Rabbit Trap is a quietly unsettling debut that shows you don’t need epic grand mythology or extravagant trickeries to unsettle an audience. Directed by Bryn Chainey, the film draws on classic folk horror but never feels like a throwback. Instead, it creates its own strange, intimate mood and does it so condentently that it’s hard to believe that this is the first feature outing from its director.
Set in 1976, the story follows a couple who move to a remote house in the Welsh countryside to focus on their work. Darcy (Dev Patel) is a field recordist obsessed with capturing sounds from the natural world. His wife Daphne (Rosy McEwen) is an experimental electronic musician – think pioneers of the genre such as Delia Darbyshire or Dapheny Oram – working with pulses, hums and everyday noises from analogue machines that make their small cottage seem alive.
Their fragile balance is disrupted when a strange local child (Jade Croot) begins to visit. The child’s age, motives and even identity remain unclear for much of the film. Bringing gifts of herbs, animals and snippets of local folklore, they slowly become a regular presence in the couple’s lives. Rather than turning into obvious horror, the film lets unease build little by little. The child doesn’t feel like a threat that can be chased away, but something that simply refuses to leave.
Chainey shows real confidence for a first feature. The film is minimal, but it never feels limited. Cinematographer Andreas Johannesen frames the landscape in wide shots that make the characters seem small against the forests and sky. Nature isn’t aggressive, but it feels ancient and eerie.
Sound is where Rabbit Trap truly stands out. The score by Lucrecia Dalt blends seamlessly with the sound design, blurring the line between music and nature. Electronic tones melt into wind, rain and animal movement, creating a constant sense of unease without relying on jump scares.
The performances keep the film grounded. Patel plays Darcy with calm focus that slowly hardens into obsession. McEwen gives Daphne a nervous energy that pushes against his restraint. Croot is the most unsettling of all, shifting between gentle and disturbing in ways that never fully make sense, and that’s exactly the point.
The film occasionally overexplains itself, especially when the dialogue slips into poetic mysticism that spells out ideas better left implied. Still, these moments are small missteps in an otherwise powerful experience. Rabbit Trap is less a traditional horror film than a slow, eerie reflection on creativity, obsession, and the voices—human or otherwise—that insist on being heard.
As debuts go, it’s a confident and distinctive one, marking Bryn Chainey as a filmmaker with a strong feel for atmosphere and an ear for the unsettling sounds hidden in everyday life.
