Samuel Van Grinsven’s Went Up the Hill is a chilling, poetic, and bold ghost story that isn’t your standard supernatural chiller, as two strangers face an uncomfortable truth in a unique ghost story centred around two fractured but beating hearts.
Our body and mind may end when we die, but our actions, decisions, and behaviours often live on in those who knew us. Our impact in life lingers even when our body is dust or buried deep in the soil with only a headstone to mark our place. Some of us are remembered fondly, while others are quickly forgotten; a few, however, leave a toxic mark on those they leave behind, a mark that is impossible to erase. Samuel Van Grinsven’s chilling, poetic, and bold ghost story isn’t your standard supernatural chiller. Yes, there’s the unsettling score by Hanan Townshend, a clear nod to M.R. James through the taut mood and aesthetic choices, and Tyson Perkins’ stunning cinematography, which plays with light and shadow like a classic gothic horror. But Went Up the Hill also rejects simple jump scares and tried-and-tested supernatural tropes, instead delving into something far more complex, chilling, and ultimately disturbing: the shadow left behind by someone when they die and its power over those grieving their passing.
Jack (Dacre Montgomery) has just arrived in New Zealand from his home in Australia, leaving behind his boyfriend and a turbulent relationship to which he can’t fully commit. Jack had a challenging childhood, as he was removed from his mum at a young age, only to bounce between foster parents; it’s a childhood that left scars. As he walks through snow-covered lanes, surrounded by mountains, his destination comes into view: a modern building perched on top of a hill, its austere, modernist architecture blending seamlessly with its rugged surroundings.
As he walks into the building, it’s clear he knows nobody, as mourners gather to talk about the passing of architect Elizabeth, who was married to Jill (Vicky Krieps), who sits consumed by grief, listening to the words of others. But it’s not long before one woman spots Jack in the crowd – Elizabeth’s sister, Helen (Sarah Peirse)- and she quickly asks how Jack knew Elizabeth. Jack isn’t sure how to respond, but says Jill invited him. However, when Jill enters the conversation, she appears unaware of Jack or the invitation she gave him. Confused, Jack finally says the words that are challenging to speak: “I’m Elizabeth’s son.”
Silence falls, and Jill offers Jack a room for the night, much to Helen’s disapproval. Did nobody know of him? Did his mother never utter his name to her wife, Jill? And why was Helen so distant and cold? These questions linger in Jack’s mind after the guests have left and Jill has shown him to his room, but as night falls, some of these questions will find an unexpected and chilling answer as Elizabeth’s spirit returns, taking control of Jill’s body to talk to the son she hasn’t seen since he was a young boy. But Elizabeth isn’t just interested in possessing Jill; Jack is also a part of her plan, and as each day merges into one, Jack and Jill find themselves turned into human vessels for a deceased woman who took her own life, leaving much unsaid and unresolved.
Unlike many films that explore the concept of supernatural possession, Van Grinsven isn’t interested in lavish special effects, glowing eyes, or evil glares; instead, possession is gentle and almost indistinguishable, with only Krieps and Montgomery’s stunning performances highlighting Elizabeth’s presence. Krieps and Montgomery gently alter their physicality, eye movements and gestures to bring Elizabeth to life, as boundaries blur and two become three in a sterile and silent home near the ice-covered lake where Elizabeth met her end. Are these visitations about healing? Providing closure for Jack and Jill before Elizabeth’s ashes are scattered into the cold air, or is there something more deadly at play, an opportunity to maintain control from beyond the grave?
Many will draw upon “Jack and Jill” and the house on top of a hill as an artistic device that links this chilling sophomore feature to the classic 18th-century nursery rhyme: a playful nod to folklore. Indeed, there is a link between the two, but it certainly isn’t playful. Nursery rhymes are passed from generation to generation, often from places of darkness or pain. Trauma is also passed from generation to generation, influencing the present for many, even if the roots of that trauma have become clouded over time. Van Grinsven and his writing partner, Jory Anast, slowly allow the past to resurface through a chilling and manipulative spectral encounter– an encounter that will see two strangers face an uncomfortable truth in a unique ghost story centred around two fractured but beating hearts.
Samuel Van Grinsven’s “Went Up the Hill,” starring Vicky Krieps and Dacre Montgomery, screened at the OUTshine LGBTQ+ Film Festival and is awaiting a UK-wide release date.
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