The Witch is about a REALLY dumb family who moves away from a fairly crappy New England village full of fellow British immigrants to a dirty old field next to the scariest and wettest woods in the world. The reason? Something to do with God, I don’t know, I couldn’t understand a damn thing anyone was saying.
God is as big a part of this movie as wet wood and witches are. I learned that if you move to an isolated field in the 1600s, God becomes your neighbour, friend, enemy, boss, witch-repellent, TV, song inspiration, dinner conversation, you name it, God’s it. This family doesn’t go two seconds without thinking about God, which I guess makes sense if you 100% believe there’s a guy in the sky who can kill you at any second.
Ralph Ineson as “dad”
God certainly didn’t tell them that the dark, wet, cold place they decided to move would be a witch’s paradise, but they should’ve known since it’s not as if witches dig the beach. They get what they bargained for because an old witch steals one of the family’s babies then pulls all these tricks to make them go crazy. There’s also a pretty cool ram named Black Philip who steals every scene (and a few souls hehehe).
While I was watching The Witch I started fantasizing about travelling back in time and wowing the characters with modern knowledge and technology as I always do when watching period pieces. In this fantasy I ride up to their really shitty house on what you and I would deem a crummy mountain bike, only to them it’s the fuckin’ craziest thing they ever saw.
Once I make them shut up about the bike I ask them to explain why they’re so bummed. I get a bit scared of this witch shit but seeing how bonkers they went for the mountain bike, I tighten my scarf and fearlessly waltz into the woods armed with nothing more than the flash light I have in my backpack.
I spot the witch and BAM, flash light into her eyes .
“What kind of witchcraft is this,” she screams, “Dost though control the sun”?
“It’s a Coleman, 5.99 at Home Hardware,” I cockily exclaim.
She gives in to my “magic”, appoints me head witch and next thing you know I’m partying nude with a coven who can’t get enough of the duct tape I also brought along.
Two weeks in the woods and I’m like, “Aw shit I forgot about those British immigrants,” then I go back to the homestead where they’re like, “We have n’aint layeth eyes uponst the witch since the eleventeen star, wherest doth thee been?” I casually explain what’s up and that the witches will chill as long as the family doesn’t have any more babies because witches are attracted to fresh flesh like Harvey Levin is to a hot scoop. I’d leave them wondering who Harvey Levin is then bike back to the witches and party until my Time Gauntlet signals the end of the journey.
I give The Witch, More Goats Please Out Of 10 and would recommend it to anyone who is considering of moving off the grid.
GLENN W. MACAULAY 