FROM THE OLD EARTH

Een vrouw heeft angstaanjagende dromen nadat haar man een merkwaardig oud-Keltisch stenen hoofd heeft opgegraven in de tuin.  Een van de eerste horrorfilms gedraaid in het Welsh, deze lugubere prent pakt uit met enkele effectieve schrikmomenten. Toen de Welsh Film Board besloot om kinderen van basisscholen naar de film te laten kijken, werd een hele generatie dan ook grondig getraumatiseerd. 

Gratis toegang. Deze film wordt samen met The Signalman vertoond.

The familiar subgenre of folk horror might bring to mind the so-called ‘unholy trilogy’ of Witchfinder General (1968), The Blood on Satan’s Claw (1971), or The Wicker Man (1973). That ‘British’ tradition of cinematic folk horror is, well, invariably in fact English - yes, even The Wicker Man.

Of the so-called Celtic nations and regions, only Ireland has a truly obvious cinematic tradition of folk horror. While at first glance these lands of Celtic mythology, paganism and ritual seem absent, the hidden histories are increasingly being brought to light.

Wales has been a filmmaking nation since some of the earliest days of the medium, though feature film production is still comparatively low-yield. Although the traditional canon of folk horror had its heyday in the 1970s, it would be a few more years before it would land on Welsh screens thanks to the Bwrdd Ffilmiau Cymraeg’s now cult classic, O’r Ddaear Hen (‘From The Old Earth’, 1982). 

Director Wil Aaron is likely an unfamiliar name even to some in Wales, but is a true giant of Welsh-language media, both as a director and as a producer. The film’s screenwriter, Gwyn Thomas, was a renowned poet and author, and wrote the film based on his own short story – script and story are two remarkably faithful companion pieces.

The Bwrdd Ffilmiau Cymraeg (‘Welsh Language Film Board’) was an ill-fated independent entity active in the 1970s and 80s, dedicated to producing films in the then-waning Welsh language. Both Aaron and Thomas were key members of the board beyond the films they directly made. Populated primarily by artists, authors, broadcasters and academics, the Board duly recognised the important of a popular medium such as film. 

They also cannily recognised that speakers and potential speakers of a minority language wanted entertainment to survive and thrive, and that popular genres like horror and comedy were important. Working with small budgets even for the era, the Board had aspirations often beyond their means, but between their film productions as well as their ‘mobile cinema’ screening them, they had vital goals.

While not a ground-breaking horror film in its own right, O’r Ddaear Hen is a delightful localisation of more familiar tropes. With a central conceit straight out of The Blood on Satan’s Claw - digging up an ancient artefact leads to death and destruction - its delivery is significantly milder, though not without some violence.

Something notable about O’r Ddaear Hen is that, while derivative in its horror, it is distinctly Welsh in its presentation, from its almost parodically middle-class central family unit (who receive the head from the working class pair who find it), to the Celtic lore it draws on. While the manifestation of that lore, in the form of the horned-god Cernunnos, is certainly malicious, Cernunnos is not necessarily represented as ‘other’ from those who dug him up. He is of the earth, but so are the people.

Though folk horror has never truly left our screens, it certainly dwindled as a popular mode of horror in the early 80s, though Julian Richards’ Darklands (1996) is a notable Welsh example its own right, standing apart perhaps from the genre’s more recent global revival.

The recent Welsh appetite for folk horror is in-keeping with this global resurgence, with many fine examples in recent years: Welsh-Irish co-production A Dark Song (2016, also screening at this year’s Off-Screen), The Lighthouse (2016 - not to be confused with the more recent film), Gwen (2018) and Apostle (2018).

While the occasional word of Welsh can be heard in some of these films – with outright hostility in some - an ancient language is befitting of folk horror, a genre in which the return of the repressed is always hovering near. While the language has often been portrayed in a way that pits backward locals against an interloping, heroic protagonist, the few exclusively Welsh language folk horror films use the genre to explore some of the country’s specific cultural contexts and history.

Gareth Bryn’s Yr Ymadawiad (‘The Passing’, 2016) is an eerie tale of domestic disquiet and community destruction; and more recently, Gwledd (‘The Feast’, 2021) has become one of the most successful Welsh-language films of all time.

With echoes of O’r Ddaear Hen and others before it, Gwledd begins with an interference of the earth, unleashing deadly consequences. In the case of Gwledd, what is unleashed seems to be seeking vengeance, both for the threatened environment and the history that has sat on that land. This affluent family has already knocked down the family farm in order to build a modern, luxury home, and now aims to build on nearby land as a means of income generation.

They ignore the pleas of their neighbours not to expand at their own peril. Our old friend who digs up the head in O’r Ddaear Hen also wonders if there’s money to be made from the artefact he dug from the earth, but with luck he has the good sense to listen to his wife’s demands to get rid of it, sensing as she does the presence of evil. 

The revival of folk horror has, on the one hand, resulted in new, glossy films in modes of filmmaking we know and love. On the other, thanks in the main to festival curators and the digital abundance of home viewing, audiences are increasingly able to find and turn their attention to previously under-seen folk horror.

by Dr. Nia Edwards-Behi

Nia Edwards-Behi is co-director of Abertoir Horror Festival and Audiovisual Cataloguer at the National Library of Wales Screen and Sound Archive.