There are many things I’ve missed about going to the cinema this year, but perhaps chief among them is the almost-unending paranoia that comes with seeing a good horror movie. You know the feeling: sitting at a table or lying in bed and all of a sudden a shiver crosses your body, seemingly out of nowhere. You sit up, turn around, searching desperately for an explanation for the sudden weight you feel in the pit of your stomach, all the while convinced there’s something behind you – something just out of your eye line. That’s how I’ve felt in the hours and days since I walked out of Rose Glass’ debut film Saint Maud.
Every quiet, solitary moment has been haunted by the film, plagued by visions of its final few frames, unable to come to terms with what I’ve witnessed. Glass’ film is deeply, horribly unsettling stuff that I fear will stay with me for a long time to come – and from a first-time filmmaker, debuts rarely come as impressive as this.
The vague premise of Saint Maud is this: a young, religious woman (a revelatory Morfydd Clark as the titular Maud) arrives at the home of a former dancer (an excellent Jennifer Ehle) as her live-in nurse. Each intrigues the other and as the pair grow closer Maud becomes convinced she must save her patient’s soul from damnation – by any means necessary. To say any more would be to divulge too much too soon, but rest assured that Glass’ film is easily one of the best British horror movies of the century.
It’s a film that is anchored (as far as it can be) by its endlessly brilliant screenplay. Glass’ words are almost lyrical at times and give the film an innate sense of hostility with wonderfully drawn-out pacing. It might be too slow for some, but every scene, line, and look slowly start to push the narrative towards its inevitably horrific conclusion. Not a single moment is wasted here, resulting in an extremely lean running time of only 84 minutes and a seemingly never-ending feeling of dread after the credits roll.
Bringing the screenplay to life is the wonderful pairing of Morfydd Clark as Maud and Jennifer Ehle as dancer Amanda. Clark is an utter revelation in the title role; she beautifully elevates Glass’ dialogue with no effort at all, resulting in a character we care about but don’t quite feel we can trust – a delicate balance that’s rarely executed so well. Maud harbours a dark secret that she’s kept so hidden she herself refuses to own up to it: all that matters to her is that she saves Amanda’s soul because that is God’s bidding – or so she thinks.
By her side is the ever-excellent Ehle, imbuing Amanda with just the right amount of grace and humanity needed for us to be invested, while also keeping her far away enough that we’re able to see the same issues that Maud does. She drinks, she smokes, she has an active sex life – Maud sees her as a sinner, which is what prompts her decision to be her saviour. The chemistry between the pair is played perfectly, and we become easily invested in the blossoming relationship between the two, even when they both make questionable decisions.
It’s the idea of relationships that provides the core of Saint Maud. Those between Maud and Amanda, Maud and God, Amanda and her girlfriend Carol, and Maud and her old friend Joy. What you may notice about those pairings is that they are all (bar the religious offering) between women – and that’s one of Glass’ most interesting ideas: that men corrupt. Nearly every male character we see in the film is either useless (Amanda’s partner who doesn’t understand her reduced alcohol tolerance) or there as an object (the two men that Maud has sexual contact with, in an attempt to sin).
It’s no accident that the voice that pushes Maud over the edge is male, because men can provide no solace in this world. The only true happiness we see is between women, and Glass uses that to feed into the jealousy that furthers Maud’s psychosis – is she really bigoted about Amanda’s lesbian relationship, or is she simply jealous of the companionship? In a film with few clear-cut answers, it feels reassuring to say that the latter seems to be the case.
That growing jealousy coincides beautifully with Maud’s crisis of faith. Maud is a recent convert to the Roman Catholic religion, but how far will she go for salvation? How desperate will she become? Very, as it turns out. When her faith starts to fail her she only longs for it more and more, grasping at the final few straws of her life until she reaches a point where she will do anything to feel like she has a purpose – a decision that results in much more sinister consequences than she anticipates.
There’s something about Saint Maud that I’m finding extremely difficult to shake. For a film with little in the way of actual ‘horror’ until the final act, it has haunted me much more than most I’ve seen in the past few years – its final moments, in particular, feel as though they are seared into my brain, never to be forgotten. For such an effect to be struck by someone making her first feature is utterly staggering: Rose Glass is certainly one to watch in the coming years. But right now, the only advice I can offer is this: go and see Saint Maud. You are not prepared for it, but see it anyway – and be more thankful than ever that British cinema exists.
The Verdict
Saint Maud is easily among the most genuinely evil films I’ve seen in recent years. With its razor-sharp script, its excellent performances, unending sense of dread, and its director with confidence far beyond her years, it stands before us now as a true testament to the sheer power of the horror genre. In cinema’s darkest hour, Maud truly is our saviour.
Rating: 9/10
Words by Matt Taylor