The unique hallmark of the Adams family's filmmaking lies not only in their extraordinary chemistry but in the way they explore detachment within a seemingly united family.
"Mother of Flies" continues this tradition, fusing folkloric witchcraft with an intimate story of illness and survival. The result is not simply a horror film but a meditation on transformation, where personal struggle becomes myth.
At the heart of the film is Toby Poser's commanding performance as the witch Solveig. Her presence is terrifying, seductive, and unforgettable, arguably the finest work of her career so far.
Having met her just before the film's UK premiere at FrightFest 2025, I was struck by the contrast between her genuine warmth in person and the menacing, otherworldly figure she inhabits onscreen. That duality underscores just how remarkable her craft is.
John Adams provides the perfect counterweight. His character, Jake, reacts to the film's supernatural horrors with grim seriousness tempered by wry skepticism, offering moments of comic relief amid the tension.
Without his performance, the narrative would risk suffocation under its own intensity.
Yet beneath the occult trappings, "Mother of Flies" emerges from deeply personal territory.
Both Toby and John have experienced cancer, and instead of turning that experience into something bleak, they channel it into a celebration of life and of the "magic potions" doctors use in treatment.
This intimate subtext shapes the film's emotional spine.
The story unfolds through Mickey (Zelda Adams), who seeks Solveig after exhausting all medical options. Facing a recurrence of cancer likely to be terminal, she and her father travel deep into the Catskills to the witch's eccentric home, its fable-like exterior giving way to surreal interiors that resemble nightmarish installations.
What follows is less a conventional horror story than a richly textured dive into folklore. Solveig is not a stock villain, nor is the film interested in easy scares. Instead, it sidesteps clichés and embraces horror's capacity to be poignant as well as grotesque.
As the story develops, Solveig's own journey is revealed in a series of flashbacks that inform her motivations and provide some of the darkest points yet in the Adams' filmography.
At the post-screening Q&A, John Adams jokingly described one scene as Death Vagina, a phrase that captures the film's strange balancing act of irreverence and darkness. You can tell they had a blast leaning into its gory weirdness, and that sense of fun carries right through to the audience.
The Adamses' deep connection to nature permeates the film. Living surrounded by trees and animals, they infuse their art with eerie swarms of insects, bodily fluids, and organic grotesquery.
Rather than shock-value gore, "Mother of Flies" locates horror in the unsettling closeness of life and death, blurring the boundary between the grotesque and the beautiful.
Visually, the film is intoxicating. The cinematography curated by John and Zelda shifts between naturalism and surrealism, creating a stream of images that feel both enchanting, eerie, and alien.
This is complemented by a largely minimal score, punctuated by bursts of music from the family's own band, H6LLBND6R. These moments of sonic intensity sharpen the impact of the imagery without overwhelming it.
"Mother of Flies" is not mainstream cinema, nor does it aspire to be. It is a daring work of occult drama and body horror, brimming with distinctive aesthetics and tonal surprises.
Horror fans expecting conventional scares may find it too meditative, but adventurous viewers will discover an experience that is unsettling, deeply personal, and unexpectedly life-affirming.
Once again, the Adams family prove themselves among the most distinctive voices in contemporary independent horror.
"Mother of Flies" takes the darkest of subjects and, through craft and audacity, transforms it into something grotesque, haunting, and strangely celebratory.
