Cannes 2025 (Critics’ Week): Reedland (dir. Sven Bresser) | Review
Evil lurks deeper in the reed beds. The further the eyes perceive, the darker the anxiety unfolds. Sven Bresser’s Reedland (Rietland) is an atmospheric horror film that showcases the roots and shoots of evil in an eerie Dutch landscape, where silence doesn’t actually bestow peace.
Alejandro Fadel’s 2018 horror film Muere, Monstruo, Muere (Murder Me, Monster) revealed an essential aspect that still lingers with me – horror lurks in places you could never imagine, even if they’re halfway imaginary or seemingly unreal. It’s vaguely surprising to encounter such theories in cinema, especially when the nuances are far-fetched and almost surreal, yet still carry elements of horror that remain unforgettable. Reedland (Rietland) offers a similarly contemporary horror, where the monsters prowl from within—and are very much real.
Johan is an elderly reed cutter—a diligent one, as hard work is a timeless custom among the older generation. He is kept in the focal lens of mundanity, imprisoned in a personal bubble that eventually becomes his comfort zone—where he lives, eats, and prays. He takes care of his granddaughter, likely the only family member who speaks freely with him. It’s a sanctuary that permits him his chosen silence. But silence doesn’t always equal peace—especially after he discovers the dead body of a girl in his reed beds. Johan watches her closely, in incredulity, in a momentary shudder that reveals no clues—or perhaps nothing has been revealed yet?
To keep things short, this isn’t for True Detective fans—the narrative isn’t about unmasking the criminal in full. Director Sven Bresser steers the screenplay toward horror that arrives abruptly—and never announces itself as a threat until justified. The intensity within Johan is one of the horrors that stays and breathes in the form of trauma. Pain and memory twist into fear, triggering peak anxiety. It’s a form of darkness that isn’t loud, yet creeps into our minds deceptively.
The ominous, rustling sounds (perfected by sound mixer Vincent Sinceretti and sound designer Kwinten Van Laethem) evoke a landscape that breathes menace, blurring the lines between peace and dismay. The whispering rustles sound like eerie murmurs conveying isolation and decay, aligning with elements of xenophobia and resistance to industrialization—the modern changes and their upheaval in land politics.
Johan becomes a kind of detective, determined to stop the crime from reappearing, while seeking an antidote to his own trauma and an answer to his lingering doubts. Which raises the question: How deep is the darkness now?
Bresser aims to reframe horror as psychological intervention, using symbolic depictions to visualize predators hiding among us—or within the reed beds, cloaked in pitch-black, sinister quiet. A 2025 Critics’ Week selection, Reedland is a quiet crescendo that whispers evil through unfolding revelations. It lets dread rise slowly through its unhurried moments. Whether it’s unholiness, dirty politics, or deception, Bresser plants a dark pain at the heart of this eerie silence—forming an uncomfortable vacuum within us, an unexplainable space that feels like thick, black grease, polluting every trace of hope.
Reedland is strangely contagious to watch—and unsettling, with nostalgic terror lurking at all corners.
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