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What danger lurks in the mist? It’s an age-old question explored by horror lovers, whose answer comes forth fearfully and sensually in No Rest for the Wicked. Set in the Faroe Islands, this 19th-century tale directed by Kasper Kalle tells the story of Baldur (Egor Venned), a fatherless young man who makes his living as a fisherman for himself and his mother, Alsa (Sofia Nolsøe Mikkelsen). Their paradigms shift when Helge (Pilou Asbæk) blows into town. Mother Alsa takes a liking to Helge and the listless whaler takes a liking to her son. No Rest For The Wicked is based on Karl Heinrich Ulrichs’ short story Manor — a work which director Kalle calls a “cornerstone” in queer history, acknowledging still that few people know the story exists.
Even without the supernatural element, this dynamic was already a recipe for disaster. Comparisons have already been drawn to Portrait of a Lady on Fire. If you like Céline Sciamma’s film and similar torrid gay romances, like horror auteur Luca Guadagnino’s first big splash, Call Me By Your Name, you’ll love No Rest for the Wicked.
The delicious melodrama unfolds against a backdrop that is perplexing. The Faroe Islands are so open. The sky is always visible, unmarred by densely packed residences, buildings of industry, or even trees. This detail is crucial. When Baldur asks Helge to describe experiencing a tree, Helge tells Baldur that the bark feels like the beard of a man. Swoon. But No Rest for the Wicked manages to still be an ecosexual fever dream, showcasing crashing waves, bubbling streams, and the wild flora that springs up across crags.
Somehow, despite all of this openness, there is always an uneasiness lurking beneath the surface in No Rest for the Wicked. The conspiratorial glances shared between Alsa and Baldur, Helge and Baldur, and Alsa and Helge make you sick with anxiety as to how this will all play out. It’s undeniable that Alsa sees Helge as a potential father figure, but of course, he has other plans. He’s a devilish kind of fellow — seducing Baldur and us viewers with his quick wit, sharp grin, and sensuous way of being.
But there’s something sweet about the way Helge pulls Baldur out of his tightly wound tendencies and, through tales of his travels, paints the world so much bigger than Baldur could have imagined. No matter. Kalle builds up our hopes just to prick it with a pin. The weight of patriarchal norms, the vice grip of religious obligation, and the pesky fear of the unknown prevent Baldur from joining Helge in his imminent swashbuckling adventure. Adding insult to injury, a terrible tempest wipes out a litany of seafaring folk — chief among them Helge.
Baldur grapples with grief, but, at a dangerous cost, still gets the gratification of being with Helge. As a viewer, you feel conflicted by the concern his mother, Alsa, feels. On one hand, you feel like it’s thinly veiled jealousy, if not plain homophobia. At the same time, if your eternal soul was on the line because you’re in league with a vampire — never mind a gay one — you’d hope that your mother was persistent in keeping you away from them.
From Carmilla, to Daughters of Darkness, to The Hunger, to The Lost Boys, to Anne Rice’s sprawling Interview with the Vampire universe, vampires and queerness have famously gone hand in hand. And yet my feathers were a little ruffled by the witch hunt against Helge and Baldur, of which Alsa was a part. If you’re anything like me — as in, someone whose cross to bear includes queer religious trauma — you have to reassess your knee-jerk reactions about how queerness and vampirism are conflated when watching No Rest for the Wicked. Kalle’s world is that immersive, and I know that discomfort is intentional.
In a statement ahead of No Rest for the Wicked‘s Fantasia premiere, Kalle recounted how, in the small town where he grew up, “Being gay was about the worst thing you could be.” He added, “There were very narrow expectations for how a boy was supposed to behave. It was before the Internet, and I didn’t know any other gay people. There were no role models, no one to talk to, no one to see myself in. In many ways it felt like living on an isolated island, far from the rest of the world, and I struggled to be accepted by the people around me.” You feel that crushing despair watching No Rest for the Wicked, as if you’re there experiencing the ostracization and villainization firsthand. I blame the tight, steady shots of Alsa, a vision of disappointment, or of fellow community members convicted in their God-given disdain.
With the year being 2026, we have to address the sleep paralysis demon in the room. You hear “gay,” you hear “evil,” you hear “forbidden romance,” and you hear “religion,” and you might be wondering if this is anything like Adrian Chiarella’s movie. Unlike Leviticus, these tortured gays don’t fight against the dark magic: They embrace it. And unlike Leviticus, they don’t submit to the will of the homophobic straight people around them. They get their lick back.
Summary
If you love atmospheric gothic horror à la Guillermo del Toro or Robert Eggers, you’ll love this moody, sexy vampire flick that’s ripe with longing.
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