There are few fears more primal than the uncertainty of new parenthood.

The sleepless nights, the anxiety, the overwhelming sense of responsibility and the quiet terror that something might be wrong. Horror has long recognised the emotional potency of this vulnerability, from Rosemary’s Baby and The Babadook to more recent explorations of maternal dread. Nightborn enters this lineage with an intriguing premise and an evocative Finnish setting, but despite moments of genuine unease, it struggles to nurture its strongest ideas into something truly memorable.

Set deep within the forests of Finland, the film follows Saga (Seidi Haarla) and her husband Jon (Rupert Grint) as they return to Saga’s childhood home in the hope of beginning a new chapter. Following the birth of their son, however, Saga becomes convinced that something is deeply wrong with the child. Her growing paranoia places increasing strain on her marriage, leaving Jon caught between concern for his wife and disbelief in her increasingly desperate claims.

The film’s greatest strength lies in its atmosphere.

The Finnish wilderness provides an appropriately isolated backdrop, with dense forests and remote homesteads creating an ever-present sense of unease. Nature itself seems to watch the characters, quietly reinforcing the feeling that they have wandered into a place governed by older, darker traditions. The cinematography frequently favours silence over spectacle, allowing tension to accumulate rather than relying on conventional jump scares.

Seidi Haarla delivers a committed performance as Saga, convincingly balancing maternal instinct with psychological uncertainty. The audience is never entirely sure whether her fears stem from post-partum trauma or something genuinely supernatural, and Haarla handles this ambiguity with impressive restraint.

Rupert Grint, meanwhile, provides a grounded counterbalance. His Jon is less a sceptic than a man desperately trying to support his wife while struggling to understand what is happening around him. It’s a quietly sympathetic performance, even if the screenplay doesn’t always give him enough depth beyond that role.

Unfortunately, Nightborn never fully commits to the questions it raises.

The film repeatedly hints at fascinating ideas surrounding motherhood, inherited trauma, folklore and the fear of passing unseen burdens from one generation to the next. Yet rather than exploring these themes with confidence, it often retreats into familiar horror conventions. The psychological tension that proves so compelling in the opening act gradually gives way to narrative choices that feel more predictable than revelatory.

This uncertainty extends to the film’s identity.

At various points it wants to be folk horror, domestic drama, psychological thriller and supernatural mystery. Each approach contains promise, but they never quite coalesce into a satisfying whole. Rather than enriching one another, the competing tones dilute the impact of the central story.

There are moments where Nightborn genuinely unsettles. Its strongest sequences exploit the universal anxieties surrounding new parenthood with sensitivity and restraint, reminding us that horror needn’t always rely on monsters when fear already exists within the everyday experience of raising a child.

Ironically, those grounded moments prove more effective than the film’s supernatural ambitions.

As the mystery unfolds, many of the early ambiguities are exchanged for explanations that feel less compelling than the questions themselves. The result is a conclusion that lacks the emotional punch the opening acts seemed to promise.

That isn’t to say Nightborn is without merit. Its atmosphere remains consistently impressive, Haarla anchors the film with a compelling lead performance, and the Finnish landscape lends the production a distinctive visual identity rarely seen in contemporary horror. But strong atmosphere alone cannot compensate for a narrative that struggles to decide exactly what kind of horror story it wishes to tell.

The Prognosis:

Nightborn contains the ingredients for an unsettling exploration of maternal fear, grief and inherited darkness, yet never quite brings them together into a cohesive whole. While its performances and atmospheric setting provide plenty to admire, the film ultimately feels caught between psychological subtlety and supernatural convention, never fully embracing either.

Like the forests that surround its characters, Nightborn is rich with mystery and promise. It simply loses its way before reaching its destination.

• Saul Muerte

Nigthborn is streaming on Shudder from Jul 31.