Screen Scene with John Heal

Bugonia is bold, unnerving cinema — a collision of myth and modernity that refuses to explain itself. It’s a film of ideas as much as images, weaving ecological dread, social satire, and surreal horror into something that feels both ancient and immediate.

The direction is fearless, balancing restraint with bursts of visual madness. Each frame feels deliberate, composed with painterly care, yet there’s an undercurrent of chaos — a sense that nature itself is watching, waiting. The cinematography favours texture over gloss: grain, shadow, and soil become part of the storytelling.

Performances are riveting, particularly the leads, who ground the film’s strangeness in raw emotion. Their unease feels lived-in, their silence heavy with implication. The dialogue is sparse but cutting — less conversation, more incantation.

The score thrums beneath it all, organic and unsettling, blending human breath with insect rhythm. It’s less accompaniment than atmosphere, a pulse that seeps under your skin.

If Bugonia falters, it’s in its density; its symbolism at times threatens to smother its humanity. But even when opaque, it mesmerises — a work that lingers like a fever dream, asking not to be understood but absorbed.

Cinematography: 4.5/5

Score: 4/5

Plot: 3.5/5

Dialogue: 4/5

Pacing: 4/5

Ending: 4.5/5

Overall: 4/5