Truly unsettling Puritan horror from debut writer-director Robert Eggers.
In my book, effective horror derives from atmosphere. It takes a talented filmmaker to build dread using dialogue and mise-en-scène rather than relying on jump-scares and gore. Which is why The Witch is exactly the sort of horror film I love.
The Witch opens with a family of Puritan settlers being expelled from their stockaded community in 17th Century New England. They make their way to a patch of land at the edge of a forest, and build themselves a new homestead there, shortly before the mother gives birth to a baby boy. It soon becomes clear that there’s a sinister presence lurking in the woods, and the family begins to unravel.
One of the things I like most about this film is how sparing it is with its titular crone. Half-seen glimpses and brief encounters with the witch are more frightening than a full reveal, letting your imagination fill in the blanks. In one scene we can just make her out by firelight, carrying out some sort of obscene ritual, but it isn’t made explicit. This for me is far eerier.
The parents, William and Katherine, are played by veteran British character actors Ralph Ineson and Kate Dickie (both from Game of Thrones), and their gradual descent into unhinged anguish is totally convincing. The terrific rising star Anya Taylor-Joy plays Thomasin, the eldest of the couple’s four children, and there’s also a fine performance from Harvey Scrimshaw as her younger brother Caleb, who has one particularly striking scene.
The film’s non-human characters are actually just as strong. A memorable part of The Witch, and a testament to Robert Eggers’ writing and direction, is how much of the horror revolves around a lowly farm animal. The family owns a huge black billy-goat (sensibly named Black Philip), and as the film goes on he becomes more and more ominous. That this much ambiguity and unease can be built up around a goat (and its co-stars, a baleful hare and raven) is impressive.
The dialogue is written in believable 17th Century dialect, bringing to mind Arthur Miller’s The Crucible and enveloping the viewer in the harsh world of colonial Puritanism. Eggers also effectively builds tension by using an uncanny chanting soundtrack that crescendos unnervingly at climactic moments.
The Witch is a well shot, immersive and disturbing horror film that stays satisfyingly coy with its reveals, and which thematically recalls traditional folk-tales that have a timeless and primal ability to unsettle. I look forward to whatever Robert Eggers does next.
Directed by: Robert Eggers, 2015
Grass and Vanilla 