Folklore Β· Cinema Β· The Unholy Trinity

Folk Horror Cinema

Three British films made between 1968 and 1973 defined a genre before anyone had a name for it β€” isolated rural communities, buried old ways, and an outsider who never sees the trap closing until it's too late.

Coined By
Mark Gatiss Β· BBC, 2010
The Trinity
Witchfinder General Β· Satan's Claw Β· Wicker Man
Span
1968 – 1973
Modern Revival
The Witch (2015) Β· Midsommar (2019)

Naming a Genre After the Fact

"Folk horror" is a retrospective label. Director Piers Haggard first used the phrase in a 2003 Fangoria interview to describe his own 1971 film, but the term only entered wide circulation after actor and writer Mark Gatiss featured it in his 2010 BBC documentary series A History of Horror. Gatiss grouped three films together as an "Unholy Trinity" β€” a shared obsession with the British landscape, its buried folklore, and the superstitions that never quite went away β€” and the label stuck so completely that it now retroactively organises decades of earlier and later work under a single genre banner.

The Unholy Trinity

All three films work through the same underlying structure: an isolated rural community, a landscape that seems to hold something older than Christianity just beneath its surface, and an outsider β€” often a figure of official authority β€” whose arrival triggers violence the community had, in some sense, been waiting to enact all along.

Witchfinder General
Michael Reeves, 1968
Set during the English Civil War, Vincent Price plays a fictionalised Matthew Hopkins cutting a bloody path through East Anglia in 1645, extorting confessions of witchcraft from terrified villagers. No supernatural element appears anywhere in the film β€” the horror is entirely human, official, and real.
The Blood on Satan's Claw
Piers Haggard, 1971
A farmer unearths a deformed skull in an 18th-century English field, and the local children fall under a demonic influence that spreads across their skin like fur, drawing them into an escalating pagan cult that turns on itself in some of the genre's most disturbing scenes.
The Wicker Man
Robin Hardy, 1973
A devoutly Christian police sergeant travels to the remote Scottish island of Summerisle to investigate a missing girl, and grows increasingly disturbed by residents who have openly returned to pre-Christian ritual β€” arriving at a May Day ending regarded as one of horror cinema's most quietly devastating.

A historical shadow worth naming honestly: Satan's Claw and The Wicker Man were both made in the years immediately following the 1969 Manson Family murders, and critics have long noted that their culminating images of brainwashed young people turning to ritual violence under a charismatic figure's influence are difficult to watch without that recent, real horror in mind β€” a connection this site examines in more direct historical detail on its Manson & CHAOS page.

The Modern Revival

Folk horror largely disappeared from mainstream cinema after the 1970s before resurfacing forcefully in the 2010s, with a new generation of filmmakers returning to precisely the same structural template β€” isolated setting, old belief systems, an outsider's slow unravelling β€” but often relocating it outside Britain entirely.

Robert Eggers, 2015
The Witch
A Puritan family banished to the edge of a New England forest in the 1630s slowly disintegrates under the pressure of isolation and encroaching supernatural evil β€” built from meticulously researched period dialogue and court records, giving 17th-century witch panic a folk-horror treatment on American rather than British soil.
Ari Aster, 2019
Midsommar
A grieving American woman travels with her boyfriend's friend group to a Swedish midsummer festival hosted by an isolated pagan commune β€” daylight replacing the genre's traditional darkness, but the same underlying machinery of ritual, community, and an outsider absorbed into something they didn't consent to.

Why It Keeps Coming Back

Folk horror's durability owes something to how directly it dramatises the real folklore this section documents β€” the sin-eater's transferred guilt, the Wild Hunt's punishing outsiders, the Green Man's uneasy pagan-Christian overlap all surface, transformed, in these films' imagery. The genre's central anxiety is rarely the supernatural itself; it's the suspicion that beneath a landscape's Christian or modern surface, older systems of belief and obligation never actually left β€” they just stopped being spoken about out loud.