The Severed Sun

A hit at Fantastic Fest and Fantaspoa, Dean Puckett’s uneasy folk horror tale The Severed Sun opens with it own tale on a myth found all over the world: that of a romance between the Moon and the Sun. Unusually, this focuses first on the moon, perhaps an early hint of Puckett’s intention to focus on women and marginalised people rather than on those with more obvious power. It also introduces the idea that a child emerged from that relationship: a forgotten, wounded thing, seeking solace in the shadows where their light could not reach.

This is the only direct explanation we get of the occult ideas at play in the film, and it does not seem to be something we’re supposed to take at face value. Like the monster we will later see lurking in the forest, it’s primarily a metaphor, introducing the idea of secret knowledge, of the potential for something to exist outside the generally accepted way of the world. It’s the idea that’s dangerous.

The film proper begins with the enactment of a dangerous idea. Magpie (Emma Appleton) and her two sons show no emotion as they quietly watch the family patriarch eat the food that they know will kill him. When the deed is done, Magpie drags his body off into the forest and sets up his body to look as if he had an accident. Even to a community which lacks sophisticated scientific knowledge, it’s not very convincing, but although others in the village suspect her, they can’t prove anything. Furthermore, she’s the pastor’s daughter, which gives her some degree of protection.

Where is this, exactly? The landscape is distinctly Cornish, so there’s a possibility that it’s just geographically isolated. Still, it’s really only a day or two’s walk from the most remote parts of Cornwall to a town, which makes it seem unlikely that people living in a cultish society like this one would see no means of escape. Their old fashioned clothing does not mean they are in the past – not when we get glimpses of tarmac roads. Rather, it would seem from fragments of conversation amongst the elders that we are in the future, that these people are the survivors of some great catastrophe. The pastor (Toby Stephens) is holding the community together in a broken world. He does so by way of a strict patriarchal system, but he is also a flesh and blood father, striving to protect his daughter even if the way he goes about it sometimes makes his love invisible to her.

Puckett’s contention would appear to be that patriarchy cannot survive – at least not unscathed – once the illusion of its complete control is broken. Soon other men in the village are dying. Is it Magpie’s work? Is it the monster’s? Are they allies in some terrible pact? Or is the idea that men are not invincible enough to inspire other abused women to take care of matters for themselves?

What’s important about the handling of this is that despite obvious sympathy for Magpie, whose initial motive emerges as the protection of her sons, Puckett does not present her as a moral saviour. Right and wrong are blurry concepts here. What might mean justice for an individual could be devastating to the community, and thus leave everyone more vulnerable. We watch as bonds of trust gradually break down, and Magpie has to reckon with the danger to be found not just in men, but within herself.

Expanded from 2018 short The Sermon, the film doesn’t really develop these themes in sufficient depth to justify its running time. The rather slight plot would be fine if every scene held the attention as the poisoning scene does, using stillness to generate tension, but alas, this is not the case. There’s an awkward balance between subtle emotional work and scenes in which everyone is so overwrought that nothing can really be communicated beyond the superficial, despite the talented cast. Similarly, some of the scenes are exquisitely shot, whilst others look clumsy and unfinished. One wonders if the production simply ran out of money, making reshoots impossible, but part of the issue clearly lies with the script.

There’s some nice work here in spite of these problems, and although The Severed Sun is unlikely to make a big impression, it’s significantly more coherent and technically impressive than most entries in this increasingly crowded subgenre. It is, one hopes, a harbinger of better things to come.

Reviewed on: 16 May 2025