Midsommar

Ritual, Trauma, and the Illusion of Belonging: 

A Cultural and Psychological Reading of Ari Aster’s Midsommar

Ari Aster's Midsommar (2019) is a film that unsettles and captivates in equal measure. Set under the blinding sun of rural Sweden, the film intertwines horror with pastoral serenity, creating a juxtaposition that is both beautiful and horrifying. It tells the story of Dani, a grieving young woman, who becomes entangled with a pagan commune during a midsummer festival. Through her journey, the film explores themes of grief, identity, trauma, cultural ritual, and the dark undercurrents of community.

This paper seeks to analyze Midsommar through the lens of cultural tradition, the psychology of trauma and belonging, and the film's use of Swedish folklore as a narrative device. It will further explore the real versus fictional aspects of the rituals depicted and how their presentation influences viewer perception.

Grief and Displacement: 

Dani as Psychological Center At the heart of Midsommar is Dani's emotional disintegration and reconstruction. The brutal murder-suicide of her sister and parents leaves her suspended in an abyss of grief, guilt, and detachment. Her subsequent journey to Sweden is less a vacation and more a desperate escape from emotional paralysis. In the remote community of Hårga, she finds what appears to be stability, ritual, and belonging—elements sorely missing in her fractured American life.

Dani’s arc can be read through a trauma-informed psychological lens. Her emotional vulnerability makes her especially susceptible to the commune's structured expressions of emotion, shared rituals, and apparent empathy. The use of synchrony in breath, sound, and movement by the cult members reinforces a sense of shared pain, which Dani begins to interpret as genuine compassion, in contrast to her emotionally unavailable boyfriend and friends.

The Aesthetics of Horror in Daylight 

Unusually for horror cinema, Midsommar takes place almost entirely in daylight. This visual decision subverts traditional horror tropes and disorients the viewer. The lush green fields, bright costumes, and symmetrical architecture initially present a pastoral utopia. Yet this constant exposure reveals rather than conceals, making the acts of violence and death more unsettling. The absence of darkness denies viewers the comfort of night as a space to process horror, forcing them into prolonged confrontation with the film's imagery.

This decision also mirrors Dani’s internal journey—there is no place to hide from grief, no shade to retreat into. Everything is visible, everything is confronted.

Invented Rituals and Emotional Logic

 The Hårga community operates according to a strict ritual calendar and age-based life cycle. Though these elements are fictional, they are portrayed with anthropological precision. The rituals make emotional sense within the internal logic of the commune: the 72-year-old elders jump to their deaths to avoid burdening the community, outsiders are sacrificed to ensure prosperity, sexual rites are choreographed for fertility.

These customs disturb precisely because they are not irrational. They operate within a system where tradition supersedes individual will. The horror arises not from chaos, but from order—a social contract taken to an inhuman extreme.

Folk Horror and the Seduction of Community

Midsommar belongs to the folk horror genre, where isolated communities preserve ancient customs at the expense of outsiders. However, unlike earlier examples like The Wicker Man (1973), Aster's film invites identification with the community. By the film’s end, Dani has joined them. Her final smile, cryptic and ambiguous, suggests not madness but relief.

This evolution is central to the film's horror: the community seduces not through coercion but through the promise of inclusion. It offers Dani what her contemporary Western context failed to provide—collective mourning, spiritual narrative, and a sense of purpose.

 Language, Isolation, and Control 

One of the film's subtle yet powerful elements is its use of language. Swedish is spoken sparingly, often untranslated. This linguistic barrier places the American visitors at a constant disadvantage, fostering disorientation and powerlessness. The use of invented symbols, runes, and body language also replaces verbal explanation, creating an atmosphere of mysticism and control.

This aligns with the psychological tactic of "gaslighting" in abusive relationships: the environment makes outsiders question their perceptions. The linguistic isolation heightens their vulnerability to manipulation.

Gender and Agency

Midsommar also interrogates gender dynamics. The Hårga’s society, while rigid, offers Dani a central role in its hierarchy. She is crowned May Queen, made symbolically powerful. In contrast, Christian, her boyfriend, is emasculated, seduced, and ultimately destroyed.

A feminist reading might argue that Dani’s journey, however morally compromised, constitutes a reclaiming of agency. Her scream of grief is finally echoed, held, and witnessed. Yet this empowerment is contingent upon assimilation into a violent order.

Nature, Myth, and Cyclical Time 

The natural world in Midsommar is lush, omnipresent, and sacred. Time in Hårga is cyclical, not linear. Seasons, ages, and rituals form repeating patterns. This reflects pre-Christian pagan cosmologies, where death is part of renewal.

Psychedelic experiences in the film visually reinforce this. Trees breathe, flowers pulse. The boundaries between self and environment dissolve, evoking animistic spirituality. For Dani, this dissolution becomes rebirth.

Fact vs. Fiction: 

Swedish Tradition and Artistic License While Midsommar draws heavily from the aesthetics and spirit of Swedish midsummer festivals, the majority of the film’s rituals and practices are fictional. Ari Aster and his team conducted research into Scandinavian folklore but ultimately created a heightened, horrific version of rural tradition to serve the film’s psychological and narrative goals.

For instance, the maypole dance, flower crowns, and solstice celebration are authentic elements of Swedish midsummer. However, the film introduces disturbing fictional practices such as ritual suicide at age 72, human sacrifice, and communal sexual rites—all of which have no basis in actual Swedish culture.

The concept of the ättestupa—an alleged ancient practice of elderly people leaping to their deaths—has appeared in folklore and historical speculation but is widely regarded as mythical rather than historical. Similarly, the idea of a self-contained village maintaining pagan traditions in secrecy reflects common horror tropes rather than historical reality.

By blending fragments of real customs with fabricated rituals, the film creates an atmosphere that feels authentic yet otherworldly. This deliberate distortion emphasizes the film’s central themes: the allure and danger of belonging, the malleability of tradition, and the thin line between communal support and coercion.

Conclusion 

Midsommar is not merely a horror film, but a psychological and cultural study disguised as one. It uses the structure of a folk tale to dissect contemporary emotional alienation, the seductive power of tradition, and the fragile boundary between healing and harm. Dani’s journey is both cathartic and terrifying—a transformation that challenges the viewer to question their own definitions of family, ritual, and truth.

The film’s brilliance lies in its ambiguity. Is Dani liberated or consumed? Is the commune monstrous or merely consistent? In the absence of definitive answers, Midsommar leaves us with only one certainty: that pain seeks meaning, and in its absence, will accept even horror dressed as harmony.