It’s rare when a first-time, well, anything, walks onto a film set with the confidence and precision of a veteran. Writer and Director Rose Glass (Love, Lies, Bleeding) did just that with Saint Maud (2021), an unnerving, smoldering character study that plays like a séance conducted by the Fox sisters, Margaret and Kate.
Saint Maud was produced on a micro-budget scale, roughly $2.5 million. Distributed by A24, the studio known for redefining modern arthouse horror, this 2019 release is a lean and haunting 84-minute journey into one woman’s apocalyptic spiral.
Atmosphere is Everything
From its opening frames, Saint Maud is a ferocious depiction that cuts to the bone. Equal parts grace and terror, the film conjures a mood of brittle unease.
Every location has a tactile, lived-in feel. Filmed in North Yorkshire, U.K., it’s British coastal dreariness at its most artful. Cramped flats and cluttered care homes augment cloudy beaches. The visuals often envelop the titular character like a velvet noose.
Performance as Power
Morfydd Clark (LTR: The Rings of Power, Pride and Prejudice and Zombies) is nothing short of revelatory in the lead role. Her portrayal of Maud—nervous, devout, and always a little off-kilter—is the film’s spine. She carries the weight of the story on hunched shoulders and hollow eyes. The BAFTA winner shifts from meek to menacing with surgical control. This performance should be required study by every aspiring actor looking to understand the power of restraint.
Maud's charge is portrayed by BAFTA and Tony Award winner Jennifer Ehle (Lioness, Pride and Prejudice). Amanda is a terminally ill prima ballerina exuding equal parts charm and contempt. Ehle adds a weary elegance tinged with boozy realism to her role. This contrasts with Maud’s intense spiritualism.
Their dynamic, one of nurse and patient, zealot and skeptic, is the film’s emotional core. Caoilifhionn Dunne (Love/Hate, Dr. Who) is the quintessential foil for the duo.
Amanda's home, a gothic mansion that speaks of secrets and old-world wealth long past, is traditional horror amplified. It’s a battle between Maud and Amanda over worldviews and morals. Underneath, there is also a collision between two women dealing with the certainty of death.
Script & Structure
Glass's screenplay is sparse but purposeful. Dialogue is minimal and used only when needed. Much of the narrative unfolds visually or through Maud’s internal monologue, presented in voiceover with eerie conviction.
The structure of the film in many ways mirrors a spiritual journey (or a creative career): quiet beginnings, growing doubts, a peak of rapture, and an inevitable fall from grace.
The pacing is patient; a steady drumbeat. Some viewers might find the film’s tempo too slow, but that restraint is part of its effectiveness. Every moment, every stroke is calibrated to pull you deeper into Maud’s mental unraveling.
The horror is not in jump scares. It’s in the waiting, the watching, the dread that mounts like storm clouds over a bleak horizon.
Religious Horror, Re-imagined
Saint Maud taps into a long tradition of religious horror, think The Exorcist. It feels less concerned with spiritual warfare between good and evil, than with the isolation that faith can sometimes create. Maud isn’t fighting a demon; she’s trying to justify her worth to a God she may have invented.
There’s an ambiguity to her visions. Are they divine encounters or trauma-induced hallucinations? The film never confirms either, and that ambiguity is one of its greatest strengths.
Faith, in this world, isn’t a source of comfort, but a razor-sharp tool Maud uses to carve meaning out of chaos. Her “mission” is noble in her mind, and tragic to us. The film doesn’t mock belief, but it does warn of what happens when belief becomes all-consuming.
Themes Beneath the Surface
Loneliness vibrates quietly under every scene. Maud is deeply alone, emotionally and physically.
Her past is hinted at in fragments—a previous patient, a trauma, a fall from grace—but never fully revealed.
That backstory is like a shadow following her, informing every prayer and every action.
Saint Maud is a film about the struggle to connect with God, with others, or with oneself. When those attempts fail, the consequences can be catastrophic.
Mental illness, grief, guilt, and body horror all float beneath the surface, too. Glass handles these elements with sensitivity and without sensationalism. Maud’s descent is tragic not because it’s shocking, but because it feels so human.
Sound and Sight Landscaping
Adam Janota Bzowski’s score is ghostly and disorienting—more about mood than melody. The auditory landscape is minimal: floorboards creaking, painfully drawn breaths, or the buzzing of fluorescent lights. At times the sounds are almost imperceptible. But then there is a swelling into something felt internally, clutching your heart. The music never tells you how to feel, but it does tighten the screws when it needs to.
Ben Fordesman's cinematography deserves special mention. The camera shifts between dreamy serenity and sharp claustrophobia, visually supporting a narrative and matching Maud’s state of mind as her faith flickers and flares. Colors are muted, faint bruises, like the aftermath of something painful.
The Ending (Spoiler-Free, sorta)
No spoilers here, but the final shot is one of the most disturbing, brilliant, and quietly brutal conclusions in recent horror. Weeks later, I was still in a state of confused awe. It’s an image that recontextualizes everything that came before and sticks in your mind like a splinter.
Talent Quietly Rising
Saint Maud isn’t a film for everyone. This is horror for the soul. It gets under your skin, lingers in your thoughts, and dares you to look inward. It’s slow, spare, and cerebral—more psychological profile than traditional horror. But for those willing to sit with it, this is a deeply rewarding cinematic experience.
Saint Maud doesn’t scream; it whispers. It’s a film that doesn’t chase trends. It creates them. The Fangoria Award winner carves another notch in A24's burgeoning belt of auteur-driven hits. For Rose Glass, it is a cinematic door kicked wide open.
And, in my humble opinion, it's a film worth savoring, contemplating, and devouring at least two bowls of popcorn!