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The old, familiar adage defining insanity as doing the same thing over and over and expecting a different result feels at home in writer/director Mark Jenkin’s abstract folk horror feature Enys Men. Mundane, repetitive tasks eventually give way to an unhinged voyage without easy answers. While Jenkin embraces a cryptic narrative, the strong form of visual storytelling draws you into this patient, enigmatic reality bender.

In the spring of 1973, The Volunteer (Mary Woodvine) spends each day on an uninhabited island of the British coast adhering to a specific routine. She treks from her vine-covered home to observe a mound of rare flowers growing on the cliffside, takes the soil temperature, stops by an abandoned mineshaft to drop stones, then heads home to record her unchanged findings in a journal. However, as the April days approach May, The Volunteer’s monotony gets upended by strange visions that increase with haunting regularity.  

There’s an almost disarming rhythm to the Volunteer’s daily schedule. The cyclical routine, complete with the lengthy pauses to dwell on the Volunteer as she soaks in nature between and during tasks, instills a soothing sense of peace. Jenkins captures the period with 16mm film, ‘70s style camera zooms and tricks, tactile sound design, and unwavering patience. Enys Men appears almost like a long-lost nature video framed around a wildlife volunteer for a long stretch. Almost. Jenkins finds elusive ways to disperse clues that something is deeply amiss.

Faint mayday cries over the radio coincide with sudden appearances of The Girl (Flo Crowe), who frequently appears in or above the Volunteer’s home and occasionally speaks with familiarity. While the Volunteer seems unphased by the Girl, she is rattled by lichen developing on her flowers and a stone totem on the hill that summons forth hallucinations of the island’s tragic past.

Perhaps it’s Jenkin’s obscuring of time that unsettles the most while upending the easy search for answers. Appearances by Bal Maidens, May Day children, miners, and more suggest that the island’s past is filled with grief. The question Jenkin dangles out of reach is whether these visions are supernatural or a product of isolation-fueled madness in a woman profoundly attuned to the island. While Enys Men increasingly ramps the nightmarish imagery through rapid cuts or eerie montages, don’t expect any tidy conclusions. Jenkin lays out all the clues in an oblique enough way to insist viewers parse the answers themselves.

Enys Men is beguiling in its sensory explorations and striking form, but it’s a film that feels surprisingly empty. Much like the Volunteer struggles to piece together the choppy, static-filled messages from the radio, Enys Men struggles to convey its meaning beyond nebulous emotions of grief, tragedy, and isolation. Instead, it operates on vibe and atmosphere. Woodvine brings a soulful quality to her protagonist without a proper name while keeping viewers at a distance. The aloof persona works in tandem with the abstract nature of Enys Men. Jenkin’s latest makes for experiential folk horror that once again captures the warring past with the present, conveyed through lush imagery and style. Its unique approach is commendable, though its preference for symbolism over conventional storytelling and methodical pacing will polarize.

Enys Men releases in theaters on March 31, 2023.