She Who Must Burn – Fire and brimstone on a grey Tuesday

It was a rainy October evening (I think it was 2017?) when I first watched “She Who Must Burn.” That damp feeling, you know, when your sneakers are too soaked and all you want is a richtig kopp varm choklad. Maybe that’s partly what put me in the mood for this gritty, low-budget, and ridiculously tense little film from Canadian director Larry Kent. Yeah, the SAME Larry Kent, he’s a bit of a cult name if you’re into all those underground classics, but honestly I’d forgotten the guy still made movies.

Now, this isn’t what you’d call a happy time at the cinema. No popcorn flick, this. It’s kinda like if someone smashed “Hotet” with Stephen King and just shook it all up with some homegrown Scandinavian darkness. The vibes are raw. Sarah Smyth, who’s maybe not a mega-celebrity, brings it bigtime as Angela. Brick-hard acting, can’t believe I hadn’t seen her face more before. Jewel Staite from “Firefly” shows up – which made me spit my coffee the first time. Lowkey great turn!

You feel trapped in this little town that’s so Christian it’d scare even my old mormor from Värmland. The local preacher (James Wilson in full cult-dude mode) basically turns neighbor against neighbor. Religion as gasoline. It’s got this grating violin-heavy score, and I swear my heart rate stayed high for like an hour straight. The violence is quick and shocking rather than flashy. Not for those who faint at blood (seriously – finns det någon som glossy Swedish drama här, ni kommer bli chockade).

I don’t usually go for films that feel like they want to tell me something big about society, but this one, it aches. Maybe growing up in a Swedish village gives me a soft spot for stories about group pressure and not fitting in. It kind of made me remember the time I got banned from Wednesday choir practice for wearing a black Metallica t-shirt (skandal, va?), because that same cold glare from the adults follows Angela.

I dunno. I think “She Who Must Burn” isn’t for everyone. But if you’re into grim, uncomfortable little indie shocks – and maybe you want to feel like you’re hiding out in a wet busshållplats at night – give it

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