So, you’ve probably seen the posters or scrolled past the trailer for The Watchers. Maybe you even sat through the nearly two-hour runtime and walked away feeling a little bit confused, or maybe just incredibly unsettled by the idea of being stared at by something you can’t see. It’s a creepy premise. Honestly, the film—which marks the directorial debut of Ishana Night Shyamalan—is a weirdly specific beast that borrows heavily from Irish folklore while trying to maintain that signature "Shyamalan" tension we’ve come to expect from her father, M. Night.
But here’s the thing about The Watchers. It isn’t just a random monster movie. It’s based on a 2021 novel by A.M. Shine, and if you haven't read the book, the movie might feel like it's throwing a lot of lore at you at once without much room to breathe.
What Are The Watchers Anyway?
The core of the story revolves around Mina, played by Dakota Fanning, who gets stranded in an expansive, unnamed forest in Western Ireland. This isn't your typical "oops, I took a wrong turn" forest. It's a place that swallows people. Once she’s trapped, she finds a concrete bunker—referred to as "The Coop"—where three other people are living under a very strict set of rules.
The big one? You have to be inside before dark.
See, the forest is home to these entities. They don’t just kill you; they watch you. Every night, the "Watchers" come to a massive glass window that makes up one wall of the Coop. They stand in the dark, and the humans inside stand in the light, basically performing their lives for an audience of monsters. It’s a reverse zoo. It’s invasive. It’s deeply paranoid filmmaking that taps into our modern fear of being constantly observed, though it uses ancient mythology to do it.
The Folklore Behind the Screen
The movie leans hard into the concept of the Tuatha Dé Danann. In Irish mythology, these were a race of god-like beings who were eventually driven underground by the arrival of humans (the Milesians). In the world of The Watchers, these beings didn't just disappear into fairy mounds; they evolved—or devolved—into something bitter and mimetic.
They are shape-shifters.
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This is where the horror gets psychological. They aren't just looking at the humans because they're curious. They’re practicing. They want to learn how to walk like us, talk like us, and eventually, replace us. A.M. Shine, the author of the source material, is known for his "Gothic Horror" style, and he draws heavily from the darker, less "Disney-fied" versions of Irish fae lore. These aren't Tinkerbell. They’re ancient, jealous things that remember when they ruled the world.
Why People Are So Split on the Film
If you look at Rotten Tomatoes or Letterboxd, the reviews for The Watchers are all over the place. Some people love the atmosphere; others think the third act falls off a cliff.
It’s easy to see why.
The first half of the movie is a masterclass in claustrophobia. You have Dakota Fanning, Georgina Campbell, Olwen Fouéré, and Oliver Finnegan trapped in a room, losing their minds. The sound design is incredible. You hear the clicking and the screeching of the creatures, but you don't see them clearly for a long time.
Then, the "rules" start to break.
Critics often point out that the film explains too much. About halfway through, we get a lot of "lore dumping." This is a common hurdle in fantasy-horror crossovers. How do you explain thousands of years of fairy history without sounding like a textbook? Ishana Night Shyamalan uses a series of old video tapes found in the bunker to do the heavy lifting. For some, it works. For others, it kills the mystery.
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And let's talk about the "Shyamalan" factor. Being the daughter of M. Night comes with a massive amount of baggage. People expect a twist. They want the "I see dead people" moment. The Watchers does have a pivot in its final act, but it’s more of a tonal shift than a world-ending reveal. It moves from a survival horror story into a dark fairytale.
Breaking Down the Mythology of the Coop
The Coop itself is a fascinating piece of production design. It’s a brutalist concrete box in the middle of a lush, green nightmare.
- The Mirror: During the day, the glass wall is a mirror. The humans see themselves.
- The Light: At night, the interior is lit up like a stage.
- The Point: The creatures are literally studying human movement.
The movie explores the idea that "imitation is the sincerest form of flattery," but it twists it into something predatory. There is a character, Madeline (played by Olwen Fouéré), who acts as the group's leader. She’s been there the longest and enforces the rules with a zealotry that suggests she knows more than she’s letting on. Her dynamic with Mina is the engine of the film. Mina is modern, cynical, and grieving; Madeline is ancient, steeped in the rules of the old world.
Interestingly, the film was shot on location in County Wicklow and Galway. If you’ve ever been to the West of Ireland, you know that the landscape can feel genuinely ancient. There are parts of those woods where the canopy is so thick that light barely hits the floor even at noon. The production team used this to great effect, making the forest feel like a character that is actively trying to keep the protagonists from leaving.
The Mimicry Element: Why It’s Terrifying
The most effective part of The Watchers is the concept of mimicry. Think about it. What is more upsetting than seeing something that looks almost like your friend, but the eyes are just a little bit too wide? Or the voice has a digital, distorted edge?
This taps into the "Uncanny Valley" effect.
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In the lore of the movie, the Watchers are obsessed with becoming human because they lost their own wings and their own divinity. They are trapped in the "Below," and the only way out is to perfectly replicate a human being so they can walk among us unnoticed. This adds a layer of "Who can you trust?" to the final act that keeps the tension high, even when the logic of the plot gets a bit wonky.
Practical Insights for Folklore Fans
If the movie left you wanting more, or if you’re planning on a rewatch, there are a few things to keep in mind regarding the actual mythology and the storytelling:
- Read A.M. Shine’s book. Seriously. The novel provides much more internal monologue for the characters and explores the history of the forest in a way that feels less rushed than the movie’s climax.
- Look for the "Wing" symbolism. Throughout the film, there are subtle nods to what these creatures used to be. The loss of flight is a huge part of their bitterness.
- Pay attention to the "Twin" theme. The movie deals heavily with doubles. Mina has a twin sister she’s estranged from. The Watchers are trying to become doubles of the humans. It’s all about the duality of the self.
- The Professor's Tapes. Don’t ignore the background details in the footage Mina watches. It explains the "points of no return" in the forest—specific markers that, once crossed, make it physically impossible to find your way back out unless you know the secret paths.
Ultimately, The Watchers isn't a perfect movie, but it is an ambitious one. It tries to bring high-concept folklore to a mainstream audience without watering down the weirdness too much. It’s a film about grief, the masks we wear, and the terrifying possibility that something might be looking at us when we think we're most alone.
If you’re interested in diving deeper into this specific brand of "Irish Folk Horror," you should definitely check out movies like The Hallow (2015) or A Dark Song (2016). They share that same DNA of using the Irish landscape as a place where the thin veil between our world and the "other" world is constantly tearing.
For those who want to explore the real locations, the Luggala Estate in Wicklow is where a lot of the forest scenes were captured. It’s open to the public for hikers, though I’d probably suggest getting out of there before the sun goes down. Just in case.
To get the most out of this story, look past the jump scares. Focus on the tragedy of the creatures themselves—beings that are so desperate to be "us" that they’ve forgotten how to be "them." It’s a lonely, dark kind of horror that sticks with you long after the credits roll. If you find yourself checking your reflection in a dark window tonight, well, don't say you weren't warned.