'The Severed Sun' (2024) Movie Review

“Can we speak ill of the living before it’s too late?” asks Magpie (Emma Appleton) in writer/director Dean Puckett’s The Severed Sun. It’s certainly one of those situations where if people had taken a moment to talk it out, many if not all of the more unfortunate events of the film could have been avoided. But then we wouldn’t have this moody, engaging, occasionally quite gory, if a bit spare entry into the folk horror canon. 

 

Magpie lives in an insular religious community ruled by an overbearing pastor only named The Pastor (Toby Stephens), who is both figurative father to his flock and literal father to Magpie. When she finally has enough of this oppressive patriarchal society, specifically her abusive husband, she takes matters into her own hands and summons a shadowy, large-horned creature with a taste for the blood of the wicked.

 

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Puckett’s film doesn’t necessarily rewrite the program, but it plays all the hits and plays them responsibly well. We get all the expected frills and accouterments—moody score, smokey marshes, a tense, nerve-pulling score. Beneath the cover of righteousness there lurks petty jealousies, hypocrisy of all stripes from those who claim to be the most pious, and countless secrets teetering on the verge of coming out. And, of course, there’s a good old fashioned naked-in-the-woods sex romp, complete with erotic mud smearing. 

 

The setting is a curious case. Aesthetically, practically, and lifestyle wise, the village calls back to earlier days. Men wear drab, practical work wear, while women don modest, plain, handsewn dresses. Initially this could be a period piece akin to The Witch or it could be more along the lines of a modern day Mennonite community. Eventually there are glimpses of asphalt roads and power lines—one shot of each if I’m not mistaken—which places it in more contemporary environs. But then come moments that hint at something else, as if they’re the survivors of a ruined society, chosen by God to rise from the rubble. But again, there are only one or two of these instances. There are no hard and fast answers about the light post-apocalyptic setting, especially as there’s no context or contact with the world outside this enclave, but it provides an intriguing wrinkle to parse out and puzzle over.

 

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Appleton plays Magpie as meek and obedient on the surface, though quickly shedding that exterior, she rises to confront the forces that threaten her. Stephens’ Pastor is a towering figure of authority with a chilling cruelty, capable of menace but with a warm human streak hidden in all of this. He also has a creepy, dead-eyed lacky, John (Barney Harris), who has his own fair share of skeletons in his closet. And in true religious horror fashion, there’s May (Jodhi May), the small-minded zealot who believes herself so pure and virtuous while ignoring her own blazing depravity. 

 

Clocking in at 81 minutes, with both opening and closing credits, The Severed Sun is admittedly slight and slim and doesn’t bring much new to the folk horror formula. There’s ample room to explore thematic and character depths, or even the underlying eroticism that pops up only to fall by the wayside. But from the costume design to the isolated setting to the grainy footage—authentically grainy, not that faux-digital affect—it all adds up to a strong, gripping throwback. It’s moody and atmospheric, and it’s hard to hate a movie with a glowing-eyed revenge monster.

 

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