaw Massacre (where she commandeered the role of Sally), Olwen Fouéré is quite a hot commodity in the genre world. She especially excels at portraying Lady of a Certain Age Who Knows Something No One Else Does (a key archetype in folk horror), and Fouéré’s screen presence brings a particular gravitas—a face that draws you in, eyes that won’t let you look away, and a voice that compels you to listen.

When Rita opens her mouth to sing/chant the ancient ballad, it’s like we’re transcending time with her.

Olwen Fouéré’s performance aside, the music itself may be All You Need Is Death’s strongest asset. And since this is a movie about an age-old magic song, the music kinda has to be spellbinding, or at the very least stirring. Thankfully, it’s both those things, quite possibly making music composer Ian Lynch (of the contemporary Irish folk band Lankum) the film’s MVP. The aura of Lynch’s atmospheric score grounds the story in its setting and elevates everything director Paul Duane’s camera sees.

Paul Duane’s approach is minimal yet intentional. The film isn’t flamboyant or chockful of jumpscares, but it is well shot and assembled for the most part. Duane’s measured pace allows the mystery to unravel slowly; after all, we’re talking about the deciphering of a centuries-old enchanted song. This steady simmer offers the dread an appropriate amount of time to sink in, and it gives the consequences of the characters’ actions a place to steep. It all builds up to a staggering, perplexing climax.

Now, I’m not someone who needs a movie to explain everything to me and wrap it all up with a pretty bow, but for whatever reason I do like learning more than is probably necessary about superfluous story elements.

Chiefly, we don’t learn as much about this odd contingent of folk music obsessives as I’d like. I suppose a lack of background info adds to the mystique, but it’s a tad frustrating because how am I supposed to be cool with not knowing everything about a clandestine ring of… what? Music occultists? I mean, what is their deal, really? Are they like the Talamasca, or more like the Syndicate? Are they curators, or a cabal? Inquiring minds want to know, Mr. Duane!

I’m also intrigued by the, umm, shall we say, “gender politics” of the lore, specifically the stuff concerning Breezeblock Concannon, son of Rita. Breezeblock, to the chagrin of Rita’s female relatives, was born a boy and so couldn’t be taught the family ballad. Then Rita, defiantly, never birthed a daughter to pass the music onto and thus doomed her son to grow up victimized by evil forces. After present-day adult Breezeblock reveals his grim method of fending off the evil, my twisted ass needed to know more because it feels like there ought be a lot to unpack there, but alas nay; we’re left hanging.

Paul Duane skirts neat answers and tidy resolutions, which I’m generally okay with. I usually don’t mind being left wanting… Don’t get me wrong, All You Need Is Death baaaaasically comes together in the end, albeit somewhat amorphously. It’s comprehensible anyway, if your gears are greased and turning. Mileage will vary, all things considered, but it quenched my folk thirst for the time bein’.