Rupert Grint
Jon
Overview
In Finnish forest, Saga and her husband Jon embark on a new chapter as parents. But Saga's joy is overshadowed by a chilling suspicion about their newborn, unbeknownst to Jon, causing a rift as she alone grapples with the disturbing truth.
Cast
12 people
Reviews
5 min read AI-generated editorial review
The Baby in the Woods Isn’t Crying—It’s Growing Teeth
I kept thinking about the way Seidi Haarla’s hands tremble in Nightborn. Not the full-body shakes of terror, but the small, almost imperceptible quivers of a woman trying to hold herself together while the world around her unravels. It’s the kind of detail that lodges itself in your memory long after the credits roll—the way her fingers twitch when she cradles her newborn, or how she presses her palms flat against the kitchen counter as if bracing for impact. This isn’t just a performance; it’s a physical manifestation of the quiet, creeping dread that defines Hanna Bergholm’s second feature. And in a genre often defined by jump scares and gore, Nightborn is something far more unsettling: a horror film about the things we’re not allowed to say out loud about motherhood.
The premise is simple, almost deceptively so. Saga (Haarla) and Jon (Rupert Grint) move to a remote Finnish cabin to start a family, trading the chaos of city life for the eerie stillness of the forest. But the baby they bring home isn’t quite… right. At first, it’s small things—a cry that sounds more like a growl, a gaze that lingers too long, a body that seems to shift when no one’s looking. Then the changes become impossible to ignore. The film’s horror isn’t in the reveal of the monstrous child (though there is one, and it’s grotesque in the best way), but in the slow erosion of Saga’s sanity as she realizes no one believes her. Jon dismisses her concerns as postpartum anxiety. The midwife smiles indulgently. Even the audience is left wondering: Is she imagining this? That ambiguity is the film’s sharpest weapon. Bergholm doesn’t just want to scare you; she wants you to question what you’d do in Saga’s position. Would you trust your own eyes? Or would you, too, start to doubt yourself?
There’s a moment early in the film that stuck with me. Saga is breastfeeding, her face bathed in the soft, golden light of a bedside lamp. The baby latches on, and for a second, it looks like any other tender scene of new parenthood. Then the camera lingers. The baby’s fingers—too long, too bony—curl around Saga’s breast. The sound design drops out, leaving only the wet, rhythmic suckling, the kind of noise that should be comforting but here feels like a warning. Bergholm shoots the scene in a single, unbroken take, forcing the audience to sit with the discomfort. It’s a masterclass in tension, the kind that doesn’t rely on cheap thrills but on the slow, creeping realization that something is off. And it’s not just the baby. The forest itself feels alive, a character in its own right. The trees loom like sentinels, their branches clawing at the sky. The wind carries whispers that might be the rustling of leaves—or might be something else entirely.
I kept thinking about the way Seidi Haarla’s hands tremble in Nightborn. Not the full-body shakes of terror, but the small, almost imperceptible quivers of a woman trying to hold herself together while the world around her unravels. It’s the kind of detail that lodges itself in your memory long after the credits roll—the way her fingers twitch when she cradles her newborn, or how she presses her palms flat against the kitchen counter as if bracing for impact. This isn’t just a performance; it’s a physical manifestation of the quiet, creeping dread that defines Hanna Bergholm’s second feature. And in a genre often defined by jump scares and gore, Nightborn is something far more unsettling: a horror film about the things we’re not allowed to say out loud about motherhood.
The premise is simple, almost deceptively so. Saga (Haarla) and Jon (Rupert Grint) move to a remote Finnish cabin to start a family, trading the chaos of city life for the eerie stillness of the forest. But the baby they bring home isn’t quite… right. At first, it’s small things—a cry that sounds more like a growl, a gaze that lingers too long, a body that seems to shift when no one’s looking. Then the changes become impossible to ignore. The film’s horror isn’t in the reveal of the monstrous child (though there is one, and it’s grotesque in the best way), but in the slow erosion of Saga’s sanity as she realizes no one believes her. Jon dismisses her concerns as postpartum anxiety. The midwife smiles indulgently. Even the audience is left wondering: Is she imagining this? That ambiguity is the film’s sharpest weapon. Bergholm doesn’t just want to scare you; she wants you to question what you’d do in Saga’s position. Would you trust your own eyes? Or would you, too, start to doubt yourself?
There’s a moment early in the film that stuck with me. Saga is breastfeeding, her face bathed in the soft, golden light of a bedside lamp. The baby latches on, and for a second, it looks like any other tender scene of new parenthood. Then the camera lingers. The baby’s fingers—too long, too bony—curl around Saga’s breast. The sound design drops out, leaving only the wet, rhythmic suckling, the kind of noise that should be comforting but here feels like a warning. Bergholm shoots the scene in a single, unbroken take, forcing the audience to sit with the discomfort. It’s a masterclass in tension, the kind that doesn’t rely on cheap thrills but on the slow, creeping realization that something is off. And it’s not just the baby. The forest itself feels alive, a character in its own right. The trees loom like sentinels, their branches clawing at the sky. The wind carries whispers that might be the rustling of leaves—or might be something else entirely.
Full Plot (Spoilers)
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Buzz & Rumors
Public reports AI-researched entertainment notes
Hanna Bergholm’s "Nightborn" Stirs Controversy and Meta Horror at Berlinale
Hanna Bergholm’s sophomore feature, Nightborn, arrived at the 2026 Berlin International Film Festival with more than just scares—it brought a storm of political debate. The Finnish director, known for her 2022 body-horror hit Hatching, made her English-language debut with this unsettling tale of parenthood gone wrong, and the film’s premiere left festivalgoers buzzing—not just about its chilling narrative, but about Bergholm’s unfiltered remarks on violence and injustice 
. While the director’s comments surprised journalists, they also set the tone for a movie that refuses to shy away from provocative themes.
A Horror Film That Hits Close to Home
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=6kZIds3PI_k
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=QCYdpK5b5-4
Nightborn follows Saga (Seidi Haarla) and Jon (Rupert Grint), a couple navigating the terrors of new parenthood in the Finnish wilderness. But this isn’t your typical parenting drama. The film blends fantasy horror with grotesque body horror, centering on a baby that’s far from ordinary 
. Bergholm’s vision challenges the saccharine myth of motherhood, portraying it as something raw, isolating, and at times, monstrous. The movie’s trailer and exclusive clips hint at a creature feature with deep psychological layers, where the real horror might be the expectations placed on parents [7][10].
The cast and crew have been vocal about the film’s eerie resonance. Grint, Haarla, and Bergholm sat down for interviews to discuss how Nightborn turns the joys of raising a child into something far more sinister. Grint, in particular, revealed that the experience became "very meta" after he and his partner welcomed their first child during production, blurring the lines between fiction and reality . Haarla, meanwhile, has spoken about the film’s unflinching portrayal of maternal anxiety, a theme that feels all too real for many parents .
A Director Unafraid of Backlash
Bergholm’s outspoken nature at Berlinale wasn’t just a one-off. The director has a history of weaving social commentary into her horror, and Nightborn appears to be no exception. While details of her exact remarks remain scarce, the buzz suggests she framed the film as a critique of systemic violence and societal pressures [1]. This aligns with her previous work, Hatching, which tackled themes of adolescence and bodily autonomy.
The film’s reception has been mixed but passionate. Early reviews describe it as a "gory Finnish parenting horror," praising its bold visuals and unsettling premise while noting its divisive tone . On SensCritique, it holds a modest 5.7/10 rating, with some viewers calling it a daring but uneven entry in the horror genre . Rotten Tomatoes has yet to aggregate a score, but the conversation around Nightborn is already heating up .
**What’s Next for Nightborn?**
With its festival run behind it, Nightborn is poised to make waves in wider release. The film’s international co-production—spanning Finland, France, the UK, and Lithuania—suggests a push for global appeal, though its niche horror roots may limit mainstream crossover . For fans of Bergholm’s work, the movie promises more of her signature blend of grotesque imagery and emotional depth. For others, it might be a hard sell—parenthood horror isn’t exactly a crowded genre, and Nightborn seems determined to push boundaries.
One thing’s certain: Bergholm isn’t backing down from controversy. Whether audiences embrace Nightborn or recoil from it, the film is already cementing her reputation as a director who thrives on discomfort.
Entertainment rumors and trivia aggregated from public reporting. Treat speculation as unverified unless a cited source confirms it.
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