Gretel & Hansel

I watched this movie in the pitch black of my living room while my cat intermittently knocked a stack of unpaid bills off the coffee table, and honestly, the sound of sliding paper was the only thing keeping me tethered to reality. Osgood Perkins has a way of making silence feel like a physical weight pressing against your chest. If you’re coming to Gretel & Hansel expecting the whimsical candy-house vibes of a Disney afternoon or the action-heavy schlock of the 2013 Witch Hunters flick, you’re going to be very confused—and possibly very bored. But if you want to see what happens when geometry meets Grimm in a neon-soaked nightmare, you’re in the right place.

A Feast of Forbidden Geometry

Most horror movies rely on what you can’t see in the shadows, but Gretel & Hansel is obsessed with exactly what is in front of you. It is easily one of the most beautiful films of the last decade, which is a wild thing to say about a movie where people occasionally turn into soup. The cinematographer, Galo Olivares (who did some incredible uncredited work on Roma), treats every frame like a high-end oil painting.

There is a recurring motif of triangles—the Witch’s house is a sharp, brutalist wedge cutting into the organic chaos of the woods. It feels wrong. It feels alien. I found myself squinting at the screen, mesmerized by the way Perkins uses color. Everything is earthy browns and grays until a shock of sunset orange or a sickly, supernatural yellow invades the frame. It’s a contemporary "elevated horror" aesthetic, but it doesn't feel like it's trying too hard to be cool. It’s just basically an A24 movie that accidentally wandered into a multiplex.

The sound design by ROB (who also scored the crystalline nightmare Revenge) swaps out traditional orchestral swells for synth-heavy drones that vibrate in your teeth. It grounds this "long time ago" story in a very modern, almost industrial dread. It’s a brave choice that pays off, making the forest feel less like a fairy tale location and more like a hostile planet.

The Witch and the Awakening

Sophia Lillis is the heart of this thing, and she proves that her breakout in IT (2017) was no fluke. She plays Gretel not as a victim, but as a young woman on the precipice of a terrifying, powerful adulthood. She has this wary, watchful energy that makes you realize she’s the only person in the movie actually paying attention. When she and her brother, played with a sweet but doomed simplicity by Samuel Leakey, stumble upon the house in the woods, the power dynamic is instantly fascinating.

Then there’s Alice Krige. If there was an Oscar for "Most Unsettling Way to Eat a Piece of Cake," she would have won it. Krige, whom you might remember as the Borg Queen in Star Trek: First Contact, brings a sophisticated, predatory grace to the Witch. She isn't a cackling hag; she’s a mentor with a monstrous agenda. Her performance turns the film from a survival story into a twisted coming-of-age tale. The chemistry between Sophia Lillis and Alice Krige is where the real horror lies—it's the horror of realizing that to gain power, you might have to lose your humanity.

The screenplay by Rob Hayes keeps the dialogue sparse and poetic, which fits the vibe, though I’ll admit the plot moves with the speed of chilled molasses. If you aren't vibing with the atmosphere by the twenty-minute mark, you’re going to have a hard time.

Lost in the 2020 Shuffle

It’s a bit of a tragedy that Gretel & Hansel has slipped into "obscure" territory so quickly. Released in late January 2020, it was one of the last movies many people saw in theaters before the world hit the pause button. It didn't have the chance to build the word-of-mouth momentum that slow-burn horror needs to survive. In the current era of franchise dominance, a standalone, stylistically aggressive fairy tale is a hard sell, especially when it doesn't have a post-credits scene setting up a "Grimm Cinematic Universe."

The film also tackles representation and gender in a way that feels very "now" without being preachy. It centers on the female experience—specifically the burden of caretaking and the temptation of self-actualization at any cost. It’s a film that asks what girls are expected to sacrifice for their brothers, and it doesn't give a comfortable answer.

Despite its $5 million budget, it looks like a $50 million movie but cost less than a mid-range kitchen remodel. That kind of visual ingenuity is rare. It’s a film that demands to be watched on the biggest screen you have, with the lights off and your phone in another room. It’s a mood piece, a visual poem, and a reminder that the oldest stories are often the ones that still have the sharpest teeth.

Gretel & Hansel is a triumph of style and atmosphere that occasionally stumbles over its own slow pacing. It’s a film for the "vibe" crowd—those who prefer a lingering sense of unease over a sudden jump scare. While it might be too meditative for some, its visual brilliance and Alice Krige’s haunting performance make it a hidden gem of contemporary horror. If you’ve overlooked it, it’s time to take a walk into these particular woods. Just maybe skip the cake.