Saint Maud (2019) the incredible morphing empathy of psychological seaside horror (Review)

If you walk down the DVD aisle of your local supermarket, it’ll become unavoidably apparent how weak the modern British Horror scene is. Gone are the stalwarts of Amicus and Hammer, and in their place is an ocean of low-budget identikit slashers/demon in the woods films. Surprise it is then that 3 of the 2020s very best horror films come from the home isles. Remi Weekes helmed one of the best riffs on the haunted house concept in many a year, mixing it with the reality of refugees and survivor guilt. Rob Savage struck while the iron was hot to create the definitive COVID lockdown movie in demonic incident found footage (ish) film, Host (review of second sight Blu-ray coming soon). And last, but far from least, is the debut from Rose Glass – Saint Maud – out on Studio Canal Blu-ray.

Fitting somewhere in a Venn diagram of the gloomy seaside horror of Byzantium, a less cosmic version of Larry Cohen’s God Told Me To, and Ingmar Bergman’s intense psychodramas sits Saint Maud. Maud (debuting stage actor Morfydd Clark) is a born-again Christian that works as a nurse who is providing live-in palliative care to Amanda (Jennifer Ehle), a former dancer (and minor celebrity) with late-stage cancer. Glass’s film shows a budding friendship between these two women – one of whose days are drawing to a close and the other who is unwell, suffering from extreme loneliness, depression and PTSD after an incident at Saint Afra’s hospital. A relationship that starts well enough, Amanda responds to the overly earnest ways of her young carer, even going as far as buying her a book of William Blake’s apocalyptic religious paintings. However, things take a turn for the worse as the pair are too opposed in their worldviews – the resulting conflict sees Maud lose her thin grasp on sanity and commit to the labours that have been given to her by the otherwordly Welsh voice in her head, “God”.

Empathy is at the very core of what makes Saint Maud. Jennifer Ehle gives a staggeringly raw performance as Amanda. A character who once enjoyed a lavish life of globe-trotting is now living out her last days in a dank seaside town with no company, memories and one of the least emotionally supportive nurses. The brief moments where she can escape her illness and feel like a human cause conflict with all the people charged with her care; look no further than how the previous nurse introduced her to Maud. For those incredibly hostile words to be the first we hear of Amanda – especially considering she is literally on her deathbed – Maud’s charge becomes more complex the deeper you dig.

On the other end of this two-hander is Maud. Spontaneous (2020, Dir. Brian Duffield) is a film about high school shootings reimagined as spontaneous human combustion; being released during the COVID era its subtext morphed to reflect the times. Maud has the same fortune. She previously worked in a hospital, all we know of that experience is something traumatic happened – something so traumatic that it caused a significant mental breakdown that went unchecked due to her isolation and loneliness. The context in which Saint Maud was released is one of all healthcare professionals who worked beyond exhaustion, well past the breaking point. Any of those heroic people on the news could be a Maud. Additionally, a recurring theme crops up in Maud’s narration (done as if she is writing in her diary), she questions if this is all life has to offer, a dead-end job in a no-horse town. To fail to find something to relate to would mean a complete failure to meet the film on its terms.

Even though I set this review up by describing Saint Maud as one of the best horror films of 2020, I don’t think it sits all too well within the more mainstream facing arena of genre cinema. There are no scares (jump or otherwise), instead, the horror is one of atmosphere and dread. Add that with the little things that Maud is noticing, like spiralling vortex’s in pints of Beer or her almost orgasmic reaction at “being touched by God”. Glass’s film has been described by many critics as a religious horror – a statement with which I happen to disagree with. I believe it cuts closer to the psychological mania of Polanski’s Repulsion. Unlike that 60s classic, Maud connects with religion as her psyche peels apart. Saint Maud also houses many practical effects, whether it’s the aforementioned ‘beer spirals’, the wince-worthy shoe scene or the final act when doom finally clamps its jaws on Maud and Amanda. All of which is impressive when considering the very modest budget they had and the big imagination brought to the screen. Just watch the ‘building the world’ feature to see the ingenuity of all involved.

Saint Maud is the house that debuts built. Rose Glass directs with maturity and patience that far outstrips her experience. Morfydd Clark performs with a vulnerability that has is rarely adopted by other genre films that follow the “bad guy”. And the cinematographer Ben Fordesman was also making his debut; his use of off-kilter angles and extreme close-ups made the film. The film just wouldn’t have been this successful without his guiding lens. That such a young and inexperienced cast and crew pulled this together gives me great hope for the future of British cinema and British horror. Of course, Saint Maud also has a vantablack heart with one of the nastiest final shots in modern cinema. Likewise, a few digital effects go a little far, and there’s that forgettable score. For those of us that enjoy brooding, psychological horror, this is a big deal as far as directorial debuts go.

ROB’S ARCHIVE – SAINT MAUD (2019)