It's nothing new that women have to play by amorphous yet damning societal rules. Hell, that's the plot of everything from the Regency-era-set Bridgerton to the modern-day Barbie, and now The Devil's Bath. But where the first two candy-coat their patriarchal conflict with feminine fashion, pop bangers, and beguiling bursts of colors, the third is a haunting historical drama from the makers of Goodnight Mommy, and the only burst of color is spurting blood.
Ten years ago, Austrian writers/directors Severin Fiala and Veronika Franz broke through with the gruesome and great Goodnight Mommy, which focused on a pair of young twin boys convinced their mother had been replaced by a cruel imitator. The Austrian film proved such a hit with critics and horror fans that it got an English-language remake and the daring duo a star-studded English-language follow-up, the chilly Riley Keough–fronted psychological thriller, The Lodge. With their latest, Fiala and Franz channel their skills for crafting character-driven twisted tales into a drama that has the heady, unnerving atmosphere of religious horror.
But be warned. The Devil's Bath is not for the faint of heart.
Inspired by a disturbing real-life court case, The Devil's Bath unfurls a harrowing tale in 1750 Upper Austria. There, a devout young woman named Agnes (Anja Plaschg) dreams of being a good wife to her new husband. Their wedding day is one of celebration and joy. But their wedding night turns chilly and unsatisfying.
Unfortunately, her husband Wolf (David Scheid) is an oaf with a coldly domineering mother (Maria Hofstätter). Their marriage has knitted Agnes into a community rank with religious superstition that isolates her at every turn. Her body yearns for the touch and the baby her husband will not provide. Her soul aches for a kind word, but her mother-in-law only offers insults and scolding. If she brings a bouquet of flowers into the house, she's chided for "dirtying" up the place. If she helps a neighbor at an arduous task, she's accused of foisting bad luck on the whole village.
Punished grotesquely both mentally and physically for any perceived transgression, Agnes grows only in agony. Fiala and Franz turn the screw with a slow-burn pacing (and a runtime of two hours and 10 minutes), making the audience a helpless hostage of their protagonist's gnawing loneliness. A score made up of yawning strings and indistinct human voices — crying out as if from a great distance — plays as an echo to her pain, making it almost tangible. The worlds around her, made of clawing thorns, sucking mud, suffocating caves, and ever-encroaching gloom, give her no peace. This combination of immersive sound design, relentless cruelty, and claustrophobic visuals push us to feel not only for Agnes, but also, like her, to feel desperate for escape. But that's precisely the point.
The opening sequence serves as a litmus test for whether or not viewers can stomach this movie. (Though if you liked Goodnight Mommy, you already know.) The Devil's Bath begins when a peasant woman plucks a baby from its woven cradle. Matter-of-factly, she walks the child to the edge of a waterfall, where she chucks it to its death. We witness the bundled baby tumble down the hard precipice in a resolute wide shot. Then, this woman promptly surrenders herself to the authorities, confessing to the crime. Her reward is execution, but her decapitated head seems to smile.
Though presented with a frankness that is itself unnerving, this horrific sequence is not for shock value. Here, Fiala and Franz swiftly set up the concept of suicide by proxy, an extreme escape hatch for these tormented Christians. Within this cruel world in which Agnes struggles, priests declare that suicide is the worst sin, because even murderers have a chance to confess before they face their maker. And so an idea is born … eventually.
As the title subtly suggests, The Devil's Bath is about the slow but sinister marinating in misery that leads to such an appalling crime. While the opening sequence clearly lays down the moral quandary the tormented Agnes will face, her arguably evil epiphany happens deep into the film. We know where she's going far before she does. And maybe we wish to judge her, just as you'd understandably pass a snap judgment on the baby-killer from the opening. But as the filmmakers bind the viewer to Agnes in her torture and indignities, they urge us to understand the seemingly impossible decision — which was so common there is a hidden history about this perturbing practice.
As with Goodnight Mommy and The Lodge, Fiala and Franz hook us with a character in peril, and then push us to empathize even when things go from uncomfortable to repugnant. To their credit, the filmmakers do not shy away from the violence or viciousness. They don't let their antihero or their audience off the hook.
The screams are earnest. The sounds of sliced flesh are sharp. Yet through this depiction of inhumanity, Fiala and Franz delicately and dedicatedly lace a humane empathy, urging you to see the hurting sinner past the horrid sin. Like its more overt horror sisters, Immaculate and The First Omen, The Devil's Bath presents us with a protagonist who strives for godliness but finds the concept of religion so corrupted by those in power that violent revolt is the only escape. And like the nun-centered movies, this one has a third act that will have you gasping in shock and awe.
Far from the 'Ton and BarbieLand, The Devil's Bath urges viewers to turn up the heat as they consider the sins of the patriarchy, which pushes women into roles of suffering, cruel complicity, or shocking rebellion. Though not a horror movie in the traditional sense, Fiala and Franz's latest delivers an unblinking portrait of inhumanity and festered faith. Yet for all its bleakness, this is not a nihilistic film, but an urgent warning. With a final act that is as grisly as it is thought-provoking, these fearsome filmmakers urge us to consider legacy as we decide how hot we'll let the waters get before we do something drastic.
The Devil's Bath premieres on Shudder June 28.
If you're feeling suicidal or experiencing a mental health crisis, please talk to somebody. You can reach the 988 Suicide and Crisis Lifeline at 988; the Trans Lifeline at 877-565-8860; or the Trevor Project at 866-488-7386. Text "START" to Crisis Text Line at 741-741. Contact the NAMI HelpLine at 1-800-950-NAMI, Monday through Friday from 10:00 a.m. – 10:00 p.m. ET, or email info@nami.org. If you don't like the phone, consider using the 988 Suicide and Crisis Lifeline Chat at crisischat.org. Here is a list of international resources.
