Possession

In the shadow of the 1918 Spanish flu pandemic, a remote Norwegian farm becomes the reluctant haven for a weary missionary family. the priest returns from the distant coast of Madagascar, carrying the weight of his faith and the lingering grief of a world gripped by disease. Beside him, his son—a quiet, observant youth—shares the silent journey back to the stark, snow‑capped landscape that will be both sanctuary and proving ground for their hopes.

The couple’s ambition is simple yet profound: to erect a modest church that will anchor the scattered souls of the valley and offer solace in a time of widespread loss. The landscape, however, exudes a timeless melancholy, its endless fjords and wind‑swept moors whispering of ancient rites and forgotten peoples. As they select the site for the new sanctuary, the farm’s isolation amplifies every creak of timber and every howl of the wind, turning the act of building into a ritual that brushes against the land’s deeper history.

Unbeknownst to them, the chosen ground rests upon an old Sami burial site, a place where ancestral spirits have lingered for centuries. The very soil seems to pulse with a restrained power, hinting at stories that have never been spoken aloud. This subtle, ever‑present undercurrent infuses the film with a folk‑horror atmosphere—one that respects the natural world’s mystery while suggesting that some forces are better left undisturbed.

The tone remains hushed and contemplative, balancing the stark realism of a pandemic‑ravaged era with an ethereal sense of dread. As the priest and his son begin to lay stone and timber, the audience is invited to feel the fragile line between devotion and darkness, to sense the quiet tension of a family seeking purpose amidst an unseen, ancient presence that watches from the depths of the Norwegian wilderness.

Last Updated: August 10, 2025 at 11:22