The Joy of Bad Witchy Film

I am a film nut. I’m obsessed, really. Which isn’t to say that I am a fan of every type of film—far from it. I find romantic comedies and any film with Will Ferrell in it intolerable. But one subject that I’ve been fascinated by for years is what I call “witchy” film. By “witchy,” I don’t mean solely films with Witches in them, although many of the ones I put in this category feature Witches. No, what I mean is films that for some reason may be of interest to Witches, Pagans, and/or magicians. Films with some magic and preferably a heavy dose of the occult.

So if you’re ever in the mood for a witchy movie fest, I have some suggestions of cinematic monsterpieces for you to try. But first, two very important caveats:

1. The films on this list will not necessarily portray Witches, Pagans, and/or magicians in a good light. In fact, it’s usually the opposite.
2. The films on this list are not necessarily “quality,” or even “good.” Many of them are downright bad. But bad in a good, MST3K-worthy kind of way.

I’m assuming everyone has seen The Craft and Practical Magic, so I’m skipping those. I’ve tried to pick some films that are not well-known in addition to some more familiar titles. So get yourself some popcorn and dig in!

General Witchiness

There’s a formula to most Witch films. They tend to go like this:

1. Witch is burnt at the stake/hanged/killed by an angry mob.
2. As the Witch is dying, she curses the people who killed her and their descendants to the end of time.
3. Time passes, and most people forget about the Witch.
4. Someone, either intentionally or unintentionally, does something really stupid that brings the Witch back to life.
5. The Witch wreaks havoc on descendants of her killers, often by possessing the body of one or more nubile young women.
6. The Witch leads some ritual that is meant to be sensationalistic, but is usually rather boring and overly dependent on scantily clad acolytes performing abominable interpretive dance.
7. Hero discovers how to kill Witch.
8. Hero kills Witch and sets things to rights.
9. Witch is not quite dead…

One of the best of the hundreds (yes, hundreds) of films that follow this formula is the Mario Bava film Black Sunday, starring Barbara Steele. Black Sunday, filmed in black and white and released in 1960, is evocative and eerie. The Witch is dispatched horribly—the villagers pound a mask full of spikes onto her face with a hammer—and when a passerby finds her grave, he releases her through a series of blunders. The plot is pretty standard, but I highly recommend this one for its visual beauty, genuine creepiness, and lack of interpretive dance.

Cry of the Banshee, released in 1970, is another formula film, with a few differences. It is notable in that Oona, the leader of the coven of Witches, is a “nature Witch.” This is very uncommon in films before the 1960s, and not terribly common afterward. Most American formula Witch films tend to see Witches through the lens of Puritanism and Salem, and therefore the Witches are almost always Satanic, aligned with some other demonic force, and/or generally badass. British films, however, sometimes break free of the Salem/Witch trial mode, and they often portray Witches in a more compelling, if not positive way. Cry of the Banshee is ultimately a formula film, but the portrayal of Oona is a bit more compassionate, possibly due to the Flower Child movement of the era. The film stars Vincent Price, so if you’re a Vincent fan like me, it’s worth a look.

Another British Witch film is The Witches, released in 1966 and starring Joan Fontaine as a schoolteacher who moves to a small town after suffering a breakdown in Africa and runs afoul of the local coven. Other than the fact that the acting in The Witches is far better than in most Witch films, the notable thing about it is the coven’s fetishism. With the Civil Rights Movement and other issues bringing African spirituality more into the mainstream, fetishism began to pop up in horror films in the 1960s and 1970s. The Witches’ mix of African-style themes and the requisite interpretive dance/ecstatic ritual is intriguing, and it sets the film apart from the rank-and-file of formula Witch films.

Two Witchy Classics

Before we had the Will Ferrell/Nicole Kidman Bewitched (too awful even for my lowbrow sensibilities), there were a couple of classic witchy films—Bell, Book and Candle and I Married a Witch—both of which influenced the Bewitched television show. If you haven’t had a chance to see these yet, Bell, Book and Candle (1958) is—in my opinion anyway—the better of the two. The story is about a Witch, Gillian, played by Kim Novak, who falls in love with and bewitches a mortal, Shep, played by Jimmy Stewart. The two leads are great, but there’s also a delightful parade of oddball secondary characters, including Gillian’s bongo-playing beatnik brother (Jack Lemmon), her dotty aunt (played by the great Elsa Lanchester, the erstwhile Bride of Frankenstein), and Bianca de Passe (the hilarious Hermione Gingold), the Witch Shep turns to for help in removing Gillian’s spell. The last ten minutes of Bell are regrettable, since Gillian’s magic disappears when she realizes she’s in love. I’m not sure I’d give up my magic, even for Jimmy Stewart, but this is still one of my favorites. I wish there were a Zodiac Club in my city.

I Married a Witch (1942) follows the formula plot: a Witch (Veronica Lake) returns from the grave to take revenge on the descendant of the man (Frederic March) who burned her. Determined to make him miserable by causing him to fall in love with her, she doses him with a love potion, and, predictably, things don’t go as she planned. Shenanigans ensue.

Historical and Hysterical Witches

One truly fascinating film about Witches is Haxan, made in Scandinavia and released in 1922. Haxan is a pseudo-historical account of the European Witch trials. The film is broken into segments, and it shows the alleged activities of the Witches (the Witches’ Sabbath, kissing the Devil’s ass) and the horrors of the subsequent trials. Unlike most Witch films, Haxan is sympathetic to the Witches, and the final segment is an almost documentary-like psychological analysis of the Witch-craze phenomenon. The film is silent and black-and-white, and some of the scenes, particularly the one of the Witches flying against the night sky, are absolutely beautiful. The director himself plays the Devil, waggling his tongue like Gene Simmons. A word to the wise: This film is definitely worth seeing, both from a cinematic point of view and a Witchy one, but it is long, and, in parts, quite dull. You may wish to watch it in bits and pieces. It has been released by Criterion, and the disk contains a couple of different versions. Skip the version with the ‘60s soundtrack and keep to the original.

Speaking of “the original,” did you know that the 1939 Wizard of Oz with Judy Garland wasn’t the first version? In fact, there were four previous versions, all of which were silent, black-and-white. Three were made in 1914, and one in 1925. You can find these Wizards all on one disc, and also as extras on a DVD edition of the 1939 version. If it’s possible, these early films are even weirder than the Judy Garland one. Somebody obviously spent some serious time in the poppy field.

And, speaking of poppies, check out the 1970 film version of the television show H.R Pufnstuf. In the definitive book about the show, Pufnstuf and Other Stuff, the program’s creators, Sid and Marty Krofft, swear that they weren’t doing drugs when they cooked up the plots, sets, and characters, but the evidence suggests otherwise. Living Island, where Pufnstuf takes place, is a psychedelic trip even Timothy Leary would have been proud to take. In the film, the “villain,” Witchiepoo—Pufnstuf’s nemesis and the whole reason to watch the show in the first place—holds a Witches’ convention at her castle. The convention climaxes in a groovy—there’s no other word for it really—song and dance featuring a bevy of tatty, brightly-dressed Witches led by none other than Mama Cass. Yes, that’s Cass Elliot. The film is a little slower than the show and it bogs down in places, but it’s well worth watching for this scene alone, since it may be the only justifiable instance of cinematic witchy interpretive dance ever.

And speaking of the classics (Pufnstuf is a classic to me anyway), you may wish to check out one of the many film versions of Shakespeare’s Macbeth. If you’re not opposed to watching a Roman Polanski film, the Witches in the 1971 Roman Polanski version are genuinely scary, and the cauldron scene is well-rendered. The Michael Fassbender version isn’t bad, either. If you like your Shakespeare a little more traditional (with violence offstage), try the Royal Shakespeare Company’s 1979 version, starring Judi Dench and Ian McKellen. They made Judi wear a terrible hat, but she’s awesome anyway.

Sexy Witches

There are plenty of sexy Witch films. None of them are what I’d call feminist, let alone positive portrayals of women. But if you can set all that aside for a couple of hours, they can be campy fun.

In Lucinda’s Spell, a low-budget gem released in 1998, Lucinda, a prostitute and Witch, competes against other Witches in a contest. The prize? The winner “gets” to bear the child of the last descendant of Merlin, thus tapping into Merlin’s bloodline. Lucinda has more important reasons to win, however, not the least of which is to gain the respect of her fellow Witches who scorn her as a working girl. The story centers around Lucinda gathering the ingredients for her special spell and discovering the power and the importance of the sacred whore. The film is set in pre-Katrina New Orleans, and is full of quirky characters, humor, bad acting, and a heavy dose of magic. It’s funny, it’s sweet, and it’s loaded with sex. People tend to either love or hate this one. Definitely not for the kiddies or the easily-offended-by-things-that-aren’t-feminist.

Shamanism and Magical Realism

Witches and Pagans often feel that they live between two worlds: the mundane and spiritual. Powwow Highway (1989) is a shamanistic Native American buddy movie that explores that theme. Buddy and Philbert, the two main characters, both live on the same reservation in Montana, but they’re opposites. Buddy tries to live in the “white man’s world” of politics and business deals, while Philbert, who is considered “slow,” prefers attending ceremony and telling the tales of his ancestors. When Buddy and Philbert take off in Philbert’s “pony” (the most beat-up car ever) to rescue Buddy’s sister, their two viewpoints clash, and Buddy learns something about integrating the spiritual into daily life. Philbert’s visions along the path are stunning, moving, and beautiful. The story is very bittersweet (its depiction of reservation life is depressing as hell), and the ending is absolutely ridiculous—yet it isn’t, when taken in the context of the mythical landscape Philbert has created around him. By the end of the film, the men’s trip becomes a hero’s journey, complete with mythic themes and spiritual epiphanies. I highly recommend this one.

“Magical realism,” made familiar to non-Spanish-speaking audiences by author Gabriel Garcia Marquez and others, also deals with living between two worlds, or rather with how the spiritual integrates itself into everyday life. One quirky little film that contains a Witch, shamans, and a healthy dose of magical realism is Rough Magic, starring Bridget Fonda, Russell Crowe, and Jim Broadbent and released in 1995. During a mystical road trip to Mexico, and with the help of a shamaness, a magician’s assistant (Fonda) discovers her power as a Witch. The film is part hard-boiled detective movie (Crowe is hired by Fonda’s fiancé to find her), part romantic comedy, and part self-discovery story, with magical themes woven throughout. As with all magical realism stories, odd and symbolic things—a man becomes a sausage; Fonda’s real heart becomes a playing-card heart—crop up all over the place and are accepted as if they happen every day. This is a sweet little story, but it’s not without its flaws.

My favorite magical realism movie is Like Water for Chocolate, made in Mexico and released in 1992. The story centers around a girl, the youngest of three, who is not allowed to marry and is forced instead to stay home and care for her mother. The story is told in the framework of the family’s recipes, and as the girl cooks, her emotions manifest themselves in the food. When she thinks of her lover as she cooks, the game hens she prepares sexually arouse everyone who eats them. When she cries into the batter of her sister’s wedding cake, everyone who eats the cake becomes violently ill. This film is beautifully and luminously shot. If you speak Spanish, or if you’re okay with reading subtitles, leave the Spanish-language track on as you watch. The cadence of the speech adds a lyric quality to the film even if you don’t understand what they’re saying.

Ceremonial Magic, Kind Of

There is lots of ceremonial magic in the cinema, but as anyone who has ever read even the spine of a Crowley book will tell you, almost none of it is accurate. The two films I’m going to recommend are no exception, but they have other virtues. Well, maybe “virtues” is a strong word.

The first is the incredibly campy The Devil Rides Out, released in 1968 and starring Christopher Lee. In the film, Lee uses “ceremonial magic” in a rather ingenious way: to stop devil worshippers. Since in most films it’s the devil worshippers who are doing the so-called ceremonial magic, this is a refreshing twist. The film is stodgy and the special effects are cheesy, but it’s entertaining nevertheless.

The second is the also-incredibly-campy The Prophecy, released in 1995 and starring Christopher Walken, Eric Stoltz, and Viggo Mortensen. Walken plays the angel Gabriel, who has come to earth to find the soul of an evil general in order to end the war between angels in heaven. The film features Enochian symbols on a cave wall, a heavy dose of (semi-accurate) angel lore (and we’re not talking Precious Moments here), and a few visual gags, like Gabriel allowing children to blow his trumpet. It also contains a blessing way—a Native American healing ceremony wherein a shaman draws healing pictures on the floor of a kiva in colored sand and has the patient lie in them as others chant and drum. Walken is at his scenery-chewing best, and pre-Aragorn Mortensen, as Lucifer, is over the top. This film is a little gory in spots, but it’s also hilarious. Skip the sequels; they suck.

Voodoo

Voodoo is usually treated as badly as witchcraft in films, but there are a few good Voodoo films out there. By far the best is Divine Horsemen by Maya Deren. Deren was an experimental filmmaker who went to Haiti to film Haitian dance. When she got there, she discovered that she couldn’t separate the dance from the Voodoo, and she plunged so deeply into the study of both that she received a Voodoo initiation and became a practitioner. She never edited the film she took, claiming that she couldn’t properly capture what she had seen, so she wouldn’t try to do it at all. After her death, her husband edited the tapes, and some of the material is now available (as of 1985) as Divine Horsemen. Deren wrote a book by the same name (with an introduction by Joseph Campbell), which is considered a classic in the field.

Long before her Voodoo adventures, however, Deren was a prominent avante-garde filmmaker, and her work has had a tremendous influence on subsequent directors. Check out Meshes in the Afternoon (1943), which is perhaps her most famous film. Deren was trying to make a statement about reality, among other things, and the film’s surreal visuals and “storyline” are much like a journey to the otherworld or the subconscious. Wonderful and trippy stuff.

Another Voodoo film to check out is Eve’s Bayou, released in 1997 and starring Samuel Jackson as a philandering country doctor. When Cicely, the doctor’s older daughter, tells her sister Eve a terrible secret about their father, Eve goes to the local Voodoo woman to get revenge, setting events in motion that she is powerless to stop. The performances in Eve’s Bayou are strong and compelling, and the story will linger with you long after the film is ended. This is not your typical Voodoo movie.

Asian Cinema

My passion for witchy films is almost equaled by my passion for bad Hong Kong or Japanese movies, so imagine my delight when I can find both in the same package. The Japanese and Chinese cultures are loaded with spiritual and occult themes, and so are their films. As a matter of fact, there’s a whole book about it called Spooky Encounters: A Gwailo’s Guide to Hong Kong Horror, by Daniel O’Brien. It’s impossible to list them all, so here are a few of my favorites. Remember that caveat about “good” movies as you watch these.

I’ve always maintained that Godzilla films are Shinto morality tales. Shinto is essentially the Pagan religion of Japan. It is nature-based, and full of all sorts of spirits and demons. One of the most Shinto-y of the Godzilla films, and one of the better ones to boot, is Godzilla, Mothra, and King Ghidorah (2001). In the film, three nature-loving monsters gang up on Godzilla, who symbolizes all of humanity’s pollution and decadence. There is Shinto symbolism—and shrines—everywhere; it’s a rubber-monster smackdown for Mother Nature.

I have a “Get Out of Marriage Free” card to use if Chow Yun Fat ever shows up on my doorstep, so I’ll watch almost anything he’s done—despite the fact that he made some truly awful movies in the ‘80s. One of these is Witch from Nepal (1985), in which Chow hooks up with a strange Witch girl who is battling an evil sorcerer. The plot has enormous holes in it and the magical aspects are downright weird, but the cheesy effects are hilarious, and Chow, as always, is absolutely yummy.

Speaking of hilarious, the Mr. Vampire films (1985) are must-sees if you’re into Hong Kong films or Asian occult. They are loaded with not only with vampires, but with ghosts, Witches, demon plants, magic, and over-the-top martial arts. In the first one, a sifu and his student (who looks and acts like a Chinese Jerry Lewis) battle vampires and ghosts with magic and prodigious amounts of sticky rice. The subtitles on these and Witch from Nepal are terrible, so there are parts where you’ll have to extrapolate what’s going on from the action, but this doesn’t diminish the fun of these flicks at all.

Last But Not Least

If you’ve been Pagan for more than five minutes you’ve probably seen The Wicker Man (1973). If you haven’t seen this corny-yet-chilling gem, or if you haven’t seen it for a while, give it a try. Loaded with lore from The Golden Bough and some of the worst hair and folk music this side of anywhere, it’s probably the most Pagan-y film out there. If you do decide to check it out, be sure to get the original 102-minute version. When the film came to the States, Roger Corman did a hack job on it, reducing it to 88 minutes of unintelligible rubbish. Do not get the 2006 Nicolas Cage/Neil LaBute abomination—it’s so brutally, hatefully anti-Pagan and misogynistic that it makes Showgirls look like a feminist film studies dissertation. But if you need a good reason to watch (or re-watch) the 1973 classic, here’s my favorite: Christopher Lee in a dress. ‘Nuff said.