From Sundance: ‘Rabbit Trap’ is a Cacophony of Magic, Horror, and Family

Daphne (Rosy McEwen) and Darcy (Dev Patel) are typical horror protagonists. They live alone in the middle of the woods, create niche music together, and are willing to do just about anything for their art. When a child (Jade Croot) stalks their home, Daphne and Darcy befriend him, forging an intimacy that quickly turns sour and has costly ramifications for the rest of the film.

“Rabbit Trap” is a bizarre, abstract, Lovecraftian take on the new-person-seems-nice-but-is-actually-crazy horror subgenre. The film has drawn apt comparisons to “Saltburn,” especially considering Croot’s uncanny resemblance to a young Barry Keoghan. But “Saltburn” operates on a series of dramatic reveals, whereas “Rabbit Trap” leaves a lot left unsaid, asking more questions than it affords answers.

This approach to storytelling isn’t necessarily a bad thing. When Darcy first stumbles on a mushroom-ringed, hallucinogenic “fairy circle,” the audience is just as terrified as him because they know just as much as he does. Or, when the child is first introduced, the audience empathizes with his loneliness, wrongly assuming he’s harmless. These moments work because of their ambiguity, but this same uncertainty can be a double-edged sword in the long run.

There are four competing stories in “Rabbit Trap” — the Welsh Tylwyth Teg legend, Daphne’s musical pursuits, Darcy’s “tainted” past, and the child’s mysterious desires. In its 97-minute runtime, “Rabbit Trap” doesn’t completely or satisfactorily wrap up any one of these stories, and their connection to one another seems largely tenuous because of their vagueness. Such an intertangled film deserves at least some explanation; the final scene — in which Darcy explains his past to Daphne, but all the audience can hear is silence — ultimately comes across as a convenient storytelling choice rather than a purely innovative one.

Despite these criticisms, “Rabbit Trap” — creative and exciting — is definitely worth a watch. The sound effects in a film are usually supplementary; in “Rabbit Trap,” they’re an essential part of the narrative. Whether mud mushing, wind rustling, or fairies whispering, the sound effects of “Rabbit Trap” help comprehensively develop a fantastical Welsh landscape, bringing together visual and aural elements to make the unrealistic realistic.

When the external world isn’t enough, “Rabbit Trap” cleverly explores the internal world of its characters. For example, distorted cinematography and eerie dreamscapes convey Darcy’s bottled-up fear for the magic toward which he outwardly feigns indifference.

However, “Rabbit Trap” mostly excels because of Croot’s bizarre, unnerving performance as the child. One moment he’s wise beyond his years, while the other he’s throwing tantrums like a toddler. There are cracks in the child’s adult facade, and the horror of denying him what he wants pervades the entire film.

The child’s screams, pounding on the door, and insatiable longing for affection are the more extreme version of a universal desire to belong. What starts as a tame, innocuous relationship warps into something parasitic and terrifying — something that connects at a deeply human level despite the film’s more unbelievable aspects.

“Rabbit Trap” aims to be a cathartic experience, ensnaring the audience in their own rabbit trap and releasing them with a rejuvenated outlook on life, work, and family. While the whole of “Rabbit Trap” isn’t entirely this cathartic, the child’s arc does provide some closure. The film’s disquieting horror transforms into all-out chaos at the climax, and Darcy and Daphne are left with only one choice that puts the rest of the film on a razor’s edge.

In these final scenes, the simple setting of the film takes an entirely new shape, typifying the very messiness of the film itself. Not everything quite comes together, but the film’s fresh takes and big swings overpower confusion to provide a good dose of satisfaction once the credits roll.

—Staff writer Joseph A. Johnson can be reached at joseph.johnson@thecrimson.com. Follow him on X @onlyjoejohnson.