Film Review — "The Damned"
Winter is quickly overtaking the fall as the preeminent horror season, and I’m glad! I mean, Autumn who? Granted, the frozen badlands in Thordur Palsson’s icy spookfest could be a year-round situation, but the sentiment holds because The Damned paints such a chilling portrait of human callousness and its grim consequences.
The Damned takes place at a secluded fishing outpost on the coast of nineteenth century Iceland, and the desolate white setting conveys the mood immediately. Times are tough for the outpost crew as they’re braving one of the worst fishing seasons they’ve ever endured. The conditions have been so dire that they’re eating bait for sustenance, and their previous manager Magnus recently perished. So now Eva, the deceased manager’s widow, oversees the crew in his stead.
Odessa Young plays Eva, whose top priority is keeping her men alive. Her determination to not let anyone die on her watch gets put to the test when a ship of outsiders smashes onto The Teeth, the ominously named treacherous rocks in the middle of the harbor, and begins to sink. As freezing, drowning sailors scream for help in the distance, Eva and her helmsman Ragnar make the practical—and harsh—choice to not intervene—AKA to not rescue the vulnerable dying people. The rationale is that their community is already so low on food and supplies that they wouldn’t be able to properly aid the wrecked sailors anyway. Plus, doing so would only worsen their own odds of survival. Soooo… sorry, folks! They do, however, row out to the wreckage hours later to collect what supplies they can before the tide turns. Because stuff > human beings.
Naturally, this cold, semi-detached decision-making comes with paranormal repercussions of the Nordic sort.
Nordic horror is so inherently bewitching. I swear, the moment I hear names like Magnus and Ragnar, I am dialed the fuck in. Then there’s Helga, too? Who doesn’t love a Helga! A name you hear and just know she’s got good tea.
And she does! Helga, the cook of this fishing community, is deeply superstitious and spends evenings reciting scary stories about ruthless undead creatures and merciless spirits for the fishermen, who find them highly entertaining. But to Helga, these tales are not make-believe—they’re real words to live by, lessons one needs to survive spectral encounters. Siobhan Finneran plays Helga, and she eats the role up. It’s the conviction she lends Helga that sells us the stakes. I very much admire Finneran’s commitment to the material.
The MVP behind the camera is cinematographer Eli Arenson, who’s A Certified Babe by the way. (Light me, daddy!) Immaculately lit horror films are few and far between these days, but thankfully Eli heard my cries of anguish and delivered a gorgeous-looking picture. A lot of today’s DPs would do well to take a page from Eli Arenson’s book on how to illuminate night/dark scenes. He gives us highlights, lowlights, texture, backlight, shadows with defined shapes, etc. It’s crazy how much more enjoyable a film becomes when your eyes are stimulated and you can actually see what’s happening. (The contemporary trend of lighting like shit, or not at all, for the sake of “naturalism” is dumb and lazy.) And here it’s not just a sign of competency—it’s necessity. Some of the most affective frights in the film are the moments where Thordur Palsson sneaks in figures who don’t have any earthly business being there, and without Eli Arenson’s illuminating prowess, the effect wouldn’t stick.
Together, Palsson and Arenson visually capture the inhumanity at the core of the film. Then composer Stephen McKeon accentuates it all with his piercing, sometimes intentionally grating, music. I love a score that feels like it’s trying to penetrate my mortal soul to root out the evil buried deep within it. Because, as one character makes clear, it’s the stony-hearted living, not the (un)dead, who pose the greater danger to the rest of us. But by time those words are uttered, the damage is beyond done.
With only one viewing under my belt, the conclusion feels a tad rushed. I’m not yet convinced that a hurried ending was the right move here. As it is, it just isn’t as devastating as I suspect it’s supposed to be, given the dramatic way it’s cut together. Personally, I wouldn’t have minded more time to dwell in the realization of what these circumstances have driven Eva to do, and then there could also be one more minute for her to come to terms with the aftermath. Let actors emote! After all, there’s nothing wrong with an actorly linger, especially if it’s just for a beat or two.
So, while I adore a < 90 minute movie, I truly think The Damned could’ve benefited from a slightly longer runtime—not much, merely some padding for additional atmosphere and to let matters breathe and, perhaps, to give the ending a little more oomph. This is the type of narrative that’s begging to be a slow burn, as the kids say. A slow freezer burn, if you will! I’ll see myself out.
