If you sit down and actually read the reviews of Ari Aster‘s Midsommar (A24, 7.3), you’ll quickly understand that a Rotten Tomatoes score of 93% is a less-than-fully-comprehensive assessment.

Randomly: (a) “More unsettling than frightening”; (b) “A gnarly horror movie…some of the kills are admirably nasty”; (c) “An intermittently impressive and frustrating film, but worth watching for every single one of its flaws“; (d) “As opposed to Hereditary‘s hushed, focused terror, Midsommar explodes with blood and gore”; (e) “Though viewers may be shocked by the occasional bit of self-conscious gore, any tendency toward slow-building dread is leavened by the script’s frequent ‘WTF?’ asides.”

I could catch a screening tomorrow night, but I’ve decided to attend another on Monday evening. There’s plenty of time.

Critic friend: “It was…okay? The entire time I was wishing it could be a better movie. Aster uses so many familiar tropes of the pagan cult genre, many of which were practically invented by The Wicker Man more than 45 years ago. The last hour or so is fairly entertaining, a lot of batshit stuff happens, but it’s no Hereditary.”