Review - Rabbit Trap (Spoiler-free)

Feature debut director Bryn Chainey's 'Rabbit Trap' experiences a fluctuation between the psychological and folkloric habits of nature. Both subjects are equally the same, with the mind and the earth being innate, uncontrollable, organic and governed by raw matter, and yet, the world sees people as separate from the 'oneness' of it all. This concept, as ostentatious as it stands, is seemingly what Rabbit Trap sets out to explore. 

Rabbit Trap bares its phantasmagorical teeth early on, as the 1970s-set film opens with married couple and experimental musicians, Darcy (Dev Patel) and Daphne Davenport (Rosy McEwen), recording atmospheric sounds for their new album in the lonesome Welsh countryside. Mundane water drips, clanging bangs, whistling winds, crackling winds and fuzzy footsteps on moss become artful as we see the pair reflect on their recordings before fashioning them into haunting compositions that seem worlds away from the monotony and familiar soundscapes recorded earlier. Darcy and Daphne's passions extend further than music as the pair enthusiastically embrace with a fluid synchronisation that mimics their artistry. Yet, there is something between the two that is never explicitly mentioned that remains nonetheless, like an unspoken barrier related to an ongoing dispute. All of which is exasperated in ambiguous ways as they encounter an equally (if not slightly more) ambivalent person, credited as 'The Child' (Jade Croot), who almost unknowingly intrudes themselves into their daily lives. 

The Child seemingly comes from nowhere, appearing spontaneously and infiltrating with an eerie smoothness into the confines of the Davenport's world. Daphne seems more softened by the child, but still unsure as her instincts turn maternal, often comforting him and soothing him as he somewhat lures them into an emotional unknown space of enchantment and nature. On the other hand, Darcy's initial welcoming of the boy drastically dips as the child manifests in the Davenport's singular setup, with the strange child even going as far as referring to Daphne as 'Mam'. Throwing about 'seeming's', 'somewhat's' and 'suggests' are not tactics to avoid spoilers; instead, it is because the viewer is genuinely left to guess and self-interpret Rabbit Trap's events. The beguiling strangeness of it all is never answered or resolved; it just perseveres and lingers waiting for an explanation. 

The lack of closure is clearly not the fault of any lazy filmmaking, as the unavoidable doubt is steeped in intent, rich with allegory and dilemma. However, what this ambiguity does do is explain the choppy reception that the film had during its festival run. Rabbit Trap is far from a ubiquitous watch, with the film being incredibly divisive, almost valiantly so, as we watch a perplexing world slip far into a non-reality that is not only difficult to fathom, but that also raises more questions than answers. 

This milieu of oddness, both in theme and action, is subsumed by its fascination with fable. Welsh folklore is significantly famed for its mythology, linked heavily to its Celtic origins, with tales from 'The Mabinogion' all teeming with a ritualistic aura fit for the tactility and alluring nature of folk horror. Rabbit Trap expands the perplexing world of the Davenport's and the arrival of their new 'guest', through the guise of 'Tylwyth Teg', powerful fairy-like beings whose history in Welsh folklore traverses hundreds of years. 

The origins of Tylwyth Teg surpass one singular trope or persona, with Rabbit Trap fusing various strains of lore to create a paradox of visceral and guttural horror that is hard to explain, explore and decipher, but that simultaneously feels affectively built into the senses. Prior to moving on to Rabbit Trap's most important piece of the puzzle, what is to be noted is how the film touches on a secondary aspect of nature, the inner self. It is alluded that Darcy has a past that remains present deep inside himself - a form of underlying trauma that pokes through the surface as he sleeps and, upon waking, remains deeply nestled, but still alive. His dreams are warm and glowing with amber flecks of light as a naked man appears at the end of his bed, drenched in gloopy yellow sliminess as it drips and soaks the atmosphere, as Darcy lies in trembling fear. Later, Darcy speaks of a trauma that lives and thrives like a rot. The discourse that lurks is striking enough on its own, but what amplifies this alongside the varying elements of discontent and sporadic trepidation is the film's sound design.

With the Davenport's being experimental artists on a remote quest to record the world around them, the scoring throughout the film is one of the primary pillars on which Rabbit Trap forms its entire spectrum of events. In the film's press run, Chainey discussed how his sound design teacher at film school shaped his entire philosophy of sound within cinema. The director often recites a quote by the teacher — "with your eyes you enter the world, but with your ears the world enters you". Thought-provoking, simple, yet profound, this brief passage essentially captures the entire experience of Rabbit Trap. As such, Rabbit Trap is electric with its sound, immersive with its narrative, whilst remaining baffling, bemusing and definitely tiresome for others. Regardless, Rabbit Trap is a keen addition to the talented resurgence of folk horror that contemporary cinema is so warmly rushing in. 

Catch Rabbit trap at a Picturehouse near you!

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