Anthology horror films can be a mixed bag, but when they delve into the rich tapestry of global folklore, the results can be truly captivating. The Field Guide to Evil (2018) is a film that initially flew under the radar for many, including myself. Knowing it was a collection of eerie folk tales piqued my interest, and seeking a portmanteau film to add to my viewing list sealed the deal. It wasn’t until the credits rolled that the names Can Evrenol (Baskin) and Peter Strickland (In Fabric) flashed across the screen, sparking a moment of surprise. How had such a film, boasting such talent, escaped wider attention? Perhaps, as the film itself suggests, there’s a touch of dark magic at play.
Delving into Darkness: A Synopsis of The Field Guide to Evil
The Field Guide to Evil isn’t your typical horror anthology. It foregoes a framing narrative, instead opting for a straightforward plunge into eight distinct short films. Each segment unveils a chilling folk tale originating from a different corner of the world, offering a diverse and unsettling exploration of global myths and nightmares.
Sinful Women and Austrian Folklore: “The Sinful Women of Hollfall”
Our journey begins in medieval Austria with Kathi, a young woman wrestling with burgeoning desires. When she succumbs to temptation with another woman, her community’s judgment is swift and harsh. As punishment, Kathi is visited by the Trud, a malevolent spirit known for tormenting sinners in their sleep. However, this segment poses a compelling question: has the Trud underestimated the resilience and inner strength of Kathi?
This opening story immediately sets a unique tone. While the initial scene of Kathi and the goat might evoke comparisons to folk horror like Hagazussa, “The Sinful Women of Hollfall” quickly distinguishes itself with a brisker pace and a sharper focus on societal repression and individual rebellion. The film deftly blends the timeless themes of sexual guilt and social ostracization with the chilling presence of the uncanny. This segment is a more successful exploration of similar themes than Franz & Fiala’s more divisive Goodnight Mummy (Ich seh, Ich seh).
Turkish Terror and Postpartum Nightmares: “Haunted by Al Karisi, the Childbirth Djinn”
Moving eastward to Turkey, we encounter Songul, a young, seemingly unwed, expectant mother caring for an ailing relative. Following the birth of her child, Songul is plagued by a malevolent entity, the Al Karisi, a childbirth djinn, which manifests through her milk goat. The story unfolds as Songul descends into madness, blurring the lines between reality and demonic delusion.
Directed by Can Evrenol, this segment is a visceral and disturbing portrayal of postpartum psychosis interpreted through the lens of demonic folklore. Evrenol masterfully employs visual storytelling, immersing the viewer in Songul’s fractured reality. Is it a descent into delusion, or is the djinn genuinely present? Regardless of interpretation, “Haunted by Al Karisi, the Childbirth Djinn” is a relentlessly grim and bloody segment that leaves a lasting sense of unease.
Polish Paganism and Gruesome Desires: “The Kindler And The Virgin”
Venturing into the dark forests of Poland, “The Kindler And The Virgin” introduces us to a man who encounters a mysterious woman in the woods. She promises him profound knowledge in exchange for a gruesome task: the consumption of three human hearts. This sets the stage for a descent into graverobbing, cannibalism, and other nocturnal horrors.
Of all the narratives within The Field Guide to Evil, this Polish tale feels like it could have benefited from expanded runtime. While the premise is captivating and the journey into darkness is gripping, the conclusion arrives with an almost jarring abruptness. It necessitates a second viewing to grasp the nuances of the resolution, suggesting a deeper complexity that is somewhat obscured by its brevity. Despite this, the segment is compelling and unsettling, leaving the viewer wanting more.
Appalachian Monsters and Family Discord: “Beware the Melonheads”
Shifting continents to the Appalachian woodlands of the USA, “Beware the Melonheads” presents a more straightforward horror scenario. A family vacationing in a remote cabin finds themselves fractured by parental bickering. Amidst this tension, their young son befriends a mysterious figure lurking in the woods. Is this new companion an imaginary friend born of loneliness, or is he, as hinted, a monstrous, cannibalistic mutant child with a disturbingly large, melon-like head?
This segment is the closest The Field Guide to Evil comes to traditional monster horror. However, positioned amongst more conceptually rich and visually striking pieces, “Beware the Melonheads” suffers in comparison. It’s a competent horror short, but it lacks the imaginative depth and visual artistry of its counterparts. The final moments introduce a touch of welcome weirdness, but it arrives too late to fully elevate the segment.
Greek Gods and Festival Frights: “Pangas The Pagan”
“Pangas The Pagan” transports us to a small Greek community in the 1980s, where a goblin emerges from the underworld during a local festival. Forced to participate in the festivities, Pangas finds himself in increasingly disturbing situations.
This Greek segment distinguishes itself with a surprisingly playful tone. While maintaining a dark undercurrent and a characteristic sting in the tail, “Pangas The Pagan” feels more lighthearted and whimsical than the other stories. While it might lack narrative substance compared to some segments, it compensates with its unique style. Utilizing practical effects, simple makeup, and vibrant colored lighting, it effectively creates an otherworldly and folkloric atmosphere.
Indian Legends and Circus Exploitation: “The Palace Of Horrors”
Journeying to India, “The Palace Of Horrors” follows an English circus agent in search of unique performers for his freak show. Rumors of a king who imprisons unusual individuals in his palace cellars lead the agent on a quest to uncover the truth behind the legend. Unsurprisingly, this pursuit ends in a predictably grim fashion.
While aiming for a creepy and unsettling atmosphere, “The Palace Of Horrors” unfortunately falls short of its potential. The Indian locations are visually evocative, and the makeup effects are reasonably well-executed, but the narrative and scares feel somewhat predictable and lack genuine impact. The premise held promise, but the execution fails to deliver anything truly remarkable.
German Spirits and Incestuous Undertones: “A Nocturnal Breath”
Returning to remote woodlands, this time in Germany, “A Nocturnal Breath” tells the story of a young man attempting to liberate his sister from a possessing spirit known as a Drude. This entity manifests as a field mouse that emerges from the sister, leaving her catatonic while it wreaks havoc. As the spirit targets their farm animals, the siblings are driven to desperate measures.
This segment is a classic example of folk horror, simple yet effective, and surprisingly unsettling. Subtle hints of incestuous feelings harbored by the brother towards his sister add a layer of disturbing psychological depth to the narrative, making it one of the more memorable and unsettling entries in the anthology.
Hungarian Fairy Tales and Tragic Obsession: “The Cobblers’ Lot”
Peter Strickland’s “The Cobblers’ Lot,” set in Hungary, is a dark fairy tale and arguably the highlight of The Field Guide to Evil. Its placement as the concluding segment is well-deserved. The story centers on two brothers, both cobblers (or, more accurately, cordwainers), who become rivals for the affections of the same princess. Their desperate and increasingly twisted attempts to win her favor lead to betrayal, death, and supernatural horrors that transcend the grave.
Despite being filmed in color with sound, “The Cobblers’ Lot” evokes the aesthetic of German Expressionist cinema from the 1920s. Florid intertitles and stylized performances lend it a timeless quality, perfectly suited for a folk tale. Every frame is meticulously crafted and visually stunning, making it a perfect and haunting conclusion to the anthology.
General Reflections on The Field Guide to Evil
A notable characteristic of The Field Guide to Evil is its absence of a framing narrative, a somewhat unusual choice for an anthology film. Instead, the film simply presents a book of folk tales opening to the relevant page before each segment begins, providing context. This lack of a framing story doesn’t detract from the film; in fact, it streamlines the experience and allows for more time to be dedicated to each individual tale. With eight segments packed into a runtime of just under two hours, this efficient approach is appreciated, preventing the film from feeling overstuffed.
While the stories originate from diverse international locations, The Field Guide to Evil maintains a predominantly European focus in its selection of folklore. This leaves one hoping for a potential sequel that could expand its scope to include more Asian, African, and Latin American narratives. The world is brimming with captivating and terrifying folk tales from countless cultures, offering a vast wellspring of inspiration for future installments.
The Field Guide to Evil is a testament to independent filmmaking, brought to life through a successful crowdfunding campaign on IndieGoGo, spearheaded by the producers of The ABCs of Death series. Considering its crowdfunded nature and relatively modest budget, the film boasts impressive production values and a visually polished aesthetic.
Final Verdict: Is The Field Guide to Evil Worth Watching?
As is often the case with anthology films, particularly those with multiple writers and directors, The Field Guide to Evil is inherently a mixed bag. Not every segment will resonate equally with every viewer. However, in this case, the film’s successes outweigh its shortcomings. For me, the most compelling segments were those that embraced the essence of folk tales, prioritizing atmosphere and unsettling themes over jump scares and conventional horror tropes. “Beware the Melonheads” and “The Palace of Horrors,” while entertaining, are less impactful in this regard. “Al Karisi” effectively bridges the gap between visceral horror and folkloric unease. Ultimately, “The Cobblers’ Lot” stands out as the truly exceptional piece, a gem within the collection. But even with its unevenness, the presence of such a standout segment, coupled with several other strong entries, makes The Field Guide to Evil a worthwhile watch, particularly for fans of folk horror and international cinema. And the beauty of an anthology is that even the weaker segments are brief, quickly giving way to the next tale.
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