Review: The Witch

Directed by Robert Eggers

Written by Robert Eggers

Starring Anya Taylor-Joy (Thomasin), Ralph Ineson (William), Kate Dickie (Katherine), Harvey Scrimshaw (Caleb), Ellie Grainger (Mercy), and Lucas Dawson (Jonas)

Cinematography by Jarin Blaschke

Edited by Louise Ford

Music by Mark Korven

 

Robert Eggers' new movie begins with a dark joke. The patriarch of the family that the film focuses on is banished from a 17th century New England community for being too Puritan for the Puritans. Set a few decades before the Salem Witch Trials, this is the first hint that The Witch has more on its mind than just scares, and will explore the religious thought, social attitudes, and mental state of the groups that were fleeing England for the New World. The rest of the family follows William's lead and sets out on a rickety wagon through shadowy woods, eventually stopping at a forest clearing. There William boastfully proclaims that they "will conquer this land". Of course, William's plans soon go awry when newborn Samuel disappears while Thomasin is playing peek-a-boo with him on the edge of the woods. From there, crops fail, accidents happen, and innocent situations are blown out of proportion due to the climate of fear and paranoia created by strict religious practice. 

 

While The Witch is (and works well as) a horror film, although one without many jump scares or much gore. Eggers could have been coy about whether or not the titular monster was real or just a hallucination brought on by the settlers' collective hysteria. However, in the early goings after Samuel vanishes, we are treated to a gruesome scene that all but confirms that yes, the creature is real and is a threat to our characters. This, and other supernatural elements, is utilized to lock viewers into the mindset and daily life of the displaced pilgrims. The horror conceit gives Eggers a free hand to use atonal music, screeching choirs, and jagged, sudden cuts and editing to goose the viewer into feeling jumpy and full of dread. These techniques, along with the actors total commitment to behaving, dressing, and speaking as if they were from the 1600's, create a climate of fear that seems like an accurate depiction of the time. Using the same methods without the paranormal components might have appeared off and caused the audience to question whether or not the various freak-outs reflected historical fact.

 

Among the cast, the standout of this "New England folk tale" is young newcomer Anya Taylor-Joy. Thomasin is on the cusp puberty, a fact which is made clear to us by the various men in her life leering at her, and Taylor-Joy plays her with just the perfect mix of diffidence towards her parents and the first hints of open defiance and questioning of her family's mores. Thomasin receives the brunt of the misogyny and sexism within the film (which help explains her ultimate choice). Her father keeps quiet when she gets blamed for a missing silver cup, her mother berates her for "showing off" her developing body, and she is the first to be accused when the spooky stuff starts going down. The other actors are equally good. Ralph Ineson and Kate Dickie as the patriarch and matriarch respectively look appropriately haggard and give a tragic edge to the way William and Katherine have internalized the severely repressive gender and familial roles of the time. Harvey Scrimshaw has a wee bit of trouble with the Old English dialogue, but is believable otherwise. His panicked confusion over the harsh, arcane rules of Puritan Christianity is universally relatable, and he's especially mesmerizing during a exorcism/possession scene.

 

There are multiple, intra-family battles bubbling under the surface The Witch, and it works well as an intense drama à la The Shining. The witch is simply the extra ingredient that causes the whole pot to boil over. Jarin Blaschke's muted, careful cinematography adequately captures the isolation and desperation of the situation. The choice of a 1.66:1 frame helps create a claustrophobic feel, makes the surrounding forest appear to ominously loom over everything, and recalls the European arthouse cinema (Bergman, Dreyer) that Eggers has cited as an influence. The use of natural and candle/torch light limits the visibility to just what the people onscreen can see, adds an extra layer of intensity to the lighting, and gives the exterior shots a muted color that reflects the physical and psychological harshness afflicting everyone. It would be easy for The Witch to treat its Protestant subjects as cartoon crazies. Luckily this is not the case, and they are presented as complex, contradictory people trapped by the dominant, contemporaneous ideas around them. However, the movie is harshly critical of their religious chauvinism. As mentioned before, William acts as if his belief in God is going to turn the ground fertile, and puts his partner and offspring in danger just to satiate his sense of purity. The actual witch could stand in for any of the fears that moralistic pilgrims would be facing in North America, be it nature, sexuality, or sin.

 

Eggers' debut is a convincing recreation of the mood that would lead to the infamous witch trials. It's also a demonstration that successful world-building does not necessarily mean convoluted mythology and reams of backstory, but simply a dedication to craft and authenticity.