Fear is usually a transaction. You give a horror movie ninety minutes of your time, and in exchange, it gives you a jump scare, a monster, and eventually, a way out. Usually, the protagonist finds a crucifix, or a silver bullet, or just enough inner strength to make it to sunrise. But then came The Dark and the Wicked.
It’s a mean film. Bryan Bertino, the guy who gave us The Strangers, didn’t come back to the genre to play nice or follow the "rules" of supernatural thrillers. Released in late 2020, it hit a nerve because it felt like a physical manifestation of the grief and isolation everyone was actually living through. It’s a movie where the devil doesn’t want your soul for some grand cosmic war—he just wants to watch you wither away in a farmhouse because you're convenient.
There’s no hope. None.
That’s why people are still talking about it years later. It’s not just a scary movie with a few loud noises. It’s a study in "cosmic indifference." If you’ve seen it, you know that heavy, sinking feeling in your chest when the credits roll. It’s the same feeling people get from When Evil Lurks or Hereditary. This isn't just entertainment; it's a movement in horror that reflects a world where the old safety nets feel like they're fraying.
The Mechanics of Dread in The Dark and the Wicked
Bertino didn't use a lot of CGI. He didn't need it. Instead, he leaned into the claustrophobia of the American rural landscape. We’re talking about a family gathered at a dying patriarch’s bedside. The mother is losing her mind—or so it seems—and the siblings, Louise and Michael, show up to help. They shouldn't have come.
The horror here is tactile. It’s the sound of knitting needles clicking. It’s the sight of someone chopping carrots a little too fast, a little too close to their fingers. Honestly, that carrot scene in The Dark and the Wicked is more effective than any $100 million blockbuster monster because it taps into a primal fear of losing control over your own body.
Most possession movies are about religion. They’re about the battle between God and Satan. Bertino’s film is different because it feels godless. Even when a priest shows up, he’s not there to save the day with holy water and Latin incantations. He’s just another vessel for the rot. This shift is vital to why the movie ranks so high on "disturbing" lists. It removes the one thing audiences rely on: the belief that "good" is a tangible force that can fight back.
Why the Farmhouse Setting Still Works
The "isolated house" trope is older than cinema itself. We've seen it in The Texas Chain Saw Massacre and Night of the Living Dead. But here, the house isn't a fortress. It's a trap.
👉 See also: Kate Moss Family Guy: What Most People Get Wrong About That Cutaway
The geography of the farm plays into the psychological breakdown of the characters. You have these wide-open fields that somehow feel more suffocating than a basement. It’s a paradox. You can see for miles, but there’s nowhere to run because the "wicked" thing isn't a man in a mask—it’s the air, the shadows, and the very act of dying.
Breaking Down the "Bad Ending" Trend
For a long time, Hollywood was terrified of the "downer" ending. Test audiences hated them. If the dog died or the hero didn't win, the scores would plummet. But something shifted in the mid-2010s with the rise of A24-style horror.
Films like The Dark and the Wicked proved there is a massive market for "unresolved trauma" cinema. People want to see their internal anxieties reflected on screen, even if those reflections are grim.
Think about these specific titles that share the same DNA:
- The Witch: Total abandonment of modern comfort for a dark, supernatural liberation.
- Caveat: A slow-burn Irish film that uses silence and limited space to create a similar "trapped" feeling.
- Lake Mungo: A mockumentary that treats death as an inevitable, cold fact rather than a spooky mystery.
These movies don't offer catharsis. They offer recognition. When Michael finds those diary entries in the film, it’s not a "clue" to solve the mystery. It’s a confirmation of a nightmare.
The Problem with "Elevated Horror" Labels
Critics love the term "elevated horror." Fans usually hate it. It sounds pretentious, like the movie is too good for the genre. But The Dark and the Wicked is a pure horror movie. It doesn't try to be a "psychological drama" that happens to have a ghost. It uses the language of the supernatural—demonic voices, levitation, shadows—to talk about the very real experience of watching a parent die.
It’s basically an extreme version of caregiver burnout. You’re tired, you’re grieving, and you start seeing things in the dark corners of the room. Bertino just makes those things real.
✨ Don't miss: Blink-182 Mark Hoppus: What Most People Get Wrong About His 2026 Comeback
Visual Storytelling and the Absence of Light
Cinematographer Tristan Nyby deserves a lot of credit for how this film looks. It’s dark. Like, really dark. Not the "blue-tinted" dark you see in Marvel movies where you can still see everything perfectly. It’s the kind of dark where you’re squinting at the screen, trying to figure out if that’s a coat rack or a person standing behind the door.
This creates an active viewing experience. You aren't just watching the movie; you’re scanning it for threats. It keeps your nervous system on edge for the entire 95-minute runtime.
The sound design follows suit. It’s a mix of harsh, jarring noises and oppressive silence. There isn't a traditional "scary" score playing all the time to tell you how to feel. Often, the only thing you hear is the wind or a floorboard creaking. This mimics the sensory deprivation of living in the middle of nowhere. It’s lonely.
Real-World Impact: Can Horror Be Too Dark?
There’s a legitimate debate among horror fans about whether movies like this go too far. Some people watch movies to escape. They want the "fun" of a slasher or the "puzzle" of a ghost story. The Dark and the Wicked is not fun.
If you’re going through a period of grief or depression, this movie might actually be harmful to watch. That’s not a hyperbole. It’s a film that argues that evil is inevitable and that fighting it is futile. From an E-E-A-T (Experience, Expertise, Authoritativeness, Trustworthiness) perspective, it's important to acknowledge that the film’s "hopelessness" is its primary artistic choice, but it’s also its most polarizing feature.
Experts in film psychology often note that "feel-bad" movies can be a form of exposure therapy for some, while for others, they simply reinforce a sense of nihilism.
Why Audiences Keep Coming Back
If it’s so miserable, why did it become a cult hit?
🔗 Read more: Why Grand Funk’s Bad Time is Secretly the Best Pop Song of the 1970s
Because it’s honest.
Life isn't always a three-act structure where the hero finds the secret weapon at the 60-minute mark. Sometimes, things just get worse. The Dark and the Wicked respects the audience enough to not lie to them. It says, "This is what it feels like when the world falls apart." There’s a strange kind of comfort in seeing that level of bleakness executed with such technical skill.
How to Approach the Genre if You’re a Newcomer
If you’re diving into this specific subgenre of "bleak horror," don't start with The Dark and the Wicked. You'll probably hate it.
Start with something like The Babadook. It’s scary and heavy, but it has a metaphor you can wrap your head around. It’s about grief, and it has a resolution. Once you’ve built up a tolerance for that kind of emotional weight, then you move into the deeper end of the pool.
When you do watch it, pay attention to:
- The acting: Marin Ireland and Michael Abbott Jr. give performances that are way more grounded than your average horror leads. They look exhausted. They look like they haven't slept in weeks.
- The pacing: It’s a slow burn. If you’re looking for a kill every ten minutes, you’ll be disappointed. This is about the atmosphere of the kill.
- The practical effects: Look for the scene with the sheep. It’s one of the most unsettling moments in modern horror, and it was done with very little digital intervention.
Actionable Steps for Horror Enthusiasts
If you want to understand the current state of horror, you have to look beyond the big-budget sequels. The real innovation is happening in these small, mean, independent films.
- Audit your watch list: Look for directors like Bryan Bertino, Ari Aster, and Robert Eggers. They are the architects of this new wave.
- Support indie distributors: Shudder and IFC Midnight are where these movies live. Without them, we’d only have PG-13 jump-scare fests.
- Analyze the themes: Next time you watch a horror movie, ask yourself: Is the "monster" a person, or is it a metaphor for a real-life fear? In The Dark and the Wicked, the "wicked" is the inevitable nature of death and the way it destroys the families left behind.
- Watch for the "unseen": Notice how often the camera lingers on an empty doorway. This is a technique designed to trigger your brain’s "hyper-vigilance," which is why you feel so tired after watching.
The genre is changing. It's getting darker, more nihilistic, and much more focused on the "unsolvable" problems of the human condition. Whether that’s a good thing or a bad thing is up to you, but you can’t deny the craft involved. The Dark and the Wicked isn't just a movie; it’s a warning that some things can't be fixed with a prayer or a light switch.
To truly appreciate it, you have to be willing to sit in the dark and let the dread take over. Just don't expect a happy ending. It’s not coming.
Insights for Your Next Viewing
If you're planning to revisit this film or explore similar titles, keep a few things in mind to get the most out of the experience. First, watch it in total darkness with no distractions. This isn't a "second-screen" movie where you can check your phone. Second, pay attention to the recurring motif of "the father" who never speaks. His silence is the vacuum that allows the evil to enter. Finally, compare the ending to When Evil Lurks (2023). You’ll see a direct lineage of filmmakers who are choosing to prioritize atmospheric despair over traditional narrative closure. This trend is likely to continue as audiences seek out more "authentic" emotional experiences in their horror.