A shapeshifting witch raised in isolation in 19th century Macedonia experiences the outside world for the first time in You Won’t Be Alone, playing at the Karlovy Vary International Film Festival after premiering earlier this year at Sundance. This elegant, mystical debut from writer-director Goran Stolevski will put off viewers expecting a traditional narrative or genre thrills, but the childlike innocence with which it approaches its story—The Enigma of Kaspar Hauser as told by Terrence Malick—is unexpectedly touching.
You Won’t Be Alone opens with Anamaria Marinca as Maria, an old witch (or ‘Wolf-Eateress’) called upon to save the life of newborn girl Nevena; she does so, but makes a deal with mother Elica (Irena Ristic) that she will give up the girl when she reaches the age of 16, and robs her of her voice in the process. Elica raises Nevena in complete isolation in an attempt to hide her from the witch—a plan that proves ineffective as Maria returns on the girl’s 16th birthday, kills the mother, and transforms Nevena into a witch destined to take her place.
As Nevena (Sara Klimoska) is taken under the wing of Maria, her life of isolation shifts from one prison to another. The witch’s tutelage involves lessons not in magic, but in the brutal realities of the human world—how to kill, how to survive. But Nevena shapeshifts her way out of the old witch’s grasp in a series of transformations (first into a young mother played by Noomi Rapace) that form You Won’t Be Alone’s episodic structure. With each new body, Nevena experiences a different facet of human existence: womanhood, male camaraderie, even the primal instincts of animals.
These experiences are filtered through Nevena’s internal monologue—simple, fragmented reflections that reveal wonder and alienation. The world, to her, is a ceaseless stream of sensation: the feel of grass underfoot, the sting of violence, the warmth of human connection. Despite the genre trappings, the film’s arthouse influence is at its most effective in these moments, turning the period horror into something quiet and beautiful.
But while the film’s central conceit is rich, the storytelling remains meandering. Stolevski prioritizes mood and texture over narrative momentum, resulting in long stretches where little seems to happen beyond Nevena’s quiet observation of life. The recurring voiceovers risk becoming monotonous, repeating variations of the same wide-eyed musings. You Won’t Be Alone lacks the underlying tension that made Jonathan Glazer’s similarly-themed Under the Skin so hypnotic.
Visually, however, You Won’t Be Alone is often stunning. Cinematographer Matthew Chuang captures the harsh beauty of the Macedonian landscape with a painterly eye, contrasting sun-drenched fields with the grime of peasant life. The production design feels lived-in, much like Robert Eggers‘ The Witch, steeped in earthy textures of mud and blood that feel utterly authentic to the period setting.
The performances, too, are uniformly strong, despite the fragmented structure. Rapace, though present for only a segment, imbues her role with a weary humanity. But it is Klimoska, as the original Nevena, who anchors the film. Her physicality—awkward, tentative, animalistic—communicates volumes in the absence of speech. Through her, the film’s central themes of emerges: to be human is to suffer, to yearn, to be endlessly reborn through experience.
For all its strengths, however, You Won’t Be Alone remains a challenging watch. Its meditative pacing and elliptical structure will alienate most viewers outside the festival or arthouse circuit. Even viewers attuned to slow cinema may find their patience tested by the film’s insistence on mood over movement. Still, it’s hard not to admire Stolevski’s ambition. You Won’t Be Alone is a film about the miracle of existence, told through the eyes of a being unencumbered by social norms.
Ultimately, You Won’t Be Alone is less a horror film than a dark fable, concerned with questions of identity, empathy, and the fleeting nature of life. It may test one’s patience, but for those willing to surrender to its rhythm, it offers a strangely beautiful meditation on what it means to be human.
