Review by
Eric Hillis
Directed by: Mark Jenkin
Starring: Mary Woodvine, Edward Rowe, John Woodvine, Flo Crowe
Women have long gone mad in horror movies – think
Carnival of Souls, Repulsion,
Images
– but writer/director Mark Jenkin gives this trope a very British
folk-horror spin with Enys Men, his followup to his acclaimed debut Bait. Like his first film, Jenkin's latest is in love with an analog past.
Set in 1973, Enys Men is shot on grainy 16mm in academy
ratio, which gives it the look of some lost instalment of the great
British anthology series Play for Today.
The title refers to the name of a small island off the coast of
Cornwall. It's pronounced "Ennis Main" and translates to English as
"Stone Island." Its moniker likely comes from the one attraction it
boasts – an ancient standing stone that looks like it's been nicked from
the set of that great '70s kiddy folk-horror series
Children of the Stones.
The island's sole inhabitant is an unnamed middle-aged woman listed in
the credits as The Volunteer (Mary Woodvine), who appears to be
part of some sort of scientific study. Each day she treks to a cliff
edge where a bunch of curious flowers grow, takes the temperature of the
soil and writes "No change" in a log book. She also has an unconnected
routine of dropping a stone down an abandoned mine shaft every
day.
I say The Volunteer is the sole inhabitant, but several other figures
make an appearance. There's a young girl (Flo Crowe) who
intermittently appears in The Volunteer's home, and certain visual clues
suggest she may be The Volunteer's younger self. The Volunteer often
finds herself surrounded by ghostly apparitions of miners, sailors,
maids and young girls dressed in white robes as though they've just
returned from a trip to Hanging Rock. The closest to another
definitively human figure is The Boatman (Edward Rowe), who pops
up to deliver petrol for The Volunteer's generator. In flashback we see
a priest (John Woodvine, whom horror fans will recognise from his
memorable turn in An American Werewolf in London) deliver a sermon to an unseen congregation.
Jenkin doesn't make things easy for the viewer, but if you pay close
attention you'll be able to put two and two together. Whether four is
the correct answer in this case may be disputed by the filmmaker.
Enys Men is one of those movies that feels so influenced
by past cinema that it will likely prove more satisfying to viewers
unfamiliar with its influences. The movie's ambiguity asks us to fill in
gaps with our own projections, but horror fans will spend much of its
running time noting similarities to prior genre works. When a piece of
flotsam appears bearing the letters O-V-E-N, seemingly part of the name
of some stricken vessel, we're immediately reminded of a similar portent
in Jon Carpenter's The Fog. When The Volunteer begins to see herself in the distance, Robert
Altman's Images springs to mind. Her raincoat might make
you think of Don't Look Now. The standing stone recalls a dozen works of folk-horror, while the
purgatorial atmosphere is shared with Herk Harvey's hugely influential
cult classic Carnival of Souls.
While Enys Men doesn't resemble very many movies that pop
up on our screens in the 21st century, it does little to add to the
cinematic folk-horror canon established in the previous century. It's
atmospheric to a point but never quite as unsettling as it wants to be,
and despite its lofty air it resorts to cattleprod jump scares at
points, Jenkin boosting the volume for an effect that relies on
primitive shock rather than well constructed scares. Folk-horror buffs
will appreciate its reverence. For those viewers who are new to the
sub-genre it will either prove an inviting portal or a warning to the
curious.