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.  Read More