Review: The Witch


A famly uv northen English pilgrims 're banished frum their settlemunt sumwhur in that New England an go un make a new ome ont th'edge of sum woods far away frum anyone else, like. Famly's brassic, like, and th'head of the houseold is unda pressure to feed his famly un that. But tha woods are haunted by a wicked witch, an she steals babes un eats um un thu’s a rum lass named Thomasin (Anya Taylor-Joy), who's ont cusp of wumunhud un er famly start ta fink she’s tha witch un that she's made a pact wit devil, like. Becuz she’s turned frum a compliant gurl into a sex object. Thomasin's bruvver pervs on hur, un er mutha (that Kate Dickie), a pig ignorant God-fearing womun, seems ta think hur daughter’s behind allt witchin un is a bit of a wrong’un. Everyone starts actin a bit puddled. What’s Finchy fromt Office s'posed tur make of it all?

Robert Eggers’ 'orror drama is offen a reet good filum, but Sundance hype does it nur favers. Fer a start, it’s as slow-burn as one a them ye olde stoves cookin't broff seen int cottige. It’s only eva reet scary, like, int thurd act. Fer the rest ut time, it’s all ominous warnins, magicul symbulism un the like, oh, un there's trubble wif farmin an growin crops, like. Young Cabel (Harvey Scrimshaw), the oldest lad, spends morst ut running time gettin an eyeful uf his sister’s cleavage, like, un him probably going tut cowshed for a tug. 

Dialog's all spokun in 17th century English dialog wiv northen axents, which is a bit of a grind cuz it’s like being back at school un avin to read or listen ta fookin Shakespeare un all that. Dialog is all ‘Get behind thee, Satan!’ un words like that. Full uf ‘Thys’ and ‘Thous’. End legunds, like, say it’s all bin transcribed frum old recuds un that. 

Anyway, this witch, she starts tormentin the famly, un there’s sum strange goings-on. Like that scene wheret mutha breast-feeds a crow. A fine macabre image is that. All the dead weird apnins gets the father (Ralph Ineson, Finchy fromt Office) bloody prayin tut Lord and when he's run out of prayers and that, he starts to lose his rag propa and tells everyone t' shurrup, un he gets fookin angry wir his brood and that. Then thu's Black Philip, the pet goat. Is he behind all't demon-rurlated stuff or jus, yer know, an innocent goat on a farm?

Eggers’s filum is punctuated wif sum reet spooky imagry. We get given the creepiest woods since that Blair Witch, unt witch flyin on hur broom intut night sky is a bloody gorgeous shot, like. Burits probly bes' ter temper ur expectations, becuz it’s not the bes' fing since sliced bred fromt local mill, like. But wut the filum gets right is an air of creepiness, sense uf isolation un thuz that subtext abowt Thomasin's journey inta wumunhud an realisin being a pilgrim is a bit rubbish and thut bein' a witch is well ace un that thur's more excitin life opportunities open to hur, than jus' bein a poor farmur's daughter. She dunt av to purrup wiv Bible-bashing hypocrisy any more, fer starters. 

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