The Possession -2012-2012 -

The film subverts gender expectations of possession. Emily’s possession is not sexualized (as in Regan MacNeil in The Exorcist ) but behavioral: she becomes aggressive, secretive, and hostile—stereotypical “adolescent” behaviors that the parents interpret as acting out due to the divorce. This misdiagnosis is the film’s tragedy. The school counselor and the stepmother assume psychological trauma; only the Hasidic exorcist, Tzadok (Tom Atkins in a career-defining role), recognizes the supernatural. Tzadok explains that the dybbuk “is not a demon; it’s a ghost with a grudge.” This line explicitly aligns the entity with emotional baggage: the dybbuk is a grudge that has forgotten its original cause but remembers its right to be angry.

The Dybbuk of Suburbia: Trauma, Divorce, and the Commodification of Folklore in Ole Bornedal’s The Possession (2012)

Cinematographically, Bornedal emphasizes closed spaces: the box’s interior, the glass case at the antique store, the pantry where Emily first convulses, and finally the sealed motel room where the exorcism occurs. This visual motif of containment mirrors the family’s refusal to openly discuss the divorce. The dybbuk is “trapped” until Emily opens it—just as the family’s anger is trapped until it erupts through her. The entity’s signature act (forcing Emily to eat raw meat, moths, and a glass shard) represents the internalization of poison; she literally consumes the family’s unresolved bitterness. The Possession -2012-2012

Nevertheless, this dynamic serves the divorce allegory. The gerush exorcism requires the entire family to be present and to confess their sins against one another. In a key scene, Tzadok forces Clyde to admit that he was unfaithful (the implied cause of the divorce) while the dybbuk speaks through Emily. The exorcism succeeds not through holy water or crucifixes but through the restoration of familial unity and truth-telling. The dybbuk is expelled only when the parents stop fighting and hold Emily together—a literal act of shared custody. The horror concludes when the family, broken but reunited, watches the box burn. The message is clear: the demon of divorce cannot be fought individually; it requires communal ritual and accountability.

Traditional Jewish folklore describes the dybbuk as a lost, tormented soul that attaches to a living person to achieve a goal (e.g., vengeance or completion). In The Possession , the dybbuk has no coherent backstory—its goal is simply to destroy the host’s family. Significantly, the entity first manifests violently when Clyde attempts to enforce a custody schedule (taking Emily for the weekend). The spirit’s attacks peak whenever the parents argue or when Emily is forced to choose between them. The film subverts gender expectations of possession

Upon release, The Possession received mixed to positive reviews (49% on Rotten Tomatoes, with a 57 Metacritic score). Critics praised Natascha Calis’s physical performance but faulted the film’s reliance on jump scares and a slow middle act. However, retrospective analyses (e.g., Bloody Disgusting’s 2022 re-evaluation) have noted the film’s prescient treatment of divorce-related childhood anxiety. In an era of elevated horror, The Possession is often dismissed as a minor work, yet its direct engagement with custody trauma—specifically the child as a “vessel” for parental anger—anticipates Ari Aster’s Hereditary (2018) by six years.

Ole Bornedal’s The Possession (2012) distinguishes itself from the glut of post- The Exorcist possession narratives by grounding its supernatural horror in the specific Jewish folklore of the dybbuk . This paper argues that the film functions as a layered allegory for familial disintegration in contemporary America. While marketed as a mainstream horror film, The Possession uses its demonic entity—a malicious, disembodied spirit trapped in a antique box—as a literal manifestation of unresolved trauma, specifically the anger and grief stemming from divorce. By examining the film’s use of cultural authenticity (via consultant Rabbi Yitzchak Wyne), its suburban setting, and the gender dynamics of possession, this analysis will demonstrate that the film’s true horror lies not in the paranormal but in the failure of communication and the paternal anxieties of shared custody. The school counselor and the stepmother assume psychological

A controversial aspect of The Possession is its use of Orthodox Jewish ritual as a source of horror and salvation. The film employs Rabbi Wyne as a consultant, lending authenticity to the exorcism scene (which includes the blowing of a shofar , recitation of Psalm 91, and the burning of a white candle). However, the film also participates in a problematic trope: the “ethnic expert” who must rescue the ignorant white Protestant family. Clyde, a non-practicing Christian, must submit to Hasidic authority—a narrative that reinforces the exoticism of Jewish mysticism for mainstream audiences.

Released in August 2012, The Possession arrived during a renaissance of critically engaged horror (e.g., The Conjuring , Sinister , Insidious ). However, unlike films that utilized Catholic demonology or vague pagan entities, The Possession centered on the Jewish dybbuk —a soul that cannot find rest and thus inhabits the living. Directed by Dane Ole Bornedal ( Nightwatch ) and produced by Sam Raimi, the film follows Clyde (Jeffrey Dean Morgan), a recently divorced father, whose young daughter Emily (Natasha Calis) buys a carved wooden box at a yard sale. Unbeknownst to the family, the box contains a dybbuk , which proceeds to possess Emily, leading to a desperate exorcism ( gerush ) performed by a Hasidic Jewish community.

The film’s greatest weakness is its resolution. After the exorcism, the family simply reunites; there is no exploration of the underlying marital issues. The dybbuk is destroyed, but the conditions that attracted it (dishonesty, anger, fractured communication) remain unaddressed. This optimistic ending conflicts with the film’s otherwise grim realism, suggesting that the supernatural threat was always a more comfortable enemy than marital therapy.

The central artifact—the dybbuk box (based on the real “Dibbuk Box” sold on eBay in 2003)—serves as a powerful material metaphor. In the film, Clyde and Stephanie have divided their household: Clyde keeps a new apartment; Stephanie retains the family home. The box is discovered at a yard sale, a liminal space of discarded possessions and broken transactions. Emily, the middle child caught in the custody crossfire, is drawn to the box because it promises secrecy and containment—qualities her life lacks.