The Lodge

If you ever want to feel a sudden, localized drop in temperature, just put on the first ten minutes of The Lodge. There is a clinical, almost cruel precision to the way Veronika Franz and Severin Fiala (the duo behind the equally upsetting Goodnight Mommy) frame a room. Everything looks like a high-end architectural magazine spread—sleek, expensive, and utterly devoid of human warmth. It’s the kind of movie that makes you want to wrap yourself in a heated blanket, not because of the snow on screen, but because the emotional climate is sub-zero.

I watched this for the second time on a Tuesday afternoon while my neighbor was outside power-washing his driveway, and the aggressive whirr of the water against the pavement provided a strangely appropriate industrial soundtrack to the unfolding misery on my TV. It’s a film that demands your discomfort.

The Architecture of a Breakdown

The setup feels familiar, but the execution is jagged. Richard Armitage plays Richard, a man who has the emotional intelligence of a frozen steak. He decides the best way to bridge the gap between his grieving children and his new, younger girlfriend is to stick them all in a remote, snow-covered cabin and then—get this—leave for a few days to handle "work stuff." It’s the kind of parenting decision that would get you laughed out of a therapy session, but in the world of contemporary "elevated" horror, it’s the perfect catalyst for a catastrophe.

The girlfriend is Grace, played by Riley Keough with a fragile, twitchy energy that keeps you constantly off-balance. Grace is the sole survivor of a fundamentalist suicide cult, a bit of backstory that the kids, Aidan (Jaeden Martell) and Mia (Lia McHugh), weaponize with surgical precision. These aren't the plucky, resourceful kids of 80s Amblin movies; the children in this movie are absolute psychological terrorists. They blame Grace for their mother’s death, and they aren't looking for a new mom—they’re looking for a victim.

A Modern Take on Religious Trauma

Released in early 2020, just before the entire world entered its own version of a forced isolation experiment, The Lodge taps into that very specific contemporary anxiety regarding our pasts. In an era where we are constantly told to "heal" and "self-care," Grace is a character whose trauma is so deep it has its own zip code. Veronika Franz and Severin Fiala don’t give us many jump scares. Instead, they give us a slow, rhythmic gaslighting that makes the audience question reality right along with Grace.

The directors use a recurring visual motif of a dollhouse that mirrors the lodge itself. It’s a trick that reminds me of Ari Aster’s Hereditary, but while Aster’s film was about the inevitability of fate, The Lodge feels more like a study in how easily the human mind can be dismantled when stripped of its anchors. When the power goes out and their belongings disappear, the film shifts from a domestic drama into a surrealist nightmare. The score by Danny Bensi and Saunder Jurriaans—the same team behind the unsettling sounds of The Outsider—creeps in like a low-frequency hum that vibrates in your molars.

Performance and Payoff

Riley Keough is the heart of this icy machine. She has this incredible ability to look like she’s trying to hold her soul inside her body through sheer willpower. Watching her navigate the kids' cruelty while battling her own religious triggers is genuinely harrowing. It’s a performance that deserved more awards-season chatter, but horror—especially the "feel-bad" variety—often gets the cold shoulder from the Academy.

The film does run the risk of being too bleak for some. There’s a certain "misery porn" aspect to the third act that might turn off viewers who prefer their scares with a side of hope. This is a movie that hates its characters and wants you to know it. But if you can stomach the nihilism, the craft on display is undeniable. The cinematography by Thimios Bakatakis (who shot The Killing of a Sacred Deer) makes the interior of the lodge feel like a labyrinth, even though we know exactly where the doors are.

Apparently, to keep the performances authentic, the directors shot the film in chronological order. This meant the actors actually experienced the increasing isolation and the physical toll of the cold as the production went on. You can see it in their faces—that's not just "acting" tired; that’s the look of people who have spent too much time in a dark room with a crew that wants to ruin their day.

The Lodge is a masterfully oppressive piece of filmmaking that confirms Veronika Franz and Severin Fiala as the reigning monarchs of the "uncomfortable family dinner" subgenre. It’s a film that lingers in your mind like a damp chill, forcing you to reckon with the idea that some scars don't just stay in the past—they wait for the temperature to drop so they can reopen. It isn't a fun watch, but it is a necessary one for anyone who likes their horror to have a high psychological IQ. Just make sure you have a warm drink nearby when the credits roll.