The Witch (2015): A Brilliant Conjuring

The Witch [subtitled “A New England Folk Tale”] is a remarkably haunting story about a devout, yet godforsaken family struggling to get by in the crude wilderness that was New England four hundred years ago, having been banished from their fledgling puritan community over religious differences – specifically, the father’s ultra-fundamentalist, more-puritan-than-thou indictment of the town’s leadership. It is the first feature length movie from rising writer-director Robert Eggers. It’s a first-film that made considerable waves upon its release for its intense focus, it’s striking tone and feel, and for the indelible performances by its core ensemble, including newcomer Anya Taylor-Joy [The Queen’s Gambit (2020)] in her break-out role as the teenaged protagonist, Thomasin.

I wanted to see The Witch after reading a profile of Eggers by Sam Knight in The New Yorker (April 4, 2022 issue) that really piqued my interest.  It seems the guy is a rather obsessive seeker of the truth, translating in his case to historical accuracy and careful attention to detail. In The Witch, this meant that the family’s clapboard farmhouse had to be constructed as it would have been done in the early 17th century, with froes (ancient L-shaped iron and wood tools used to split shingles) and drawknives, rather than with circular saws or other power tools. Furniture and household items were selected based on household inventories of Puritans from that time. Dialogue was written to match that of the region and era, only after Eggers studied contemporary diaries, notably those of John Winthrop (the first Massachusetts Bay Colony governor). This obsessive attention to detail certainly worked for me: the speeches in the movie sound, to my untutored ear, charmingly archaic; the interiors look primitive yet utilitarian and quite unlike modern farm homes. The overall effect feels tangibly real, enhancing the believability of the historic world Eggars has created, one quite different from our own.

Eggers approach to the emotional and psychological setting of his film is similar. All three of his features are set in the past – this one in 1630. His second movie, The Lighthouse (2019) takes place in a remote New England lighthouse circa 1890. His upcoming picture, The Northman (to be released April 22) is about Vikings in the early 10th century. He refuses to bring a modern sensibility to this material; the perspective is neither arch, nor ironic nor judgmental; rather, the stories are told by cinematically immersing us in the look, feel and sounds of those times and places. In The Witch , which takes place in a world largely untouched by science, folks get by on faith and tradition; what is unknown is presumed unknowable, so myth and magic are simply facts of life.  Belief in the occult or magic is not portrayed as weird or funny or abnormal Such things are “as natural as the weather, and people coexist with those elements as a matter of existence,” as master director Alfonso Cuaron says in Knight’s article. “There is no question about the existence of witches. There's no ulterior explanation . . .  it's just witches.”

And yes, there is a witch in the narrative, as the title announces, but The Witch is not a story primarily about witches.  While some have characterized it as a horror film, I wouldn’t call it that – it’s not in the same camp as most of the films with which that term has been associated over the last few decades. I’m not a fan of the modern horror genre, and generally try to avoid slasher, gore, paranormal possession, occult and similar pictures (although I have a soft spot for zombie-comedy fusion movies). The Witch  doesn’t aim to scare you out of your pants. In fact, it’s quite artful, aiming not to so much for cheap thrills as to open us up a bit to our deep hereditary fears, the very different way our forebears experienced reality. This is more disquieting than outright scary.  As in Macbeth, the witch is a plot mechanism that forces the characters to confront some of their most basic beliefs: big stuff, like good versus evil, darkness versus light, the nature of sin and the wages thereof, the efficacy (or lack thereof) of prayer, and their relationship with their god (or lack thereof); as well as more personal stuff, like the elasticity of moral rules and gender roles, the authority of the family patriarch, and such-like. 

I’d be lying though, if I didn’t acknowledge that this movie does contain some disturbing, creepy stuff: 
shape shifting, satanic seduction, foul deeds, and (always disconcerting) a little blood. There’s also weird animal stuff like a malevolent talking goat and a placid yet foreboding hare.   Although quite brief, such scenes are both vivid and important - shaping the overall mood of evil menace hanging over our isolated frontier family. One of Eggers’ hallmarks seems to be his ability to bring us into worlds where anything is possible, an atmosphere where the lines between the chimerical and the real, between rumor and fact are blurry indeed, and this is part of that. 

Before writing and directing The Witch , his first feature film, Eggers’ background was in production design, and it shows in just about every scene.  Each shot is framed just so; everything looks and feels authentic. His director of photography, Jarin Blascheke is a sympathetic partner in the authenticity game. Indeed, he is the DP on The Lighthouse and The Northman, Eggers’ two subsequent productions, too. Interiors are shot with available light, and are hauntingly dim, in a muted sepia. Scenes in the woods that surround the homestead are oppressively claustrophobic, with brambles, fallen branches and similar impediments everywhere. Most takes are long, filmed with a stationary camera. Nothing is rushed. There are relatively few cuts or editing tricks, although at crucial moments we do get a lot of close-ups – all of which adds to the oppressive feel, indoors and out. 

The soundtrack, by Mark Korven, is spare; in fact, long stretches of the film have no music accompaniment whatsoever; but Korvan’s flourishes are attuned perfectly to the events they accompany – adding to the uneasy, increasingly spooky tone.

I’ve mentioned that the acting is terrific.  Weary-eyed Ralph Ineson [Dagmer Cleftjaw in Game of Thrones (2012), the Green Knight in The Green Knight (2021)] is William, the ultra-certain head of the family, the man who essentially invited banishment because of his unflinchingly strict religious views. His absolute belief in his own righteousness, complemented by his calm, surprisingly deep voice, dominates the family but is increasingly undercut as things begin to head downhill.  His wife, Katherine, a riveting Kate Dickey [the queen in The Green Knight], is the first to question her husband’s certainties, after their infant child, Sam, disappears early on. As the story builds, her emotional unravelling is simultaneously disconcerting and a great performance to behold. Young Harvey Scrimshaw plays Thomasin’s younger teen brother, Caleb, an adolescent increasingly aware of and subject to the incipient sin of sexual desire. Caleb chafes at his junior status, and wants desperately to be in on the action, then perhaps wishes he wasn’t. And there are the twins, Mercy and Jonas, two perpetually obnoxious nine-year-olds who are about as creepy as anything in the movie. 

Taylor-Joy’s Thomasin is the center of the film, however – a girl who can’t do anything right in the eyes of her mother yet is perhaps the most sensible person in the group. She’s blond, pretty, wide-eyed (naturally), demure in the expected 17th century manner, but willing to defend herself when under attack. And she is the one with whom viewers will most identify. Thankfully, as anyone who has seen her more recent work – such as Split (2016), Peaky Blinders (2019 - ) or The Queen’s Gambit (2020) – will attest, she is very watchable.  The Witch was released a full five years before Queen’s Gambit, and it’s interesting to see how accomplished Taylor-Joy already was in her first major role. 

She also has a leading role in The Northman, Eggars’ first big budget picture - the movie which prompted the New Yorker piece that spurred my interest in The Witch. The new film cost something like $90 million - more than 20 times what it cost to make The Witch - and is loaded with other big-name talent, like Alexander Sarsgaard, Nicole Kidman, Ethan Hawke, Claes Bang, Willem Dafoe, and Bjork.  I haven’t seen the new movie, but I’m looking forward to it, based on breathless comments from critics - like this from David Ehrlich: “The Northman is satisfying because the director's signature handicraft allows The Northman to dismantle its modern context and retell a Viking legend with such raw immediacy that its fjords of blood seem freshly spilled for the first time in 1000 years. . . .  Just as The Witch is so unsettling because it renders sin with a Puritan sense of mortal danger, and The Lighthouse so febrile because it embodies the isolation of 19th century life on the fringes of sanity, The Northmen is so grab-you-by-the throat intense because it renders a Viking prince’s quest for vengeance as though fate were a force as real as the weather.” 

The Witch is a stunning and satisfying first film, well worth your time. The debut of a true auteur, with great performances all around and a style that allows you to feel as if you are a part of its world.  It is deliciously dark in the best sense of that idea. Because of its creepy moments, it may not be for everyone, but it is one hell of a drama.  This film has earned a high Metacritic score of 83 and a Rotten Tomatoes critics’ score of 90, which seems about right to me. A 90 is an A-, right?

92 minutes             Rated: R

Grade: A-

Streaming free with subscriptions to Showtime, Kanopy, DirectTV or Spectrum; For rent via AppleTV+, Amazon,  and most other streaming services