If you love your thrillers southern, psychological, and unforgiving, is an underrated ensemble piece that disturbs to the bone. Like and , the film gives an intimate look at the machinations of isolated religious rule without falling into the “hicksploitation” of thrillers like . But where this film exceeds expectations is in its unrelenting unease. Led by nuanced performances – bolstered by impressive accent work – Them That Follow tells the story of Mara (), the daughter of local Pentecostal, snake-handling pastor Lamuel (' ) toeing a line he’s very comfortable with: that between charismatic and sinister. by the community’s sole non-believer, Augie (). A child out of wedlock would be scandalous and life-ruining enough in this devout company, but with her role as the pastor’s daughter comes a duty to marry well. Soon, Mara is betrothed with little agency to Garret (), who is as boyishly charming as he is chauvinistic.

Examining the religious fervor of an isolated community, directors and utilize more than Chekov’s box of venomous snakes to mount tension. With handheld camera work and a setting deep in the woods of a mountain, the film feels like a whispered story from a confidante. The scope of the terrain makes the characters feel impossibly small. The nature of Appalachia feels as opposing and oppressing as this ensemble’s idea of God. The nature of sound and dialogue add to the paralyzing atmosphere. that almost clash with the loud and proud nature of his sermons. The women — including Mara, Augie’s mother Hope, portrayed with incredible accent work by , and her pitiful, somewhat orphaned friend, Dilly () — do everything but worship in a hushed town. And all of this is punctuated by crickets, cicadas, and other music of the natural world.

The snakes in Them That Follow are more than set dressing. There is a hushed acknowledgment that the police are looking for any reason to bring Lemuel in after a child died from a venomous snake bite, compounded by the reveal that this . Prayer and the natural world are the only tools of the Lord that Lemuel and his congregation acknowledge. The film doesn’t waste time revealing overwrought backstories to justify the existence of this devotion. But what is unspoken is the lack of alternatives outside the church. With well-worn workwear, cars that might feel anachronistic to those who grew up in the suburbs or a bustling city, and stores falling to pieces with "EBT accepted" and "no personal checks" signs, the poverty that plagues parts of this region of the U.S. is clear. There’s no sign of infrastructure or opportunity to be anything but what they are. It’s an understated accuracy for some parts of Appalachia and for the isolation inherent in .

The heart of Them That Follow's terror is ultimately in its treatment of women. Still, the story is far from gratuitous, exploitative depictions of misogyny. Early in the film, the women come together to work on a quilt. When it’s finished, Mara will decide whether to give it to Garret as an acceptance of his proposal. There is a softer kinship between the characters in the scene. The time the women spend together has Mara and Dilly smiling and there's none of the fire and brimstone talk of hell typical of Lemuel's sermons and even his personal chats with his daughter.

When Hope and Mara find themselves alone together, it’s clear Hope is not someone to confide in. She tells Mara that she lived a whole life before her husband, Zeke, brought her to the community. She echoes Lemuel’s sentiments that Mara should be careful because the devil will work to ruin this marriage for her if she lets him. She further emphasizes that women need a "shepherd," a man to guide them from their inherent wayward notions, a reference to the first sin of Eve: "When the devil creeps in, sinking you down, bringing you low, you need someone to see the truth. Even when you don't."

Hope's experiences outside the mountain-side religious commune don't make her more empathetic to Mara. Instead, she senses Mara is hiding something and is protective of the congregation, This is a jarring reminder of how prevalent Lemuel's teachings are, even when he's not around. It's further complicated by the reality that Hope is the grandmother to the pregnancy Mara is concealing.

Even Mara’s attempts to feel close to her mysteriously absent mother are rebuffed. She initially wears a dress of her mother's on the day of her official betrothal but is told to take it off by her father: “You ain't her. The Holy Ghost never saw you as a stranger. Go on, take that off.” It's one of a few ominous threads regarding Mara's mother. At the quilt ceremony, he says, "The lord, he tested [Mara] at a very early age. Taking her mama." It's unclear if her mother died in a way that Lemuel thinks is unbecoming of a Christian woman or if, like Dilly's mother, she left the congregation but with more grace than Dilly's single mother who was implied to have addiction issues as well. Lamuel later takes Dilly in, encouraging her to cook for himself and Garret, training her up to be a woman in their particular, subservient way.

Between Hope’s strict and devout maternity and the unknowns of Mara’s mother, there’s Dilly. Kaitlyn Dever is shy, meek, and tender-hearted. She lives in a trailer far worse for wear than the other homes in the holler and serves as a form of warning to other women. Be righteous in motherhood and or somehow righteous enough as a daughter to not be left behind in the wake of what seems to be the greatest sin – leaving the congregation. At times, Dilly functions almost as a little sister to Mara, though it’s unclear if she’s younger in age or simply stunted from the trauma of losing her mother and staying behind the bear the brunt of extremist Pentecostal judgment and shame. What is clear is that — like Hope and the other women of the quilting circle — she may as well be a spy on behalf of Lemuel. And so, on behalf of God.

Complicating the already oppressive expectations of gender and the pressure she faces to not become like her mother is the Blessed Virgin persona Garret puts on her. Without getting to know her beyond her father’s position and her behavior at worship, . “Sometimes I worry you might think too much of me, Garret,” Mara politely attempts to reject the lofty ideals he places upon her. But it falls on deaf ears. As Mara becomes more human to him, his response is anything but righteous.

Them That Follows trades the high spectacle of more ritualistic religious horror for the brutality of daily indoctrination. When snakes come out, when the pastor speaks in tongues, it’s meaningful. It acclimates the audience to Mara’s reality. The film offers no caricatures: Pastor Lamuel and those with any measure of power are genuine in their beliefs. Domestic violence, misogyny, a touch of religious psychosis, it all becomes communal. This brand of Appalachian folk horror doesn’t need cryptids or complicated lore to haunt its viewers. It sticks with you by virtue of the realistic portrayal of how communities dehumanize not just each other but themselves in pursuit of an imagined purity. What’s more, Them That Follow offers an ending with a subtle ambiguity. Mara gets her moment of agency and choice, but even then audiences – and Mara – are unsure if her future is one of freedom or if this is simply another way to be “chosen.”