WENT UP THE HILL. An intimate portrait of grief [REVIEW]

Went up the Hill can be read literally – but it’s worth digging deeper Jory Anast and Samuel Van Grinsven, the Australian/New Zealand filmmakers who caught critics’ attention with their 2019 debut Sequin in a Blue Room, return with Went up the hill – a story about death, and about those left behind.

Jack, abandoned in childhood by his mother, receives an unexpected invitation from her partner Jill to attend the funeral.

Elisabeth has died suddenly – she drowned herself in a lake, her coat weighed down with stones. At her home, Jack is met with hostility by his aunt Helen, who resents his presence. Jill insists he should stay – even though she claims she wasn’t the one who invited him. That night, Jack realizes his mother is present in the house in more than just the body laid out in a coffin…

Labeling Went up the hill as a simple horror film would be reductive.

On the surface, it’s a ghost story – Elisabeth’s death, her spirit, and her possession of the living. Though she chose to end her life, she left behind unfinished business with both Jack and Jill, and she has no intention of leaving them so easily. The familiar genre trope of a spirit taking over a living body is handled in an unusually compelling way here: Elisabeth moves between Jill and Jack, a narrative choice that both refreshes the formula and opens new possibilities.Stylistically, horror is present from the start. Low hums, whispers, heavy breaths, and droning notes create a soundscape of unease. Composer Hanan Townshend crafts a chilling atmosphere with minimalist means that prove all the more effective for their restraint.

The imagery is equally unsettling. Van Grinsven uses symmetrical framing and a cold palette to evoke alienation and tension, recalling Lanthimos’ work. Stripped of vibrant colors, the visuals emphasize the crimson of blood – appearing under skin or across bodies – a symbol of both life and longing for it, a desperate attempt to cling to what has already slipped away. Close-ups heighten the discomfort, robbing viewers of the safety of distance and forcing them into unwanted intimacy.

But Went up the hill goes beyond the ghost story.

Taken metaphorically – as seems to be the filmmakers’ intent – it is a raw tale of unprocessed grief. Jack, still a child at heart who never truly knew his mother, sees in Jill his only chance to discover her, even literally to touch her again. Jill, meanwhile, has been abandoned too – her partner’s illness foreshadowed the end, but it came far too soon. She must reckon not only with Elisabeth’s absence, but also with the toxic dynamic of a relationship in which she was dominated and submissive.

The film’s emotional climax arrives in an uneasy, unwanted moment of intimacy between Jack and Jill – not an act of desire, but of desperation. For Jack, who is gay, it is an attempt to bridge the impossible gap to his mother.

For Jill, it is one final encounter with her partner, albeit in another’s body. Their grief drives them into a closeness that should never happen, yet does – an embodiment of pain, longing, and the need for touch. Even in death, Elisabeth exerts control: sexually, emotionally, spiritually. Their act is both an expression of her dominance and, paradoxically, the beginning of release, as they confront the wounds she left behind.

In the lead roles, Vicky Krieps (Corsage, Phantom Thread) as Jill and Dacre Montgomery (Stranger Things) as Jack face the formidable task of playing not only their own characters, but also channeling a third: Elisabeth. On set, they reportedly used distinct perfumes for each role to physically inhabit the emotional states tied to different identities.

Elisabeth herself never appears on screen, so Krieps and Montgomery collaboratively built her presence – her gestures, her tone of voice, her mannerisms – ensuring a consistent portrayal.

The result is remarkable. At first, transitions of possession are clearly marked, but as the film progresses, subtler cues take over, and yet the shift remains unmistakable. Both actors allow Elisabeth to speak through them, embodying her as an invisible but palpable force. Their performances blur the boundary between physical and metaphysical, making Elisabeth’s lingering influence one of the most captivating aspects of the film.Went up the hill is not another ghost story, but a haunting meditation on how toxic love can outlast death and devastate those left in its wake.

Van Grinsven suggests Elisabeth’s haunting is not supernatural at all, but symbolic of grief, trauma, and unresolved emotions. The film asks: how can loss take control of our lives – and is there any way to break free?