Her Will Be Done is Feverish, Ugly and Hard to Shake

Poised to be one of the year’s definitive feel-bad arthouse shockers, Her Will Be Done (2025) finds Julia Kowalski expanding the unnerving atmosphere of her acclaimed 2023 short, I Saw the Face of the Devil. Reuniting with Maria Wróbel, she deepens her exploration of bodily possession and the quiet threat of violence festering beneath the surface of rural life.

The film follows Nawojka, a young woman tending her family farm while quietly nurturing dreams of studying veterinary medicine. But her plans begin to unravel with the return of Sandra (Roxane Mesquida), a long-absent neighbour settling her late parents’ estate. Sandra’s arrival stirs more than unease, triggering a reawakening of dormant forces once bound to Nawojka’s mother — and soon, a dark, otherworldly presence begins to manifest, with the local animals bearing the first signs of its return.

A pervasive sense of mystery and vagueness runs through the film, which deliberately withholds clear answers, especially regarding Nawojka’s mother. A brief flashback early on shows her engulfed in flames as others, including her daughter, look on, but no explanation is offered. Sandra’s past, her connection to the village, and the trauma of a previous romantic relationship suggest something darker, yet remain largely unspoken. Even in the present, key events are left open to interpretation. Kowalski favours suggestion over exposition — often a more unsettling and effective approach.

I spoke with a few friends who had also seen the film before the Queer Palm list was announced, and they all said the same thing: “There’s no way they’ll include this.” I disagreed. It’s true that there are only one or two moments that suggest a romantic connection between Nawojka and Sandra — most notably a charged scene where they nearly kiss. But the film engages deeply with other queer themes: especially the experience of being “the other” in a small town, where patriarchal norms dominate and the threat of violence — from both toxic men and the women who enable them — underlies every interaction.

Nawojka’s familial experience is shaped by a character design grounded in intersectional queer and feminist frameworks. In the absence of her mother, she is relegated to the role of “woman of the house” — a designation that, in this retrogressive context, mostly reduces her to a domestic labourer and caretaker. Her brothers belittle and bully her, refusing to acknowledge her as an equal, while her father, though somewhat more sympathetic, remains unsupportive about her aspirations to leave and pursue veterinary school. The men in her family maintain a possessive grip on her future — one they show little intention of loosening.

With a score steeped in alt-rock-inspired guitar riffs, and cinematography that proudly channels 1970s horror — complete with dramatic slow zooms — Her Will Be Done crafts an unsettling visual and sonic aesthetic that complements its themes of body possession, witchcraft and rural horror. Kowalski has a clever knack for evoking memories of other films while maintaining a fresh, confident voice of its own. Sometimes the homage is explicit — such as in the film’s most intense and unforgettable sequence: a booze-fueled deer hunt after a wedding that spirals violently out of control, channelling the infamous kangaroo scene in Wake in Fright (Ted Kotcheff, 1971). Elsewhere, the film echoes Carrie (Brian De Palma, 1976), both in its visual language and underlying themes. And sometimes it’s more about atmosphere: the rustic, autumnal, supernatural-grunge vibe (and numerous animal deaths) calls to mind the trashy but underrated Pet Sematary Two (Mary Lambert, 1992). Each of these films leaves behind a residue of dread — something feverish, ugly and hard to shake. Her Will Be Done lingers in the psyche in much the same way.