<rss xmlns:atom="http://www.w3.org/2005/Atom" version="2.0"><channel><title>Midsommar - vo.rs</title><link>https://vo.rs/tags/midsommar/</link><description>Latest from the Midsommar desk at vo.rs.</description><generator>Hugo -- gohugo.io</generator><language>en</language><copyright>This work is licensed under a Creative Commons Attribution-NonCommercial 4.0 International License.</copyright><lastBuildDate>Fri, 08 Dec 2023 13:00:00 +0000</lastBuildDate><atom:link href="https://vo.rs/tags/midsommar/" rel="self" type="application/rss+xml"/><item><title>Folk Horror's Long Road From The Wicker Man to Midsommar</title><link>https://vo.rs/screen/folk-horrors-long-road-from-the-wicker-man-to-midsommar/</link><description>&lt;p&gt;Folk horror is the genre that grows in the gaps of a map. Its terror is a place rather than a monster or a killer: a village, an island, a field, somewhere the modern world has thinned out and something older has kept its footing. The films that belong to it share a shape you can feel before you can name it, a sense of the pastoral gone wrong, of a landscape that is watching, of communities practising a faith the visitor mistook for quaintness until it closed over his head. The road from &lt;em&gt;The Wicker Man&lt;/em&gt; in 1973 to &lt;em&gt;Midsommar&lt;/em&gt; in 2019 is nearly half a century long, and it runs through a dormancy so complete that the term itself had to be reinvented, but the shape survives the whole journey intact.&lt;/p&gt;</description><pubDate>Fri, 08 Dec 2023 13:00:00 +0000</pubDate></item></channel></rss>