This week the FolknHell trio trek into the Swiss Alps with Sennentuntschi (2010), Michael Steiner’s strange and unsettling take on an Alpine legend. The story begins with three isolated goatherds who, in a drunken haze of absinthe, fashion a woman out of broomsticks, rags, and paint. To their horror and ours, she comes to life. What follows is not a fairy tale but a grim spiral of abuse, revenge, and a blurred line between folklore and crime thriller.

Andy, Dave, and David wrestle with the film’s slippery timeline that lurches between 1975 and the present day without warning. The result is confusion, compounded by technical slip-ups like modern fences in period scenes, a policeman dressed like he raided C&A, and a soundtrack that veers wildly from orchestral bombast to Serge Gainsbourg and ropey T-Rex covers.

The trio dissect the dual narrative at the film’s heart: on one hand, the folkloric myth of the Sennentuntschi, a woman conjured to serve and then destroy men; on the other, a grim true crime tale of a corrupt priest, a hidden dungeon, and an illegitimate daughter seeking revenge. It is a story so densely packed with contradictions and abrupt shifts that the three hosts spend more time piecing it together than the filmmakers seemingly did.

Is it folk horror? Andy argues that the grotesque finale, with skinned bodies and straw-filled effigies, tips it into the supernatural. Dave and David counter that beneath the Alpine trappings lies only a muddled crime drama dressed in folk horror fancy dress. Whatever the answer, all agree the film lacks the uncanny atmosphere and creeping sense of isolation that make the best folk horror so effective.

The trio break from their usual format and score the film on three fronts; enjoyment, construction, and horror effectiveness. Unfortunately, Sennentuntschi barely staggers to 21 out of 90, one of the lowest scores to date.

Expect bafflement, inappropriate laughter, and more references to Nigel Farage than you would ever want in a Swiss folk tale. If you are after a true taste of mountain dread, the team suggest saving your time for something like Sator or Luz: The Flower of Evil.

🔗 Sennentuntschi on Wikipedia

🔗 Sennentuntschi on Rotten Tomatoes

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In this episode, FolknHell sink their teeth into The Company of Wolves (1984), Neil Jordan’s dreamlike, symbol-laden reimagining of Angela Carter’s tales from The Bloody Chamber. Framed entirely as the fevered dreams of young Rosaleen, the film becomes a hall of mirrors where fairy tales and nightmares tangle, with wolves, both literal and metaphorical, lurking at every turn.

The hosts discuss the film’s deliberately artificial aesthetic: a studio-bound forest littered with bedroom toys, shifting between interior and exterior spaces in a way that mirrors dream logic. While Andy initially saw this as budget limitation, David Houghton argues it’s a strength, a consciously designed, Hammer-esque atmosphere where reality is secondary to mood.

The conversation roams through the film’s core metaphors: wolves as predators, men as dangerous temptations, and the forest as both peril and liberation. Angela Lansbury’s grandmother figure dispenses cautionary tales thick with warnings, “watch out for men who are hairy on the inside”, while Rosaleen’s mother offers a more open, less fearful worldview.

Special attention is paid to the transformation sequences, which are each distinct in tone and implication: from grotesque skin-shedding to seamless metamorphosis, culminating in Rosaleen’s own liberation as she joins the wolves. David Hall relishes one particularly surreal moment — Rosaleen climbing to a heron’s nest to find “the most freakish Kinder Surprise you’ll ever get”, a perfect emblem of the film’s strange, dreamlike logic.

The trio also tackle the film’s gender dynamics, noting how certain 1980s attitudes towards relationships and marriage read differently today, yet remain embedded in the period setting and fairy-tale framework. They debate whether it truly qualifies as horror, ultimately agreeing that while it’s not conventionally scary, it is steeped in folk horror DNA: an isolated community, threats from the surrounding environment, and dangers rooted in age-old traditions.

Scored a robust 25/30, The Company of Wolves earns high praise for its lush production design, layered storytelling, and ability to turn familiar fairy tales into something uncanny, unsettling, and strangely beautiful.

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This time on FolknHell, Andy, David, and Dave take their first cinematic trip to India for the visually lush, rain-drenched folk horror tale Tumbbad — a film dripping with myth, greed, and muddy moral compromise. Set across three distinct time periods (starting in 1918), Tumbbad charts the generational consequences of disturbing a slumbering god called Hastar — a deity born from the womb of the Earth itself, cursed for his insatiable hunger for gold and grain.

From the outset, the trio are intrigued by the film’s opening premise: two boys, their fearful mother, and a mummified, flesh-eating grandmother chained in a rain-lashed house. She's more than just scenery-chewing horror — she's a symbolic custodian of a secret too powerful to ignore. As one of the boys (Vinyak) grows up, he inherits more than just the legend — he learns how to exploit it.

The podcast digs into how Tumbbad unfolds as a cursed treasure tale in three acts. Each chapter marks a shift: discovery, exploitation, and eventual inheritance. It’s a slow-burn saga of ambition and consequence, with each generation slipping further into moral decay. And yet, it’s the film’s atmosphere — perpetually soaked in rain and shadow — that captivates the team. As David Hall notes, “it’s like the locks and buildings go back 5,000 years,” a touch that lends the film a tangible, earthy mythology. Dave Houghton likens the treasure chamber to a Lovecraftian womb — grotesque, alive, and utterly compelling.

A key discussion point centres on the folklore itself. Is Hastar a ‘real’ myth from Indian tradition, or a modern invention? The team suspects the latter — but agree that its invented lore still speaks to deep-rooted, folkish fears: cursed wealth, intergenerational sin, and the risks of unearthing that which should stay buried.

Stylistically, Tumbbad impresses across the board. The trio praise the production design, use of colour (especially in the womb scenes), and practical effects. While Andy finds the first act a bit slow and overly long, all three hosts are in agreement that the film delivers richly on mood, world-building, and originality.

Is it folk horror? By the podcast’s own criteria — a threat localised to a community, of the environment, and from another time — the answer is a resounding yes. Hastar lives in the earth, only emerges when summoned with ritual dolls, and the curse is bound to the landscape of Tumbbad itself. As Dave notes, even if the deity isn’t ancient in mythological record, the film still channels the right vibes: a god of limitations, rooted in soil and secrecy.

The final score? A consensus 21/30 — solid sevens across the board. It’s a “low B” in their unofficial ranking system, but a high recommendation. The team wish more people could see Tumbbad easily, noting that the version they watched used fan-made subtitles, a hint at its frustrating lack of UK distribution.

Expect spoilers, references to The Mummy, Kenneth Williams, Monkey magic, and spirited discussion about whether multiple dolls create multiple gods (spoiler: they don’t). As always, the boys close with warmth, irreverence, and a hint that this mysterious Indian horror might just be one of their most memorable discoveries yet.

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Full transcripts, show notes folkandhell.com.

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