Our emotional connections are seldom explored with such complexity as we see in Gabriel Bier Gislason's latest film, Attachment. The way in which Gislason considers the depths of love is as heartwarming as it is disturbing, with viewers subjected to an uncomfortable truth: that love and devotion are real horrors wielding unrelenting power.

In some respects, the full extent of what “attachment” means is brazen from the very beginning of the film, when we open on a woman begging someone to wake up. Within a matter of seconds, a sinister undertone permeates. Yet, the sudden transition from this ominous scene into a relatably awkward meet-cute between Maja and Leah, helps us quickly forget the sense of foreboding we just felt.

But Attachment doesn't allow us to forget for long. In quick succession, we not only discover Leah's tense relationship with her mum, Chana, but also that Chana is seemingly the cause of Leah's problems. An idea that's amplified further when Leah begins to suffer from seizures and trance-like states the more she ignores her mum's phone calls. Soon, we come to believe Chana is the sinister entity in Attachment, a belief continuously played upon by her deep connection to Jewish folklore and superstitions.

These folklores, especially the Dybbuk, are the lens through which the warped intricacies of love are told. Without them, Attachment would feel far too trite, too tired; by including lore many viewers won't know, a new dimension is added to the all-too-familiar trope of demonic possession. Nevertheless, while Attachment ultimately plays into the generic conventions of this popular motif, it does so in a way that gnaws at your nerves until the very end.