THE HALLOW: Don’t Rush, the Dread Must Last

The Hallow proves how difficult it is today to make a debut in the horror genre. Partly this stems from the simple fact that contemporary horror films are largely derivative, especially in terms of plot; even the best of them draw on tried-and-tested motifs, reworking them just enough to be regarded as something more interesting than they really are.

Style and atmosphere can save such a film, and can even make it appear to be a major achievement (within its genre), but as more and more quotations and borrowings are uncovered, our admiration fades somewhat. And Corin Hardy’s first film is exactly that kind of case – one inspiration follows another, although it is all very watchable.

A month after moving to Ireland, to a house located in the middle of a forest, a married couple with a small, not yet one-year-old child discover that they are not welcome there. Their nearest neighbour, a man of rather gloomy appearance (Michael McElhatton, better known as Roose Bolton from Game of Thrones), first makes it clear to them that the surrounding forest is not a good place for walks, and then leaves them a large book dealing with local folklore.

At first the couple ignore this gift, naturally up to the moment when strange things begin happening around them. First the husband (Joseph Mawle) finds a certain type of parasitic fungus in various places (or at least he believes the black substance to be exactly that), and then the house is attacked by creatures from folk legends.

The director does not even try to hide his inspirations – in The Hallow one can hear echoes of The Evil Dead, The Thing, and even The Shining. Copying the classics comes fairly smoothly to the debutant, although the lack of originality strikes all the more because the point of departure offered hope for something genuinely fresh and unprecedented. At the beginning of the film we hear on the radio about the prospect of the state selling land, which would lead to a situation in which Ireland would be left without public forests.

The main character is an ecologist assessing which trees are healthy and which are to be cut down. The presence of mythical monsters could therefore be explained as a fight for their own survival. But nothing of the sort happens. Hardy quickly abandons the green thread, depriving the fantastical forces of a noble motivation. They thus remain unequivocally negative, focused more on destroying people than on making them realise why this is happening.

What happens later is just as clichéd – the protagonists hide in the house, trying to wait out the night, while the uninvited guests attempt to get inside. The debutant tries to vary the viewing experience in various ways, above all by boldly combining body horror, elements of fairy-tale imagery, a monster movie, and an initially suggested scientific explanation. The closer we get to the finale, however, the fewer such games and attempts to give the film a more original character there are, as if the director were running out of ideas.

What speaks most strongly in favour of Hardy’s film is its execution. It is not only the best-looking British horror since The Descent, but also one of the very few recent representatives of the genre that does not reek of cheapness and genuinely wants to please. In the age of found footage, sloppy handheld camerawork, and an exceptionally limited visual imagination among contemporary horror directors, The Hallow feels like a return to a horror cinema rich in attractions.

The cinematography by Martijn Van Broekhuizen lends the film a sense of class, without seeming over-stylised. The entire film was shot in authentic locations, which makes the feeling of threat and isolation even more tangible. The director also uses special effects wisely, mainly practical ones, with only a small contribution from computer-generated imagery. The moment in which the hand of a forest apparition pierces the wooden hatch to the attic and then slowly approaches the face of the heroine played by Bojana Novakovic is not only full of tension, but also of the magic of cinematic horror.

It invigorates the viewer with imagery, with the suggestion of what will happen when the hand reaches its goal, and with the celebration of the moment. Hardy does not rush; he knows that dread must last.

Nor is the dedication in the end credits surprising – In memory of Ray Harryhausen, Dick Smith, Stan Winston and Leo Hardy, who taught me to believe in monsters. The first three gentlemen are now deceased, outstanding pioneers in the field of special effects and makeup. And it is precisely these two elements of Hardy’s debut that stand out against the rest, which only confirms the interests of the director.

The Hallow is an uneven film, offering satisfaction only in places, but giving hope that Corin Hardy will grow into a significant figure in horror cinema. He proves that he knows the horror classics inside out. He himself situates his film somewhere between Straw Dogs and Pan’s Labyrinth. Next time, however, he should stop looking at others and make films his own way.