If there was an ideal audience for Fréwaka, it was me. Folk horror as Gaeilge, featuring a queer protagonist, and an unsettling amount of Catholic iconography: it’s hard to be objective about a film that’s everything you want a horror film to be.

Fréwaka is creepy. From start to finish. It doesn’t rely on jump scares or gore to illicit fear, instead, it’s filled with carefully considered lingering shots that invokes fear on anyone raised on a diet of folklore and religion will feel disturbed by. The red light in the mirror, the horseshoes on the door, the recurring motif of the black goat, the Murmers lurking in the window.

One of the final scenes, depicting a descent and ascent into their world, was an incredible piece of cinematography. It was unsettling and disturbing, because there was part of me that wanted to stay there, to see what the world had to offer.

But what really elevates Fréwaka is the relationship between the main characters. Siubhán (Shoo), arrives to take care of Peig, an elderly woman who recently had a stroke, and who is wary and paranoid of strangers coming into her home. As the film progresses, they grow closer, and this growing bond is what really allows us to care about the horrors the characters are facing.

There’s lightness and humour too. One scene shows two men speaking in Irish, assuming Siubhán won’t understand; a familiar experience for Irish speaking outsiders visiting the Gaeltacht.

Aislínn Clarke’s love for the genre and Irish folklore is apparent. The film feels authentic and familiar, the story told is hers, but it’s recognisable too. The horror in the film is never named, but we know who they are, and we know to be afraid of them. The film perfectly captures why even the most sceptical of Irish farmers will leave the hawthorn trees in the fields untouched.

The special mention for the Shorts Competition and LUMI Awards went to Die Bully Die by directors Nathan Lacey and Nick Lacey, and writers Matthew Backer and Drew Weston. The comedy horror short’s storyline consisted of Max having dinner with his former high-school bully, Adam, who picked on Max for being gay. The short had a lovely balance between gore, heartfelt dialogue and hilarious moments, while the storyline explored themes of trauma, and how the effects of bullying linger on into adulthood.  

Farmers!? took the prize of the LUMI Awards. Directed by Freddie Leyden and co-written by Leyden and Clare Hoey, the short film depicts the lives of Irish farmers and that artists are often found in the most unexpected places, in the most unexpected people. After one of the farmers, who is also a singer, passes suddenly, his friends find it difficult to express their grief. After the funeral where they see his ghost, they release their emotions through a poignant group dance, using their bodies and the expressions of movement as a means of emotional response.  

Last but certainly not least, Clodagh was the winner of the Shorts Competition. Director-writer Portia A. Buckley portrays a beautiful film about a woman, Mrs. Kelly, who works as a priest’s housekeeper and assistant, and how a young girl, Clodagh, breaks her rigid ideologies while igniting a spark from within through passion for dance. Once the class with Clodagh is over, Mrs. Kelly finds herself wavering, finally caving into what is considered a “sin” to allow Clodagh to join the dance class permanently. She goes against the church and her faith, forging Clodagh’s documents. She follows her heart and decides for herself what is the right thing to do.  

Shot on film and set in rural Ireland, the short opened with a mood I can only describe as a mundane and lonely which wears one’s bones down. The story centres around Mrs. Kelly, a priest's old housekeeper and assistant. An uptight woman whose life revolves around structure, faith and the duties of a church. 

I found it interesting that she runs a dance school, something which suggests quite a contrast to her personal, monotonous routine, adding dimension to her character. However, it was no surprise when Mrs. Kelly, at first, denies the entry of a new student, Clodagh, who wears colourful clothes and glittery makeup, because her paperwork isn’t done. But after some persuading, Mrs. Kelly caves in.  

In class, Clodagh displays an extraordinary gift for Irish step dancing, making the fiddle player perform with the burning passion of an artist, something he had not felt in decades. 

Clodagh is a symbol of what Mrs. Kelly is missing in her life. Mrs. Kelly realises this and wants to take Clodagh in as a permanent student but finds herself unable to break the rules to do so. 

This internal turmoil kept me on the edge of my seat - the numerous telephone calls being shut down last minute, the frustration Mrs. Kelly faces because she must choose between old ideologies and what her heart truly yearns for, the glitter she wiped off Clodagh’s face still leaving its traces on her finger. In the end, Mrs. Kelly, unable to shake off her awakening, forges Clodagh’s documents, allowing her to become a permanent student. Finally, I could breathe. In the eyes of the church, a sin was committed. But from within the heart, a right has been done.  

Shot in black-and-white, the medium evokes that the father is unable to move on from his past. He speaks about home throughout the short, “Home. Make it like home. Do you remember?”, decorating his house with the little belongings he has managed to bring from Syria. I found the most significant item being that of the dying potted plant, stripped of all its leaves. I thought of it as a reflection of the father, who has been stripped of his identity and down to his emotional core. 

He has absolutely nothing left except for his daughter, Yara, the name meaning ‘little butterfly’. It adds depth to why the father is so frightened of losing her, just as how he has lost his wife. He is extremely protective of Yara, keeping her away from school and locking both himself and her inside the house.  

I will never forget the many bone-chilling still images of bald trees being used. When Yara asks what has happened to her mother, the images come up rapidly and in a frenzy, almost as though they are flashes of memories the father finds difficult to process. This is further amplified by the still images of blurred faces of Syrian women who, from what I believe, were either lost during the war or during the journey to find peace and freedom. I was struck by how this was depicted because of the accuracy of it all. Refugees are reduced to numbers. They become nameless; their faces forgotten by society. Much that’s left of them are the hazy snapshots from the memories of those who have survived. Yara explores the heartbreaking nightmare experienced by refugees.