Midsommar ★★★★

Less a transformation and more of a blossoming into the true self, with added shock for charm. Rigorously nihilistic and dipped in aching trauma, but sunkissed for the brighter horizons. Aster builds an entire story around planting seeds of doubt, and letting them grow into looming trees with the finest, sharpest branches, and like always the agony is handled with supreme control until it isn't. A fire temple that burns slowly until the support starts collapsing. And further touching on collapsing support, it's really what Aster gets into the deep disturbia and horror of. The horror of losing someone, and the horror of nobody being there for you when it happens, and the horror of having to lose someone again on your own terms when the lack of support leaves it as all you can do. The real horror of this doesn't sit in psychopathic ritual, it sits in the very real anxiety of being a woman surrounded by men that are terrible at disguising their disdain, and being a woman that can only express trauma when it's shared. Feminist horror for the win.

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