When 2015’s The Witch (or VVitch if you prefer) was released, I wasn’t a fan of horror movies. I had at one point hated them, but with the blossoming of my film interest I realized that I need to watch scary movies. I had just started my journey into the genre, having seasoned myself on genre classics such as The Shining, Rosemary’s Baby and William Friedkin’s The Exorcist. Of these films, The Shining was the only one to have any effect on me. While initially one of confusion and unease, the effect soon shifted to one of awe at Stanley Kubrick’s mastery of directing. So, when a promo for The Witch popped up on my Twitter feed one evening, I saw it as an opportunity to experience a horror film in the cinema, something I had yet to do. Thirty minutes later, my friends and I found ourselves in an empty theater watching the logo for A24 materialize on the big screen.
It was phenomenal.
A directorial debut from Robert Eggers, The Witch follows a Puritan family after they’ve been willing exiled from the New England plantation they called home. The family, led by a classic patriarchal father, relocate to a secluded farm in the middle of the wood, where they’re soon tormented by what seems to be a witch while also trying to survive a weak harvest.
What sets The Witch apart from most horror movies being made today is the cinematography. The film is visceral, but not in the normal sense. It happens almost subconsciously, relying on movement and framing. When the family is safe on their new farm, the camera follows them perfectly. It’s in tune with their movements, never losing them outside the frame or wandering away from their position. The camera gives the us a sense of control and security. Everything is planned and that plan is followed. We know what to expect. That gives us a sense of safety while mimicking that austerity that the Puritan lifestyle embodied.
Then, fans are shown the wood, the wilderness beyond the family’s farm. It’s here that the cinematography shifts. The camera becomes its own master, crawling through the brush, independent of the family. A shot will often begin by tracking through the wood, showing us the creepy, boundless forest, and only after the camera has satisfied its gaze will a family member wander into frame. Here, out in the wood, the family is no longer in control. They’re instead at the mercy of the forest. Shots are close, tight on the family. They don’t feel like the subject of the frame, yet they’re at the center. It’s off-putting, uneasy.
Using the camera, Eggers creates an expectation of the farm as well as the wood. The farm is the normal world, the characters’ place of safety. The wood is the unknown, and as such it represents a threat to the family; the kids are never allowed to enter the wood. All this set up slowly pays off as the witch’s molestation creeps into the farm. The camera lingers on things, it moves without the characters, it rebels against expectation. Fans feel the danger worming into a realm of safety, the once safe farm is now as dangerous and unpredictable as the wood. The visceral camera draws you in, sets you up, and hits you with the payoff.
Spoiler Warning: character details will be revealed below. Go watch the movie.
The Witch is augmented even more by its tight story. Events before the film are purposefully kept ambiguous. We never find out what the father did to warrant their exile from the plantation; the only evidence is the father rebuking a jury of religious figures at the beginning of the film: “I cannot be judged by false Christians, for I have done nothing,” he says, “Save preach Christ’s true gospel.”
In a very Puritan (and vaguely Shakespearean) way, each individual family member’s sins are what causes their ruin. The father’s pride is what leads him to accept the exile and obliquely collide with the eponymous witch. His pride prohibits him from returning to the plantation, even in the face of potential starvation. He sells his wife’s chalice to buy traps to hunt, and lies about it. His conflicting emotions over his sins are realized through his excessive wood chopping, during which he even exclaims his prideful conceit. The wood he chops is the same wood that quite literally kills him at the end of the movie.
Caleb (Harvey Scrimshaw), the eldest boy in the family, lusts after his sister in many scenes. He lies to his mother to help cover for his father, saying they ventured into the wood to find apples for her. Caleb attempts to catch an animal for dinner, to convince his family that they can survive out in the wilderness without sending away his older sister, Thomasin (Anya Taylor-Joy). His plan goes awry. He instead finds the witch, this time young and beautiful. The witch becomes the personification of Caleb’s lust. She slowly and softly kisses him, before her ragged old hand grabs his head and pulls in him. When he reappears at the farm, possessed by some force, he vomits out an apple before dying.
The movie is, as it says at the beginning of the end credits, a folktale. Something meant to strike fear in the hearts of children, to keep them on the straight and narrow path. The Witch is a healthy blend of visceral directing, an important trait for a movie in a genre as subjective as horror, and a strong story filled with psychological implications.
When we left the theater after an initial viewing of the movie, I was completely shook. It didn’t leave me with that normal scared feeling. Instead, I felt uncomfortable. Almost as if I shouldn’t have seen what was just shown to me, like some awful dream I wanted to forget. Like some bedtime folktale, eating away at the back on my mind; not at all unlike a witch hidden deep in the forest. If you’re looking for a high-quality movie to watch this Halloween season, look no further than The Witch.
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