Short Film: The Mare

Whilst nothing overtly vampiric seems to happen within Casper Rudolf Emil Kjeldsen’s 18-minute short film, which was released in 2018, it deserves a place here for a couple of reasons (beyond the fact that it is an absolutely gorgeous piece of filmmaking). Firstly there is the title – the Mare is a variant name (which includes mara, the alp and the hag) of a vampiric entity that sits upon a sleepers chest, filling the sleeper with nightmares as it steels the sleeper's breath (or acts as an energy vampire). Secondly is the fact that the film really manages to capture the unheimlich, the uncanny that sits at the heart of the Gothic and is often represented by the vampire. As I explore this, I will spoil the film, so you might wish to skip the words and watch it before reading.

lost in a Forest

The film starts with shots of a Danish Forest and, I say without hyperbole, they are stunning. The photography, captured in black and white, is exceptional in this. One of the shots sees what might be a small wooden structure up a tree, then the film then cuts to a car, besides which stand Bjorn (Steen Stig Lommer) and Anna (Ingrid-Marie Thorlacius Troelsen). Bjorn is making a call and asking for an ambulance, though Anna has suggested they simply drive to the hospital. They are social workers and have found a girl (Alvilda Lyneborg Lassen), who appears thin and sickly, in the woods.

Ingrid-Marie Thorlacius Troelsen as Anna

The response is that they must drive her unless it is an emergency. We see the drive for a moment from the girl’s pov but do not see the girl in shot until later. What we do see is Anna looking back reassuringly towards the girl – her reaction to her different to everyone else who encounters her. Then we see the pair sat waiting for the doctor (Sussie Nøhr). She walks in and the camera cuts from her to the girl – us seeing her for the first time. The capturing of something unheimlich within her features is just remarkable, it is (rightly) something that can’t quite be communicated but the cut to the photography of the forest suggests that the girl shouldn’t be in this tamed, civilised world. The doctor suggests that she is physically fine and estimates her age as 18.

Mogens Holm as Manfred

Bjorn is clearly not happy with the diagnosis and makes a call to a mental hospital. It seems that neither the doctor nor the social worker wants to be left responsible for her. We see them drive again and then Bjorn pulls over. He tells Anna he will walk home from there and that she can drive the girl the rest of the way. He doesn’t know what to put in the report so leaves that to her also and exits as quickly as possible. Anna drives her the rest of the way and leaves her with institution manager Manfred (Mogens Holm). We see the end of the exchange from a distance, as he suggests she make an appointment to help complete her report and leads the girl in.

in the corridor

What is interesting is that Anna continues to work with her and teaches her some sign – and it seems that Anna remains unaffected by her otherness. Manfred, who the film visually associates with the church by placing him in an establishing composition of a chapel, disagrees that any progress is being made with her; she is non-communicative and has ‘nocturnal activities.’ These involve watching people who sleep – and this we can assume is her acting as the folkloric mare. She does communicate in front of him with Anna there, saying in sign “If he doesn’t let me go, I will eat him up”, which is telling in itself, and “I am his worst nightmare”. The latter again referring to the activities of the folkloric mare. This becomes more than apparent when he stands before her, with a knife in hand, and then we see his trousers drop and he is severed from his privates. There is no scream… it is likely a nightmare he is forced to endure…

smile

This is a masterclass in unheimlich and in short movie making. It simply drips with atmosphere. There are some unfortunate typos in the subtitles (rapport used rather than report, for instance) but this is mentioned to also mention that you should forgive the film those minor errors when all else is so perfectly done. Alvilda Lyneborg Lassen manages to capture something extraordinary in a mute performance, and when she allows herself to smile it is truly disturbing. The pace is deliberate and I can’t speak of this one highly enough. The imdb page is here.