In the Earth

There is a specific, agonizing sound that a human foot makes when it connects with a sharp stone in the middle of a dark forest. It’s a wet, heavy thud followed by a sharp intake of breath, and in Ben Wheatley’s In the Earth, that sound is the starting pistol for a race into total madness. I watched this film late on a Tuesday night while trying to ignore a persistent itch from a mosquito bite I got earlier that day, and honestly, the phantom sensation of something crawling under my skin only added to the experience.

Released in 2021, when the world was still squinting at the sun through half-closed blinds and wondering if we’d ever be allowed to touch a grocery store handle without a gallon of sanitizer, this film is the ultimate "pandemic project." But forget those Zoom-call dramas or isolation monologues; Wheatley took a skeleton crew into the woods for 15 days and emerged with a psychedelic folk-horror trip that feels like a fever dream you’d have after accidentally eating a "funny" mushroom you found behind a shed.

A Walk in the Dark

The setup is deceptively simple. Dr. Martin Lowery (Joel Fry, who you might recognize as the bumbling but lovable Jasper from Cruella) arrives at a research outpost during a global viral outbreak. He’s there to check in on an old flame and colleague, Dr. Olivia Wendle (Hayley Squires), who has gone radio silent while studying the mycorrhizal patterns of the Arboreal Forest. Guided by a park scout named Alma (Ellora Torchia), Martin sets off on a two-day hike that goes south faster than a lead balloon.

After a nighttime assault leaves them shoeless and battered, they stumble upon Zach (Reece Shearsmith), a hermit living off the grid who offers them help. If you’ve seen a single horror movie in the last fifty years, you know that "help" from a man living in a tent decorated with ritualistic bone art is never actually help. Reece Shearsmith looks like he was born to play a man who hasn't seen a bar of soap or a moral compass in a decade, and he brings a terrifying, soft-spoken politeness to a character who is clearly one sandwich short of a ritual sacrifice.

Sensory Overload and Fungal Nightmares

What makes In the Earth stand out in the current landscape of "elevated horror" isn't just the plot; it’s the sheer sensory aggression. This isn't a film that asks for your attention; it grabs your head and shoves it into a speaker. The score by Clint Mansell (the genius behind the Requiem for a Dream soundtrack) is a pulsing, electronic beast that mimics the heartbeat of the forest itself. There are sequences involving strobe lights and high-frequency sounds that feel less like cinema and more like a neurological stress test. The second half of this movie is essentially an eye exam conducted by a druid on acid.

Wheatley leans hard into the "science vs. myth" trope, but he does it with a modern edge. While the characters use high-tech sensors and logic to explain the forest’s behavior, the forest responds with ancient, terrifying indifference. It’s a very 2020s anxiety—the realization that despite our gadgets and data, nature is a chaotic force that doesn't care about our spreadsheets. The practical effects, particularly the body horror elements involving some very DIY surgery, are wince-inducing. There’s no CGI sheen here; everything feels damp, dirty, and dangerously sharp.

The Pandemic’s Echo

As a piece of contemporary cinema, In the Earth is a fascinating time capsule. It was one of the first major productions to be fully conceived and executed during the height of COVID-19 lockdowns. You can feel that frantic, trapped energy in every frame. It bypasses the "streaming vs. theatrical" debate by being the kind of movie that works equally well in a dark theater or on a laptop in a pitch-black room where you can’t see the corners. It’s a lean, mean production that proves you don’t need a Marvel budget to create a world that feels vast and threatening.

The film also taps into the "folk horror" resurgence we’ve seen with hits like Midsommar, but it strips away the bright, floral aesthetic for something much grittier and more British. It’s less about a cult and more about the isolation of the human mind when faced with an environment it can’t control. Joel Fry is excellent as the "everyman" who is completely out of his depth, his face a constant mask of "I should have stayed in the lab." Meanwhile, Ellora Torchia provides the backbone of the film, acting as the audience surrogate who realizes far sooner than anyone else that the woods are not their friends.

Ultimately, In the Earth is a polarizing trip. It’s a film that demands you surrender to its rhythm, even when that rhythm is a jagged, stroboscopic mess. It might not have the polished legacy of a classic like The Wicker Man, but it captures a very specific moment in our collective history where the outdoors felt both like a sanctuary and a graveyard. If you’re looking for a horror film that values atmosphere and auditory assault over cheap jump scares, this fungal odyssey is well worth the hike. Just make sure you wear sturdy boots—and whatever you do, don't take them off.