Starve Acre, adapted from Michael Hurley’s 2019 novel, is a refreshingly paced and disconcerting tale of the horrors that grief can unearth. Director Daniel Kokotajlo promises all the hallmarks of British folk horror – ominous misty moors, violently troubled children, ancient Pagan prophecies – yet steers clear of cheap scares in favour of growing a truly unsettling atmosphere.

Starve Acre boldly strives for a place among the quintessential greats of its genre, such as The Wicker Man and A Field in England, and whilst not as overtly frightening as many of its contemporaries, it certainly makes its mark. A unique modern classic, Kokotajlo’s twisted folkloric tale is definitely worth watching for slow-burn, psychological horror fans.

Giving up on their life in the city, Juliette (Morfydd Clark) and her archaeologist husband Richard (Matt Smith) move back to his late father’s farm in the Yorkshire Dales, the eerily-named Starve Acre. They hope the change of scenery will be good for their son Owen (Arthur Shaw), but we have a mere four minutes to share the family’s optimism before an uncanny blend of human and animal cries shatter any illusion of normalcy. Following the source of the wailing to a collapsed pony, bleeding from the socket where its eye once was, we find a perfectly unconcerned Owen sitting nearby, twirling a sharp stick streaked in red.

We have a mere four minues to share to the family’s optimism before […] human and animal cries shatter any illusion of normalcy

Kokotajlo’s first and second acts demonstrate that he is not afraid to take his time. Moments of exposition are few and far between, allowing space for beautifully foreboding landscape shots, contrasted by the claustrophobic, fleshy glimpses of something growing beneath the soil.

The increasingly strange occurrences are eventually put in some context through Richard’s investigation of his father’s old notebooks. Here, we learn that the patriarch was not only abusive towards Richard, but also deeply entrenched in Satanic ritualism, the lynchpin of his obsession an ancient oak tree once thought to be a door to other worlds.

After the family is struck by a tragic loss, the cracks in Richard and Juliette’s relationship begin to deepen, with both coping with their grief in very separate ways. Whilst Matt Smith and Morfydd Clark are both spectacular in their own rights, their shared scenes bring out an intimately disturbing tension that only continues to fester after the loss.

Grief is certainly no new concept within horror, with films like Hereditary, The Descent and Lake Mungo masterfully examining aspects of the emotion in distinct and powerful ways. Where Starve Acre stands out is in its ability to subtly corrupt all the things that ought to bring us comfort. Nothing is sacred under Kokotajlo’s gaze; returning home to a place that should welcome you, only to find it completely indifferent, is a theme consistent with his debut feature, Apostasy.

This story of two sisters living within a stifling religious community is based on Kokotajlo’s own experiences with faith, wherein he further demonstrates his aptitude for drawing out genuinely human, yet emphatically unnerving fear. Across the settings of both films, not even daylight provides respite for our characters.

Starve Acre stands out in its ability to subtly corrupt all the things that ought to bring us comfort

The primary daytime setting works as an effective subversion; it’s easy to understand why horror is so usually associated with the dark. We fear darkness as something that cloaks danger and strips us of the comfort of knowledge – nonetheless at points in this film I found myself wishing for it, almost as a blanket, to cover the rawness of pain felt by the characters in the sobering light of the day.

Even Matthew Herbert’s beautiful score engineers the unshakable notion that something is deeply wrong – scenes that would ordinarily be repulsive are turned hopeful by his subtle manipulation. The closing shot of the film ties these contrasts and corruptions together beautifully. Framed to superficially resemble an idyllic family portrait, underscored by Herbert’s unnervingly optimistic soundtrack, the credits roll on a truly happy family who have been through hell, and may not have made it back.

Starve Acre is a beautiful, tragic weaving of deeply personal and inexplicably supernatural horror. It certainly isn’t perfect, and it is unsurprising that the film has received criticism for its slower place, lack of overt scares and decision to leave certain plot threads untied.

However, for fans of understated, conceptual horror, none of these traits necessarily weaken the experience. Starve Acre feels like a Grimms’ fairy tale come to screen, with all the gothic absurdity that that implies – a highly recommended watch for this Halloween.