Starve Acre (2024, dir. Daniel Kokotajlo)

by Jack Martin | Sep 4, 2024

Certificate: 15

Running Time: 98 mins

UK Distributor: BFI

UK Release Date: 6 September 2024

WHO’S IN STARVE ACRE?

Matt Smith, Morfydd Clark, Arthur Shaw, Erin Richards, Robert Emms, Sean Gilder

WHO’S BEHIND THE CAMERA?

Daniel Kokotajlo (director, writer), Emma Duffy, Juliette Howell and Tessa Ross (producers), Matthew Herbert (composer), Adam Scarth (cinematographer), Brenna Rangott (editor)

WHAT’S IT ABOUT?

In 70s Yorkshire, a family is thrown into disarray…

WHAT ARE MY THOUGHTS ON STARVE ACRE?

In recent years, the likes of Robert Eggers’ The Witch and Ari Aster’s Midsommar have sparked a bit of life back into folk horror, a sub-genre that takes advantage of local legends and occultic myths for some sinister scares. However, nobody does them quite like us Brits, with classics like The Wicker Man and Witchfinder General, as well as more recent offerings such as Ben Wheatley’s Kill List and now Daniel Kokotajlo’s Starve Acre, all digging their claws into more terrifying areas within the paganistic culture that has been present throughout much of Britain’s elongated history.

Kokotajlo’s film, though, presents a glaring flaw in British folk horror, in that a lot of them – regardless of overall quality – are more or less the same. There’s almost always a remote countryside setting, some sinister locals, a miserable family or loner at the centre, and a whole bunch of weird supernatural stuff that keeps happening for the sake of being weird. All of these are things that Starve Acre has in spades, and it makes for a rather conventional experience that, while not without some merit, falls deeply into familiar territory.

Set in the 1970s, the film follows the Willoughby family – Richard (Matt Smith), an archaeologist; his wife Juliette (Morfydd Clark); and their young son Owen (Shaw) – shortly after they have relocated to Richard’s childhood farmhouse in the Yorkshire countryside. While Richard is head deep into a personal excavation project, one involving a fabled oak tree that was grown on the land, Juliette tends to her son’s odd and at times concerning behaviour, including an early scene of violence that will make horse lovers whimper in their seats. Soon, however, tragedy strikes the family and leaves the couple in a state of devastation, until some comforting neighbours – as well as a mysterious rabbit skeleton that Richard ends up unearthing – help turn their misery around, albeit in a way that very much leaves things in a far more disturbing place.

Kokotajlo’s adaptation of author Andrew Michael Hurley’s novella practically announces its aesthetic homage to 70s horror filmmaking within the first few frames. Some moody, disorientating shots of the foggy Yorkshire moors create a striking visual palette not unlike Don’t Look Now or any other horror film from that era, and while a lot of these shots are admittedly stunning to look at – courtesy of cinematographer Adam Scarth – you get the sense that the filmmaker certainly appreciates these types of atmospheric frames but doesn’t have much of his own to offer. Kokotajlo is a talented writer and director, if anyone who saw his debut feature Apostasy can attest, but with Starve Acre he’s working with thin material that pretty visuals can only take you so far during.

Case in point, the film is very much a slow burn, but not necessarily because the filmmaker wants to establish much during it. The truth is that there isn’t a whole lot to establish, as the plot is surprisingly thin and filled with turns that more interesting folk horrors have previously taken, and the characters are not fully developed beyond their understandable sadness from the end of the first act onwards. In terms of acting, both Matt Smith and Morfydd Clark give a pair of impressively understated performances that neatly tap into their respective characters’ differing levels of grief, and there are times when the slower pace allows them the range to explore these melancholic feelings to their fullest extent. Regardless, too little is revealed about their characters to form a complete picture that might have helped explain a number of odd choices made later on, ultimately leaving you with little investment in their plight beyond the commitment of their performers.

It’s also the kind of folk horror that isn’t necessarily scary, partially because some of the later twists are a bit easy to predict, and also becomes progressively sillier as it goes along. There is an interesting strand involving the aforementioned rabbit skeleton that takes a turn not too unlike a certain animal-based Stephen King story, and some impressive practical puppetry brings it to fairly seamless life. However, after a point it starts to strain its credibility as the narrative makes a harsh swerve into all-out horror, wherein a number of characters make some frustrating errors in judgement, and others commit alarming acts either out of nowhere or simply because it’s a horror film. Some of the imagery becomes a bit hard to take seriously, particularly one closing shot that evokes memories of Valdimar Jóhannsson’s Lamb, while again there are decisions that certain people make, even with full knowledge of the stuff happening underneath it all, which would only happen in a less smart slasher movie.

In other words, Starve Acre doesn’t stray too differently from a lot of other British folk horrors. It’s well-made, well-acted, and has some intriguing moments of pure moody atmosphere, but it isn’t especially outstanding in its overall content. You can link just about any aspect of the film’s limited plot and character development combination to countless other examples from the folk horror catalogue that have done them all in more memorable fashion, and while nobody can fault Kokotajlo for at the very least trying to replicate the films that had come before him, Starve Acre ultimately could have benefited from bringing something a bit more substantial to the table, rather than simply remind us of the more effective examples out there.

SO, TO SUM UP…

Starve Acre is a well-made but ultimately forgettable British folk horror by filmmaker Daniel Kokotajlo, who injects so much of the classic 70s horror aesthetic into a thin narrative with underdeveloped characters and interesting but ultimately silly concepts, that you’re reminded much more of the examples he’s paying loving homage to.