The landscapes of Britain can suggest a rustic charm and beauty, but they’re also ripe for folk horrors like The Wicker Man and Enys Men. Some of the most evocative locations are the various moors scattered across the land, which can be everything from the setting of Sir Arthur Conan Doyle’s The Hound of the Baskervilles, the opening location for An American Werewolf In London, and now the central aspect of Chris Cronin’s feature debut, the aptly titled The Moor. Anyone who’s hiked in areas like Dartmoor and the North Yorkshire Moors knows that there’s an eerie, haunting quality to the rolling landscapes, an uncomfortableness to ground that is both resistant and soft, and the sense that you’re an intruder into something ancient and unknowable – something wild in the oldest sense. Cronin’s film manages to capture and convey this eeriness and sense of threat and create something atmospheric and unnerving.
The opening scene of The Moor not only invokes a past for its story but also convincingly creates it. The year is 1996 and two children, Claire (Billie Suggett) and Danny (Dexter Sol Ansell), plan and execute a shoplifting, the scene of their crime is a beautifully detailed Yorkshire corner shop that convincingly presents the period of time without any fetishistic nostalgia. Upon Danny’s disappearance, there’s a title sequence montage that informs viewers of the multiple cases of missing children, the subsequent police investigations, and the eventual arrest and conviction of a perpetrator. The period details are rife during this sequence, with VHS-esque distortions, grainy TV footage and newspaper clippings – all of which showcase a haunting and disturbing history.
We then jump to twenty-five years later and the culprit (who is never clearly presented or identified to the viewer), is about to be released after completing their sentence. Now an adult, Claire (Sophia La Porta), meets with Danny’s father, Bill (David Edward-Robertson), who asks for her help in documenting his search for evidence of his son. A failed podcaster, Claire has largely put the events of her childhood behind her but nonetheless agrees, and part of the film consists of her documenting Bill’s search, interviewing people who were present at the time – both as adults and children and questioning the police detective in charge of the investigation, Thornley (Bernard Hill). Further information about DAnny’s case is presented through these talking heads, including the fear that gripped the community, the anger and resentment towards the police, and the regret – especially on the part of Thornley, of how things were handled. This ultimately, and as you might expect, leads Claire to join Bill in his search upon the moor itself.
Claire’s podcasting background and the modern technology she uses, especially her bodycam, create a sense of the new meeting the old, and ground-level shots showing Claire stepping from the road onto the moor highlight a clear demarcation between the modern and the primeval – something makes her unease all the more palpable. The sequences out on the moors seem to represent the expansive emptiness of loss and what it means to be lost, and the suggestion of something supernatural at play only becomes stronger with the appearance of more characters, some surprisingly creepy sheep, and the discovery of ancient monoliths and symbols.
The Moor as a strong debut that combines elements of found footage, folk horror and possession into a slow burn escalation of unease and grief
What do these mean? How do they relate to the missing children? Could all of this just be the desperate hope of a grieving father who cannot let go? These questions give way to uncertainty that allows the type of horror to slip between the uncanny and uneasy to outright terror – especially during a sequence within a tent where the expanse of the moors is replaced with claustrophobia. As is often the case, once explanations appear they can feel unconvincing and somewhat dilute the atmosphere, but Paul Thomas’ script does maintain a sense of mystery throughout the film, and even when we learn what’s happening, it’s still not clear why.
In the beginning, it seems like Claire has left her childhood home behind her, but as the story progresses it’s evident that her grief, guilt and fear have lingered, and by focusing on her and never expanding beyond a small group of characters, Cronin keeps our attention on those who are lost in memory as much as they are on the moor. The atmosphere is greatly aided thanks to superb cinematography by Sam Cronin, who captures the entire opening sequence at the corner shop in a single take that would not look out of place in a film by Steve McQueen or Alfonso Cuarón.
This striking style permeates the whole film, and the largely overcast first half gives way to a sunlit second half after a key discovery is made. Moisture is used in unusual and effective ways (such as when a liquid that is expected to be blood turns out to be muddy water), and the way it slowly spreads in certain circumstances is suggestive of the moors creeping into the domestic spaces – just as memories and past sins don’t stay contained. Night-time sequences, pervasive fogs that obscure the surroundings, and the use of Claire’s action camera, places the viewer in the centre of the action, something that is especially effective for sudden falls into ditches.
The bodycam is perhaps a weakness in the film as the found footage conceit is not maintained. To have presented the entire drama in such a way would have been a stretch, but the sections that us it are a bit gimmicky, although it’s also used to terrifying effect at some points. The Moor is at its strongest when it employs suggestion and sleight-of-hand, and the final sequence keeps the viewer guessing by presenting the entirety of it through the bodycam. With the film walking a tightrope between being too overt and horrifically immersive, how viewers feel about it will likely depend on what they feel about the final moments.
The Moor is a strong debut that combines elements of found footage, folk horror and possession into a slow-burn escalation of unease and grief. It promises much for Cronin as a director, although it may not do any favours for the Yorkshire tourist board.
