High in the Welsh hills, an elemental force awakens. This land is sacred and foreign; a far-flung neverland where verdant hills and the marble-mouthed language both prove striking and ancient. A place where helping neighbors lend a hand and whisper of mythical no-no’s. The first shot of Lee Haven Jones’ gothic folk horror juxtaposes man’s greed and his demise as a ruddy pipe in close up drills muddy oil from the ground. In the distance, a construction site worker flops over and dies. Man takes. Man dies. The cycle begins.

Written by Roger Williams, The Feast begins in earnest moments later, when a woman (Annes Elwy) arrives at the home of wealthy Welsh politician Gwyn (Julian Lewis Jones) and his wife Glenda (Nia Roberts). Assumed to be the fill in help, the young woman immediately gives off Scarlett Johansson vibes from Under the Skin; she seems uncomfortable in her body, adjusting and figuring out how to navigate something as simple as a basic gesture or communication.

But Gywn and Glenda are too preoccupied with their owns schemes and preparations for an intimate dinner party to notice “Cadi”’s peculiarities. Their two children Gweiydd and Guto, a med-school drop-out turned triathlete and junkie respectively, have no interest in keeping up appearances but are forced to play nice if they want the bankroll to keep flowing. The business-minded couple are planning a meet and greet between their shark-like professional friend (aptly named Euros, after the currency he covets) and their uneasy neighbor Mair, in the hopes of procuring a deal to drill their land for “assets” and, as far as they are concerned, the feast of freshly-slaughter rabbit, skewered veggies, and plentiful red wine they have prepared is the perfect social lubricant to get the ledger signed.

What follows is an eerie slow-burn with no shortage of suggestive power. Is “Cadi” there as a savior or a devil? A righter of wrongs or an avenging angel? In the family and guests we see flashes of the deadly sins, each character taken to their own vice: there’s Gywn’s greed, Glenda’s pride, Euros’ gluttony, Mair’s envy, Gweiydd’s lust, and Guto’s sloth. Wrath lurks and proves none too forgiving. Is Cadi wrath? This becomes more and more central as things getting more and more bizarre.

Those willing to dine on The Feast’s suggestiveness and mythos will be richly rewarded though it may be a case of diminishing return for those seeking linear narrative structure with a bow on top. There’s plentiful notes of Yorgos Lanthimos; The Feast fits snugly in the off-kilter universe of Dogtooth and The Killing of a Sacred Deer, the later of which shares a similarly unspoken curse that is creepier by virtue of going largely unexplained. In that movie, we were left to feel and explore Martin’s powers without ever really knowing them; to intuit the dangers he poses and sitting with their ravaging effects. So too does The Feast allow the sinking feeling of unknowable terror to inform the general unease of the picture. By the time the horror becomes explicit and implied consequence becomes actual consequence, the impressive power of not-knowing succumbs to a tide of gonzo gore.

For his part, Jones manages some impressively-staged squirmers. A problematic limb, a man’s proclivity to eat in offensively grotesque manner, and an increasingly troubling case of tinnitus all sent shivers up my spine as they reach their natural horror movie crescendo but when The Feast goes full-tilt into blood and viscus it sacrifices some of its chilliness; that anxiety born from ignorance.

The way that The Feast’s mythology is implied or mentioned in off-hand but never made explicit leaves a lot open for interpretation – though any dissection of this movie that doesn’t involve an environmental angle is sorely misguided. But the script’s unwillingness to make the mythos more specific and concrete can feel a bit like a cheat and perhaps leave too many doors open, with some viewers certain to leave feeling like the fundamental mystery at the movie’s core went unsolved. Mileage may vary in that regard but there’s no denying the unsettling aura that Jones’ manages here. This is a deliciously cursed picture – one where man’s vanity intersects with the planet’s need for survival; where mortal sins come to dine on the souls of the living; where elemental forces clash and vie for the last word – and I’m here for all the bizarro out-there interpretations to come.

CONCLUSION: This gothic folk horror slow-burn possesses intrigue in spades though may leave some viewers wanting more from its relatively opaque mythology. As far as this dinner guest goes, I found ‘The Feast’ a deliciously uneasy slice of disquieting folklore.