‘Went Up The Hill’ – Review
The horror genre has always been a playground for nightmares. In contemporary cinema, it’s also become one of the most exciting creative spaces, where filmmakers push the boundaries of artistry while delivering the pulse-racing thrills audiences crave. It’s a genre where mood, theme, and emotional depth can be explored in ways that feel both fresh and timeless. And with his sophomore feature, Went Up The Hill, director Samuel Van Grinsven takes that sandbox and crafts something extraordinary: a darkly gothic, emotionally charged ghost story steeped in trauma, possession, and the creeping dread of things left unsaid.
Jack (Dacre Montgomery) ventures to remote New Zealand for the funeral of his estranged mother and meets her widow Jill (Vicky Krieps). But his mother’s spirit returns to inhabit each of their bodies, instigating a life-threatening three-way nocturnal dance.
Ghost stories are deceptively tricky to pull off. Many filmmakers lean heavily into the overt terror of restless spirits, but Van Grinsven chooses a more insidious path. Rather than jump scares or relentless phantoms, he focuses on the lingering weight of grief and the dangerous emotional territory of past traumas. The supernatural becomes the sharp edge of something deeper—a portrait of people unable (or unwilling) to let go of the dead. The result is an utterly original and inventive watch, a horror-drama hybrid that delivers both chills and emotional resonance.
Van Grinsven, who co-wrote the script with Jory Anast, brings a strong authorial voice to the film. It’s clear from the precision of the pacing and the thematic layering that this is a story he’s been carrying for some time. Backed by producers Samantha Jennings and Vicky Pope, his vision is allowed to flourish, yielding a film that is both deeply personal and impressively crafted.
Loosely inspired by the classic nursery rhyme Jack and Jill, the film uses its namesake as a subtle cautionary tale. The themes of care, risk, and consequence are reframed through a gothic lens, following characters Jack (Dacre Montgomery) and Jill (Vicky Krieps) as they navigate a slow descent into an otherworldly abyss. Montgomery’s Jack arrives unexpectedly at his mother’s funeral, an orphan adrift, only to be drawn into the enigmatic orbit of Jill, his mother’s former lover. Their connection is uneasy, forged in shared loss, but as the days pass, a strange and unsettling intimacy begins to form. This relationship is the beating heart of the film, at once tender and dangerous, pulling the audience further into its mystery.
Both Montgomery and Krieps are magnetic here, delivering performances that are finely tuned and beautifully restrained. Montgomery’s Jack carries an air of abandonment and searching, his every glance suggesting questions he’s not sure he wants answered. Krieps’ Jill, in contrast, is poised, almost spectral, haunted by her own longing for the woman she’s lost.
What makes their work so compelling is the balance. Neither outshines the other; instead, they operate like two halves of a whole, Yin and Yang in an emotional push-pull. Their interactions crackle with tension, and when the supernatural elements fully take hold, their performances become something even darker and more unpredictable. This unison is essential to the film’s success, grounding its ghostly premise in a relationship that feels painfully real.
One of the most striking aspects of Went Up The Hill is its atmosphere. Shot in the frozen depths of the Canterbury Highlands, the film’s setting is almost a character in itself. Cinematographer Kristy Cameron uses a cold, muted palette: icy blues, shadowy greys, earthy browns to create a constant visual reminder of isolation and decay. Every frame feels steeped in a gothic chill.
Production designer Sherree Phillips matches this visual mood with sets that feel both grounded and otherworldly. Costumes, hair, and make-up work in harmony to gradually strip the characters down by the film’s final act, Jack and Jill appear gaunt, almost translucent, as if the haunting has seeped into their very skin.
Van Grinsven’s control of tone is masterful. This is horror by way of slow erosion; the tension builds almost imperceptibly until it’s unbearable. The effect is reminiscent of Hitchcock’s less-is-more approach, where the real terror lies in what’s suggested rather than shown. There’s a particular scene, intimate, intoxicating, and deeply unsettling, that stands out as the film’s emotional and artistic centrepiece. Without giving too much away, it encapsulates everything Went Up The Hill does so well: it’s beautiful, it’s disturbing, and it’s impossible to forget.
The final act is where the film’s horror fully unfurls. Restless spirits stir, truths come to light, and the line between the living and the dead dissolves completely. The revelations are devastating, yet they feel inevitable, a testament to the strength of the film’s slow-burning storytelling.
It’s rare to encounter a horror film that feels this complete in its artistic vision. Van Grinsven isn’t just chasing scares; he’s crafting a meditation on grief, memory, and the dangerous comfort of holding on too tightly to the past. The horror works because the drama works, and vice versa.
Haunting, innovative, and steeped in gothic allure, Went Up The Hill is a remarkable sophomore effort from a filmmaker with a clear and compelling voice. Montgomery and Krieps deliver career-highlight performances, each feeding the other in a way that makes their characters’ shared descent utterly believable.
Image: Vendetta Films
