Horror fans, prepare yourselves: The Draugr (2025) is not your average creature feature. This Norse mythology-inspired terror tale is bleak, brooding, and brutal, combining icy landscapes, buried secrets, and undead monstrosities into one of the year’s most atmospheric horror experiences.
Directed by André Øvredal (Scary Stories to Tell in the Dark, The Autopsy of Jane Doe), this chilling film dives into the heart of Viking folklore to explore the legend of the draugr — restless undead warriors who guard their tombs and wreak havoc on those who disturb them.
With a haunting score, chilling visuals, and a strong cast led by Rebecca Ferguson, Claes Bang, and Lewis Pullman, The Draugr stands tall among modern folk horror.
Set in present-day Norway, the story follows Dr. Linnea Holstad (Rebecca Ferguson), a renowned archaeologist recovering from personal tragedy. Alongside her research assistant Mark Travers (Lewis Pullman) and skeptical financier Erik Solheim (Claes Bang), she leads an excavation into a recently discovered burial mound deep within the Arctic Circle.
Local Sámi warnings go unheeded. Despite strange markings and freezing storms, Linnea and her team proceed to open the tomb — awakening something that was never meant to be disturbed.
Inside the ancient crypt lies the preserved body of a Norse warlord — still armored, clutching a cursed sword, and surrounded by offerings and bones. But when the body disappears overnight and strange occurrences escalate, it becomes clear: the legend is real.
As team members vanish one by one, and survivors begin to experience visions of the dead, the group realizes they’ve awakened a draugr, an undead guardian filled with rage, magic, and memory. Isolated by blizzards and hunted by a creature that cannot die, their only hope is to understand the myth before it consumes them.
The Draugr thrives on atmosphere. Shot in stark Icelandic and Norwegian locations, the film immerses the viewer in a landscape that feels as hostile as the monster itself. Director Øvredal uses long, quiet shots, eerie winds, and bone-chilling silences to build dread. The Arctic setting becomes a character of its own — empty, endless, and uncaring.
Lighting is minimal, with torches, headlamps, and flickering flames casting deep shadows across ancient walls. The tomb scenes feel genuinely claustrophobic — trapped between ancient stone and suffocating myth.
Unlike many modern horror films, The Draugr doesn’t rely on constant jump scares. It builds slowly, deliberately, letting the legend breathe — until it’s far too late.
The draugr itself is one of the most terrifying screen monsters in recent memory. This is no brainless zombie. Designed with a mix of prosthetics, practical effects, and minimal CGI, the draugr is massive, decayed, and intelligent — a Viking revenant bound by ancient magic and insatiable wrath.
It doesn’t just kill — it haunts, infiltrating dreams, turning the minds of the living against each other. It speaks in Old Norse, echoing through tunnels and trees, commanding shadows. Its motivation isn’t hunger — it’s vengeance for being disturbed, for being forgotten, and for the desecration of ancestral rites.
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Rebecca Ferguson anchors the film with a performance that balances intellectual authority and emotional vulnerability. Linnea is driven by both curiosity and grief, and her arc — from skeptic to believer to survivor — gives the story its emotional weight.
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Lewis Pullman as Mark offers subtle fear and moral conflict, playing the conscience of the group. His descent into hallucination is one of the film’s most disturbing subplots.
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Claes Bang plays Erik, the funder whose ambition blinds him to danger. His greed echoes classic horror tropes — the man who opens the tomb no matter the cost — and he pays dearly for it.
At its heart, The Draugr is about respecting the past. It explores the consequences of colonial archaeology, the price of desecrating the sacred, and the violence buried beneath civilization.
The draugr isn’t just a monster — it’s a metaphor. A reminder that what we bury doesn’t always stay buried, and that some histories come back swinging.
In the film’s tense final act, Linnea discovers that the draugr cannot be killed — only appeased. The tomb’s runes speak of an ancient pact: blood for peace. She must choose between destroying the remains and risking eternal damnation or sacrificing herself to restore balance.
In a stunning, silent scene, Linnea walks into the heart of the tomb, placing her life in the draugr’s hands — not out of fear, but reverence. What happens next is left deliberately ambiguous — the creature vanishes into mist, and Linnea emerges alive but changed.
The Draugr (2025) is a slow-burn, high-concept horror film that rewards patience and punishes arrogance — just like its titular monster. With chilling direction, a powerful cast, and one of the most memorable undead creatures in years, it blends myth and modernity into something truly unsettling.
