If not for Oscar heavy-hitter The Revenant, this would be the most atmospheric movie playing in theaters right now. The power of its cinematography and set design speak volumes. Set in the 1630s, The Witch introduces itself as "A New-England Folktale," It begins with a series of startling close-ups of children's faces (a device Eggers frequently uses to great effect) as a family elects to leave their colony and live off the land. They've settled in nicely when strange events start to happen. A baby goes missing, the young son falls ill, and the eldest daughter Thomasin (Anya Taylor-Joy), in part because of a prank she plays on her youngest siblings, becomes the primary suspect of witchcraft. Her father (Ralph Ineson) and mother (Kate Dickie) are unconvinced of her pleas of innocence as the finger-pointing threatens to tear the family apart, Crucible-style.
Eggers delights in toying with his audience's expectations, and he has made a horror film with the patient viewer in mind. The buildup is long and languidly paced. We marvel at the details of the setting and struggle a bit to get used to the Old English dialect. But once the terror inevitably escalates, it's impossible not to be completely absorbed. There's unquestionably something out-of-the-ordinary going on here, but to what ends? And what of the family goat, who the youngest kids call "Black Phillip" and claim he "speaks" to them? And how big a role does the paranoia of the times (the movie is set several decades before the Salem Witch Trials) play in all of this? The answers are there, but they're not spelled out in neon letters.
Linking sex and nudity with menace and death has been a theme in horror going all the way back to John Carpenter's groundbreaking Halloween, and The Witch is no exception. There's a fair amount of nudity in this film, some of it from supernatural apparitions (are they real or hallucinations?) and some of it from the main characters. The family's eldest son, Caleb (Harvey Scrimshaw), is clearly struggling with the growing sexual awareness of adolescence; he (and the camera) stares at his older sister's cleavage on numerous occasions. And then there's the final scene, the specifics of which I leave for you to discover.
A star is born in Anya Taylor-Joy. As Thomasin, the young actress is instantly sympathetic and represents the story's anchor. The transition to womanhood is always replete with challenges, but try experiencing it in these claustrophobic conditions, trapped with a family whose members constantly struggle with crises of faith and conscience. Also very good if occasionally over-the-top are Ralph Ineson and Kate Dickie, both of whom have roles in HBO's "Game of Thrones." Clearly they're right at home in period settings. As we learn throughout the film, none of these characters are completely innocent, but the strength of the acting across the board strengthens our belief in them, warts and all.
I can't stress enough that moviegoers choosing to see The Witch on the promise of an effective trailer and critical raves should understand the kind of movie they're walking into. The movie isn't "scary" in the traditional sense, but it's consistently unsettling and expertly plays the "slow-build" brand of horror. The level of thematic depth the movie offers is both uncommon and very welcome. The strange, haunting final scene will have some scratching their heads wondering what the point is. But the deeper one digs into The Witch, the more fascinating the movie's construction and themes turn out to be.
Rating: ***1/2 (out of ****)
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