Formative Fears is a column that explores how horror scared us from an early age, or how the genre contextualizes youthful phobias and trauma. From memories of things that went bump in the night, to adolescent anxieties made real through the use of monsters and mayhem, this series expresses what it felt like to be a frightened child – and what still scares us well into adulthood.
The events of The Lodge have stayed with me since my first viewing. I remember my gasps becoming more and more audible as terrible things continued happening on screen, and by the end of the movie, I was absolutely drained. There is a lot to unwrap and examine when considering something like The Lodge – not everyone will connect with the cheerless script written by Sergio Casci and later revised by directors Veronika Franz and Severin Fiala. And any chance of surface entertainment is impossible because the story sees no joy nor does it show a modicum of kindness towards its characters and their plight. After watching, viewers will hurry to shake off the movie’s misery and question what exactly was the purpose of it all. From my standpoint, though, the tragedy that befell the Hall family cuts to the heart so deeply, making me think of my own harmful history with self-blame.
The family at the core of The Lodge is carrying on with life as best they can after suffering a horrible loss; Richard Hall’s (Richard Armitage) son and daughter are still mourning their mother’s passing six months later. This year’s Christmas doesn’t feel worth celebrating, but the patriarch has already planned a winter getaway for him, his children, and his new love, Grace (Riley Keough). There’s some understandable pushback and the tension is obvious, but the father doesn’t give Aidan (Jaeden Martell) and Mia (Lia McHugh) much of a choice. Once at the family lodge, Richard leaves for a work obligation; he entrusts his kids in Grace’s care so they can get to know her better. It’s going as well as can be expected until they all wake up to a cold and empty house — everyone’s belongings, the food, Grace’s dog, and the decorations are all gone. The situation becomes even more dire when everyone questions whether or not something unearthly is behind all of this.
We tend to think there’s something wrong with us if we’re not happy around the holidays. In a season of inescapable mirth, you’re at risk of being labeled a “scrooge” if you feel anything but merry at Christmas. Yet for the Hall children, their despondency is justified. Mia fears her mother won’t make it into Heaven, and Aidan looks after his sister so much, he might be neglecting his own needs. While it is sad, this is all customary given the state of things. What isn’t normal is the father feigning cheer when there isn’t any for anyone other than himself; he’s resigned from feeling too upset about Laura’s (Alicia Silverstone) death because he moved on before their divorce was ever finalized.
Richard essentially imprisoning his children in a remote, snowbound house with Grace is what triggers the horrifying events to come. The vacation is not easy for Keough’s character either since the abundance of religious iconography in the lodge stirs up painful memories of her severe upbringing. In fact, that’s how she and Richard met — he was studying the extremist Christian cult that Grace once belonged to before the other members died from mass suicide. Although the children don’t hide their hostility towards her, Grace makes an effort; she wants to be there for them at such a sensitive time in their lives.
Grace is eventually left on her own to care for Aidan and Mia as if her maternal skills are being put to the test. She seems to be making progress with them when she wakes up to find all of her stuff gone — including her medication. The children, who claim they’re not playing a prank, insinuate there’s a greater force at work here. Grace soon succumbs to withdrawal symptoms and paranoia; she worries everything happening is divine retribution for her “sins.” This is where the movie takes an irrevocably dark turn that wasn’t in the original script; Franz and Fiala reach a point of no return. The crushing trauma Grace harbors inside of her starts to manifest as acts of self-harm, and in spite of what she’s told, she sincerely believes everything is her fault and only she can set things right. How exactly she does that is where The Lodge earns its divisive reactions.
Having grown up around shame, I identify with someone like Grace. Whether it was my physical appearance or my inability to smile through my depression, the people in my life were always sure to tell me what I was doing wrong rather than what I was doing right. While I didn’t have the obstacle of religion to contend with like Grace, I still felt secondhand guilt when I began to question my own identity at a later age. As with Grace, I temporarily escaped what ailed me; this was as close to normal as I had ever felt. Grace is ultimately pulled back into that darkness, and there’s no chance of retreating this time. She viscerally remembers the judgment that painted her childhood, and just as she was taught, Grace suspects she’s to blame for all that’s gone wrong. We know she’s been tricked into this mindset, but it’s difficult to undo that kind of learned self-condemnation.
Where Grace and I do differ is important. For she is certain she’s getting what she deserves, but I’m slowly accepting that I didn’t cause my family’s problems like I was led to believe; others are responsible for their own actions. Grace, unfortunately, is so arrested by her father’s harmful teachings and false truths that she can’t help but revert to that way of thinking when everything turns upside down. Putting the blame on herself is easier than Grace admitting her father is toxic and that the way she was raised is not right.
The Lodge is an agonizing and upsetting Christmas movie that people will have trouble watching, much less revisiting. Even so, we can at least acknowledge dark Christmas stories are as important as the feel-good ones. Particularly horror movies that have a strong grasp of the indifference and alienation that so many people feel around this unusual time of year.
