The Damned

This is the perfect winter watch, guaranteed to chill you to the bone. Set on an icy, remote island, a fishing community in Iceland witnesses a shipwreck on the rocks and chooses not to save the crew. That choice, brutal in its stillness, unleashes the curse of the Draugr, a figure from Nordic folklore that embodies hatred, death, and the unforgiving grip of the sea. What follows is a psychological thriller that doesn’t rely on jump scares or gore. Instead, it’s a slow-burn descent into terror, rooted in grief, guilt, and the kind of silence that lets ancient horrors fester.

Cinematically, it’s a stunning achievement. The visuals are stark and otherworldly, each frame meticulously composed to drag you deeper into the isolation. It’s clearly in conversation with the work of Robert Eggers, but it doesn’t feel derivative. It has its own rhythm and language, grounded in Icelandic myth and a deep respect for nature’s indifference. The landscape becomes a character, looming and unrelenting.

The performances are quietly devastating. There’s a restraint to the acting that mirrors the emotional repression of the villagers, and that tension builds like ice forming beneath your skin. When the horror finally breaches the surface, it doesn’t explode—it seeps in. You feel it long after the scene ends.

The film doesn’t hand you easy answers. The final act is bitter, ambiguous, and demands emotional engagement over logical resolution. That ambiguity is where the real horror lies. It asks you to sit with the weight of inaction, with the ghosts we invite when we choose survival over compassion.

This is horror with purpose. Atmospheric, unsettling, and deeply human. Perfect for a long, cold night when you’re ready to stare into the dark and feel it stare back.