Rabbit Trap is a British folk horror film that thrives on atmospheric tension rather than outright scares, or deep (or any) thematic exploration. Instead, it leans into unsettling imagery and eerie moments designed to make audiences uneasy. The story follows a musician and a sound engineer who move to a remote house in the Welsh countryside, deep in the forest. While searching for sounds, Darcy (Dev Patel) stumbles upon a strange circle of mushrooms in the forest, something that is obviously best left undisturbed. Unfortunately, he disturbs it. Soon after, he and his wife, Daphne (Rosy McEwen), receive a visit from a mysterious child (Jade Croot), a rabbit hunter, who gradually integrates into their lives in increasingly discomforting ways. At first, he presents them with a dead rabbit, the best in the jungle, he claims, but before long, he starts pushing boundaries, wanting to enter their home whenever he pleases and treating the couple as his parents. But where did this child come from? And what does he truly want?
The film is at its best when it leans into those questions, drawing the audience deeper into its mystery. It remains engaging largely due to the three excellent central performances. Patel and McEwen establish a believable dynamic as a couple, crafting well-rounded characters that feel more developed than what the script offers them. But the true standout is Jade Croot. Her performance will likely draw comparisons to Barry Keoghan in The Killing of a Sacred Deer, but it arguably feels even closer to Isabelle Fuhrman in Orphan. From the first interaction between Darcy and the child, there’s an immediate sense of unease, and Croot keeps your eyes fixated on her. The ambiguity surrounding the child’s gender, combined with her hypnotic delivery, makes for an unsettling yet captivating presence. She masterfully balances creepiness with vulnerability, making the child feel both ominous and oddly pitiable.
Visually, the film is striking, with cinematography that transforms the forest into something almost alien. The eerie, otherworldly atmosphere is heightened by disturbing imagery, whether it’s the grotesque sight of a father chewing or a viscous, unsettling liquid dripping down a window. Yet, the most impressive technical feat is the sound design by Graham Reznick, who takes full advantage of having a sound engineer as the protagonist to experiment with audio in inventive ways, crafting a strange, creative, and completely absorbing soundscape. From the very first scene, it immerses the audience, heightening the film’s creeping dread.
But despite its strong performances, evocative setting, and technical accomplishments, Rabbit Trap stumbles when it comes to its script. The first half builds intrigue well, but the film becomes increasingly abstract in its second half, seemingly more interested in preserving mystery than providing meaningful answers. What is the film truly about? The fear of parenthood? The anxiety of repeating a father’s mistakes? Or is it simply a meditation on the intersection of art, isolation, and madness? It teases multiple themes but never fully explores them, leaving its ideas frustratingly vague.
In the end, Rabbit Trap excels in atmosphere but struggles with storytelling. It’s an immersive experience, bolstered by Croot’s haunting performance and top-tier technical craftsmanship, yet its reluctance to provide satisfying answers makes it feel incomplete. The mystery lingers, but not in a way that fully rewards the audience’s investment, leaving the film feeling more like a collection of eerie moments than a fully realized story.