Horror is at its most effective when it taps into primal fears—the fear of isolation, the fear of our past mistakes coming back to haunt us, and, in the case of The Damned, the fear of what happens when the dead refuse to stay buried. Thordur Palsson’s The Damned is a period folk horror set in the harsh and unforgiving landscape of 19th-century Iceland, where a fishing village’s decision to abandon shipwreck survivors leads to a supernatural reckoning. More than a ghost story, it’s an exploration of guilt, survival, and folklore, deeply rooted in the Nordic legend of the draugr—a vengeful, undead being that blurs the lines between corporeal ghost and contagious curse.

Odessa Young delivers a powerhouse performance as Eva, a young widow forced to take charge of a struggling fishing outpost after her husband’s death. The village is already teetering on the edge of starvation, resorting to eating bait to survive, when a foreign ship crashes on the treacherous rocks offshore. The decision to let the crew drown, rather than risk further depleting their already meager resources, is a pragmatic one, but pragmatism doesn’t keep ghosts at bay. Soon, strange occurrences plague the village—visions of the drowned, eerie sounds in the night, and an escalating sense of paranoia among the villagers.

Unlike a traditional slasher or monster movie, The Damned is steeped in an oppressive, creeping dread. The horror here isn’t just about what lurks in the shadows but the psychological unraveling of a community burdened by the weight of its own sins. The Icelandic setting, captured in bleak, haunting cinematography, only amplifies this effect. The frozen landscape is both breathtaking and suffocating, a constant reminder of nature’s indifference to human suffering.

Central to The Damned’s horror is the presence of the draugr, a creature from Norse mythology that serves as something between a ghost and a zombie. Unlike Western ghosts, which tend to be ethereal, draugr are often depicted as physically tangible revenants, capable of harming the living. In some tales, they are guardians of treasure, attacking those who dare disturb their resting places. In others, they spread their curse like a disease—much like vampires, they can turn their victims into more draugr.

The film plays with both interpretations. At first, it’s unclear whether the supernatural elements are real or simply a manifestation of the villagers’ guilt. But as their numbers dwindle, it becomes evident that something is stalking them. The draugr in The Damned is not a lumbering corpse, nor is it a ghostly whisper in the wind; it is an insidious force that feeds on the villagers’ remorse, driving them to madness and violence. Whether it physically exists or is merely a projection of their collective guilt remains tantalizingly ambiguous, but the result is the same—death and despair.

Visually, The Damned is stunning, capturing the brutal beauty of Iceland’s frozen wastelands. The cinematography, helmed by Eli Arenson (The Lamb, The Watchers, The Deliverance) makes excellent use of natural light—harsh whites of snowfields contrast with the suffocating darkness of candlelit interiors, trapping the characters in a world where both nature and the supernatural are conspiring against them. The choice to use practical effects wherever possible enhances the film’s immersion, making the horror feel visceral rather than distant.

Stephen McKeon’s (Evil Dead Rise, The Hole in the Ground)score complements this oppressive atmosphere perfectly, eschewing bombastic horror cues in favor of dissonant, creeping melodies that crawl under the skin. The sound design is equally impressive, with eerie silences broken only by the howling wind or the distant creak of ice, reminding us just how small and fragile human life is in such an environment.

While the entire cast is strong, The Damned belongs to Odessa Young. Her performance as Eva is both fierce and heartbreaking, embodying the resilience required to lead in such dire circumstances while never losing sight of the profound emotional toll it takes. Joe Cole, as Daniel, provides a strong counterpoint, his arc offering a glimmer of potential salvation amidst the overwhelming bleakness. Rory McCann and Siobhan Finneran also deliver standout performances, bringing depth to characters that might have otherwise been simple archetypes.

Eva’s arc is particularly compelling. Initially a pragmatic leader who prioritizes survival above all else, she slowly unravels as the horrors mount. Whether these horrors are real or the manifestation of her own guilt is irrelevant—her mind believes them to be real, and that belief alone is enough to destroy her. The film’s final act cements this idea, as she faces a choice between redemption and damnation, a choice that is both deeply personal and culturally resonant.

The Damned is folk horror at its finest—atmospheric, deeply unsettling, and thematically rich. By tying its supernatural elements to Icelandic mythology, it taps into fears that feel ancient and deeply ingrained in the human psyche. It refuses to hold the audience’s hand, instead trusting them to engage with its slow-burn tension and moral ambiguity.

Its pacing is certainly deliberate, but patience is rewarded with an impactful climax. The film’s use of the draugr legend is particularly compelling, blurring the line between corporeal horror and psychological torment in a way that few horror films dare. The Damned doesn’t just ask whether the dead can haunt us—it asks whether our own actions damn us long before death ever comes. And that, perhaps, is the scariest thought of all.