… A fun, jumpscare-laden slasher trilogy that feels endearingly of its time (especially those haircuts!)
There is something truly special about the early 2000s slasher horror. It inevitably features a group of city-dwelling teens heading out to the sticks for a weekend full of booze and lost virginities. It’s a genre that feels specifically American – all low slung jeans, quirky hair knots and tanks tops. However, it’s fair to say that Norway can proudly stake their claim in the genre. (Albeit in a far more sensibly dressed way. After all, we are in the mountains.)
The Cold Prey Trilogy (released in 2006, 2008 and 2010) offers an origin story, a sequel and a prequel, all centring around unsuspecting tourists being picked off by a pick-axe. The snow dense Norwegian mountainside provides a resplendent backdrop that should be all cosy fires and iconic knitwear. Instead, the seemingly endless snowfall imbues an increasing sense of hopelessness and desperation.
The first film, directed by Roar Uthaug (Troll) sees five friends embark on a skiing trip, only to have a serious bone break waylay their plans. Taking shelter in what appears to be an abandoned guest house, they soon realise that they are not alone. It stars Ingrid Bolsø Berdal (La Palma, Detective Hole) as Jannicke, perhaps the most formidable Norwegian “final girl” we’ve ever seen on screen. She is resourceful, practical, kind, calming and rarely lets others see her fear. She is as fast on her feet as she is at assembling a rifle.
The second film, directed by Mats Stenberg sees Jannicke wake up in hospital, with the guilt of knowing that she is the sole survivor of her friendship group. But it would appear that the mysterious “Mountain Man” isn’t quite done with our hardy heroine.
The last of the trilogy is directed by Mikkel Brænne Sandemose, taking us back to the 1980s. Another group of teenagers decide to visit the haunted hill-side hotel, only to realise that lack of room service is the least of their worries.
The colour palette of these films is completely blanched – greys, blues, browns and beiges all look much more washed out than their already muted selves. Even the fire that Jannicke and her friends manage to stoke up in the first film looks a limp and uninviting yellow. This isn’t the postcard perfect version of Norway that we are used to. The score and the sound design work in harmony to truly put paid to any ideas of a gentle holiday in the snow. String swell, percussion rumbles and brass warns. Footsteps clunk down corridors, wind chimes echo creepily, heavy breathing permeates the silence. It’s familiar but well executed.
These films make for a fun, jumpscare-laden slasher trilogy that feels endearingly of its time (especially those haircuts!). Instead of offering us Hollywood cliches about helpless cheerleaders and jocks, we get competent ski-ers who find themselves in dire straits. It’s a trilogy that’s also not afraid to place its tongue firmly in its cheek. Over the end credits of the first film, a song called “All My Friends Are Dead” plays. A jumpscare in a kitchen is revealed to be nothing more than the vermillion sludge of a dropped tin of tomatoes. It’s very aware of the genre that it’s operating in and delivers all the thrills and spills you would expect.
The trilogy as a whole thrives on a steady escalation of tension, trading in long stretches of quiet dread punctuated by sudden, brutal violence. What’s striking is how confidently each film handles pacing: scenes linger just a beat longer than expected, letting the viewer stew in unease before the next shock lands. Ultimately, Cold Prey feels like it both respects and is willing to have fun with its audience.
As for the villain of the piece, we rarely see his face. He is fur-clad and slow moving with a hulking frame. His balaclava is ripped in such a manner that his head looks skeletal and menacing. He is the perfect shadow in the basement; the sound of metal against flesh.
The trilogy’s commitment to physical, analogue scares is refreshing. It’s all creaking floorboards, distant silhouettes and the crunch of boots in snow. The “Mountain Man” himself is a masterclass in restraint: a presence felt long before he’s seen and feared long after he’s gone.
The prequel adds unexpected emotional texture, reframing him not just as a monster but as a product of isolation, trauma and environment.
It’s not sympathy the film seeks, but understanding; an unusual move for a slasher.
The Cold Prey Trilogy is available on limited edition Blu-Ray, courtesy of Second Sight Films. The new collector’s set includes brand new artwork and special features including interviews, commentaries and a 120-page book of essays.