A delicate balance of tenderness and dread, “Thelma” explores queer desire, religious guilt, and the terrifying power of self-discovery.
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MORBID MINI: Thelma is a quiet storm of a film—an intimate, slow-burning queer horror story where repression manifests as something truly terrifying. Joachim Trier blends supernatural dread with aching tenderness, crafting a coming-of-age tale that feels as emotionally raw as it is unsettling.
Director Joachim Trier is known for his empathetic and incisive films about women’s interiority, such as the award-winning movies The Worst Person in the World (2021) and Sentimental Value (2025).
While it may not have generated as much buzz as Trier’s more recent films,Thelma (written by Trier and Eskil Vogt, with whom he also co-wrote the aforementioned films) is a dark yet sweet queer horror film about coming to terms with one’s true identity.
Thelma (Eili Harboe) is a sheltered young woman from a small town in Norway who travels to Oslo for college, much to the chagrin of her overprotective parents, Trond (Henrik Rafaelsen) and Unni (Ellen Dorrit Petersen).
Once there, she struggles to fit in and is unable to truly live out her college experience, as her parents’ constant calls and visits keep her tethered to them.
While studying at the library, Thelma makes eye contact with another young student, Anja (Kaya Wilkins). In the library’s quiet, Thelma experiences a seizure. When she next sees Anja, she asks after Thelma’s health, and the two young women smile shyly at one another.
Is this the beginning of Thelma’s first collegiate friendship – or is there something more brewing between her and Anja?
The attraction between the two women grows, but at the same time, Thelma’s mental health suffers.
When she gets close to Anja, nightmarish things begin happening: Birds crash to the ground, she suffers more seizures, and she dreams of a menacing snake slithering into her bed.
Trier’s careful direction adds evocative atmosphere to the investing story.
Stormy scenes of Oslo and small-town Norway, linked to Thelma’s unresolved feelings and hidden trauma, contrast beautifully with gentle, lingering scenes of Thelma and Anja together.
With minimal dialogue, the camera must capture the actors’ facial expressions to convey their internal struggles.
As Thelma, Harboe is a standout. Her wide-open face plainly shows the torment that plagues her. As Anja, Wilkins skillfully moves between youthful confidence and tentativeness as she explores her relationship with Thelma.
Rafaelsen’s struggle between his obligation to his wife and his love for his daughter is evident in his pained expressions and uncertain movements. Meanwhile, Petersen quickly transforms from a gentle comforter to a terrifying matriarch.
(In an echo of Brian De Palma’s 1976 horror film Carrie, there is a chilling scene where Petersen’s face is just as frightening as Piper Laurie’s as she lies in wait for her daughter to return home from her bloody prom night.)
There are several religious allusions layered into Thelma.
These themes add depth to the narrative: the temptation of the snake, parents willing to sacrifice children for what they believe God wants, and fire and water as symbols of purification.
Since Thelma was raised in a very strict Christian household, she struggles to reconcile her Christian beliefs about her attraction to Anja with what her body and mind are yearning for.
For Thelma, this battle is not just waged in her heart; it affects the outside world.
Like Carrie White before her, Thelma’s newly unleashed adolescent feelings are strong enough to cause violent change in the world around her. But unlike Carrie, Thelma may have someone who loves her enough to make the battle worth it.
Overall Rating (Out of 5 Butterflies): 5
