In my nonbiased, expert opinion, the Midnight Section of the Sundance Film Festival is where all the magic happens. The films that come out in this section of the competition are known for defying genre classifications, and they keep festival goers talking. Whether it’s due to the horrifying stories, the laugh-out-loud comedies, or a magic blend of both, one can usually find fascinating features. This year, Bryn Chainey’s feature-length debut, Rabbit Trap, has beguiled me the most.

The story follows a musician Daphne (Rosy McEwan) and her husband Darcy (Dev Patel) after they relocate to an isolated cabin in 1976 Wales. Darcy seems emotionally withdrawn from the world, as he suffers from frequent nightmares. In between collecting field recordings in neighboring woods, he doesn’t seem interested in much of anything. Daphne then takes those recordings and edits them to produce eerie sounds to meet her avant-garde style. Seemingly, the couple lives in harmony until a mysterious young rabbit trapper disturbs their peace by inviting herself into their everyday livelihood.

At its core, Rabbit Trap is about our connectivity to each other and earth.

On paper, the synopsis of Chainey’s psychological horror film sounds like a mystery that slowly unravels itself by the film’s end. For me, however, Rabbit Trap is an amalgamation of inner challenges and experiences manifested by the characters’ connectivity to each other and their surroundings. Daphne and Darcy, undisturbed, operate just “fine” in the banalities of marriage. They work together in music yet still have their individual secrets—Darcy with his nightmares, Daphne with her thoughts of being a mother. But once we introduce a complication into the mix, they’re forced to address their secrets aloud.

Here, that complication is the young rabbit trapper, played by an exceptional Jade Croot, whose performance is equally creepy, mysterious, and sweet. “With your eyes, you enter the world. With your ears, the world enters you.” It’s a statement that is especially true for Daphne and Darcy in this trippy, British folk horror. The more the recordings they make, the more the child visits them, forcing them to address issues they’ve desperately tried to bury, and have been too broken to address.

As the film progresses, ambiguity comes to play, especially after the introduction to an underground spiritual world via a circle of mushrooms. But as uncertain and vague as the story gets, the certainty of its ambitious obscurity feels oddly poetic. This is especially so for a folk horror film that relies on sounds over jump scares or even logic. And as frustrating as it may be for the average viewer to watch—to go on an unclear storytelling journey—the experience worked for me. Having to think about the trauma of the characters as they spiral and become one with their surrounding sonics and challenges felt right.

Plenty works in Rabbit Trap even when the storytelling is uncertain.

But even if ambiguity does not work for you, there’s more to appreciate about Rabbit Trap. The dynamic among the three leads evolves from compassion in the beginning to rotting disdain by the end. The bearing of emotional weight lies in their interactions with one another and leads to fascinating character dynamics by the film’s end. And holding it all together is the chemistry of Patel and McEwan, supporting the intricacies of the mysteries and trauma at hand. For me, that ending was beautiful even if it did not answer the plethora of questions that come up throughout this feature.

Supported by a hypnotic score and sound design, Rabbit Trap is both haunting and sensual by the way it intersects human relationships with nature. One could almost say that the film’s strength lies completely in the hands of Lucrecia Dalt and sound designer Graham Reznick. However, Patel and McEwen are wonderful navigating the growing dynamics between their relationship and Croot’s mysterious character. So, even if you’re not totally behind Chainey’s vision here, his intimate set-up and creativity provides a fascinating watch.

Score: B