Tension and The Witch
For this piece, From the Lighthouse teamed up with The Classic Film Society to see how the theme of TENSION can be presented across different creative outlets. The Classic Film Society has weekly showings followed by an open discussion about the themes and techniques in the film. You can check their Facebook and Instagram for more info and go onto the SU website to get membership: https://www.facebook.com/durhamclassicfilms
Originating in ancient folktales, The Witch (2016) remains one of the most inspired adaptations of the written word to cinematic language. Crucially we only see glimpses of the titular demon – keeping alive the dreaded unknown that would have formed the basis of this traditional storytelling experience. What we are given instead is flashes of different impressions of what a witch looks like: an unseen spiritual entity, a seductive wanderer and an unremarkable seventeenth century Puritan, a technique that creates a chronic ambiguity, almost as if several different authors are imposing their different readings onto the same tale. Nevertheless, it finds a more permanent form as an ethereal aura lingering in the background, hauntingly present in the dark shadows of Craig Lathrop’s grimy, cold homesteads, Mark Korven’s classically eerie score and the uncomfortably moody look Robert Eggers gives the film. Tension is very much in the unknown, and there are few horror films more uniquely disjointed than this directorial debut.
But this is not to say everything is unseen. Some of its most memorable moments are those shown vividly to the audience, never gory but still all too real. These ritualistic, deeply unsettling moments give the tension a tangibility, without providing a release, suffocating the audience inside its authentic vein of pasty colours, mundane settings and disquieting backdrop shrieks. It does not seem an implausible interpretation that peasants may have acted out these tales themselves, so it also remains deeply rooted within that practice. An atmosphere of unnerving ambiguity, combined with cautiously provocative shock value makes for a sensational, exhilarating viewing experience. But it’s not told at all conventionally either – the pacing is unexpectedly rhythmic, upsetting our expectations of sequence. Clichés, as far as The Witch is concerned, are dead and buried, and with them, are any safe assumptions.
The performances as a whole are simply exemplary – even the babies are impressive (perhaps we need look no further for the next Daniel Day-Lewis) – incorporating a sense of authenticity with the use of old English dialect, but also an indeterminate fantastical quality as the characters turn from the humans we first encounter to monstrous shades of themselves. Anya Taylor-Joy - wide-eyed yet not without a strikingly sinister streak beneath this veneer – is the standout in a reserved yet unexpectedly unsettling lead performance, offering a personal take on the age-old role of the ‘innocent’ victim. It’s this combination of authentically real, humane eccentricities with an underlying sense of a creeping malevolent that characterises this horror masterpiece. Its ambiguity, removing any sense of structural certainty for an indefinite but ubiquitous lingering unknown, is combined with something more relatable and realistic. The purest tension comes where these two features, already distinctively troubling alone, come together and remove all our assurance, trapping us alongside its characters inside a realm of increasingly shocking events.