The Hidden Parallels Between Ari Aster’s ‘Hereditary’ and ‘Midsommar’

Ari Aster’s first two films couldn’t look more different on the surface.

One is a grief-soaked family tragedy that mutates into a demon-summoning nightmare in a shadowy Utah home. The other is a pastel-hued folk horror fairy tale set under the blinding summer sun of rural Sweden.

But for all their differences, Hereditary and Midsommar are strangely twinned. 

Even Aster has acknowledged the pairing, although he was a little withholding. In an interview with Fandango, he said “I would say that [Midsommar] is something of a companion to Hereditary, although the similarities didn’t really occur to me until we were on set. And thematic ties became apparent to me.”

Aster’s comments aside, both films do take us on a slow, punishing march toward a ritual that strips away the protagonist’s former identity, leaving them crowned — quite literally — as the centerpiece of a new, sinister “family.”

Let’s talk about how Ari Aster built two films that are mirror images in structure, theme, and emotional impact.

(And if you haven’t seen either of these films, I recommend watching them before reading on. They’re both available for purchase or rent on Amazon, as well as on some streaming platforms.)

• Watch Hereditary on Amazon
• Watch Midsommar on Amazon

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1. A New ‘Family’ Is Waiting

Both Hereditary and Midsommar begin with the protagonist’s family unit already fractured — and soon, irreparably destroyed.

In Hereditary, Peter and Annie lose Charlie in a horrific accident, compounding years of resentment and mistrust. By the end, Peter is the last surviving member, hollowed out and ready to be inhabited by King Paimon.

In Midsommar, Dani’s story starts with the annihilation of her entire bloodline in the opening minutes. By the end, she’s traded Christian and the friends who came with her for the total embrace of the Hårga.

In both cases, the “replacement family” is there from the start, watching and waiting for their moment to claim the protagonist.

2. The Long Con of Ritual

Aster’s horror isn’t just about bad luck or spontaneous evil — it’s about carefully constructed systems of belief that catch people like insects in a web.

In Hereditary, Ellen’s coven has been working toward summoning Paimon into a male host for years, maybe decades. Annie’s family is just the final stage of their plan.

In Midsommar, the Hårga’s 90-year midsummer festival is a precise sequence of events, each one moving the outsiders closer to sacrifice. Dani’s May Queen victory feels celebratory, but it’s also a critical ritual step.

Both films leave you with the creeping suspicion that the protagonist’s “choices” were never really their own.

3. Death as Sacred Performance

In Aster’s worlds, death isn’t random. It’s orchestrated.

Charlie’s decapitation in Hereditary may seem like an accident, but it’s foreshadowed, arranged, and ultimately necessary for the coven’s success. The beheadings, the headless corpses, the crowned severed head of Charlie-as-Paimon — all are part of the same ritual language.

In Midsommar, death is public and ceremonial. From the ättestupa cliff-jump to the blood eagle to the burning temple, every killing has meaning for the community. Even Christian’s grotesque final fate inside the bear is treated as both punishment and holy offering.

4. The Erosion of Self

By the time Peter and Dani reach the final act, they are barely themselves anymore.

Peter’s body becomes a vessel for Paimon, his personality overwritten by the coven’s will. Dani’s smile in the last shot of Midsommar is equal parts catharsis and surrender. She is now wholly of the Hårga.

Both endings hinge on the loss of personal agency, presented as a kind of spiritual completion.

5. The Coronation

This is the most obvious shared image: Both films end with the protagonist being crowned.

In Hereditary, Peter is literally crowned as King Paimon in a ceremony that cements his role as the coven’s ruler — or prisoner. In Midsommar, Dani is crowned May Queen, her floral headdress so large it nearly consumes her entire body.

The coronations are celebrations in name only. In each case, the protagonist has been shaped, broken, and refashioned to fit the needs of the community.

6. Horror in Broad Daylight and Pitch Black

Even the visual styles mirror each other in reverse.

Hereditary is steeped in shadows, with horror often lurking in barely lit corners. Midsommar is drenched in constant sunlight, with the most grotesque acts performed in plain view.

The tonal palettes are inverted, but the emotional architecture — grief, manipulation, ritual, surrender — is identical.

7. Head Trauma as Ritual Violence

Aster’s fixation on the head — both symbolically and physically — ties Hereditary and Midsommar together in a particularly grisly way.

In Hereditary, the film’s most shocking moment is Charlie’s decapitation, an abrupt, almost absurd accident that becomes the fulcrum of the entire plot. 

Beheadings recur throughout: Annie’s own self-decapitation in the attic, the headless corpses in the treehouse, and the crowned, severed head of Charlie-as-Paimon. The head is treated as both the seat of identity and a trophy to be claimed.

In Midsommar, head trauma is no less deliberate. The ättestupa ceremony climaxes with the survivors’ skulls being crushed by a ceremonial mallet — an act that’s not just mercy but tradition. The Hårga treat the destruction of the head as an essential step in completing the ritual cycle.

Across both films, head trauma isn’t just violence — it’s the point. It’s a ceremonial punctuation mark, a way to erase the self and make room for the will of the community or the entity they serve.

Hereditary vs. Midsommar: Surprisingly Similar

It’s tempting to see Hereditary and Midsommar as opposites: one nocturnal and claustrophobic, the other sunlit and sprawling. But together, they feel like two halves of the same story.

Aster’s horror thrives on inevitability. His characters are trapped in systems — whether demonic or pagan — that remake them in service to something larger and colder than themselves. And in both cases, the final step is the same: a crown, a smile (or a blank stare), and a sense that the old self has been burned away.In Aster’s world, horror isn’t just what happens to you. It’s what you become when you have nowhere left to go.

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