In Western European and American at least, cultural morality is drawn largely from Judaeo-Christian principles and beliefs. It may seem obvious, but in the 21st century the world has become much smaller, and knowledge quickly passed, and our literary and artistic endeavours now draw upon cultures from all over the globe. The Judaeo-Christian influence has become background noise, an afterthought.
Curiously, horror cinema still allows itself to get caught up in representations of evil, invoking familiar religious symbolism and thought. The Devil and demons are still things to be feared, tales of possession are familiar fodder for readers and cinema-goers alike. But somewhere along the way those tropes have lost their impact. Once upon a time, anything that was non-Christian held a deep fascination, particularly here in Europe where Christianity held its own. The European fascination with paganism and the occult seems to be engrained on the cultural psyche for before the arrival of the Romans and Emperor Constantine’s take on Christianity, this was a pagan space.
Historical background
An 18th Century depiction of a Wicker Man
The earliest literature provides a rich body of evidence on the fascination and excitement felt – the Roman historian Tacitus tells of the Roman’s encounters with the Britons and the mysterious Druids – detailing their rituals and the horrors of human sacrifice in the body of the giant wicker man – an image no doubt every horror film fan will be familiar with.
By the Middle Ages, Europe was in the throws of the witch-hunt craze, a frightening period of persecution resulting in huge numbers of innocent victims being burned, drowned and tortured to death – all in the name of throwing out the allies of Satan. But the old religions lived on, pushed from the surface, bringing their heads above water at the end of the 19th century through organisations like the Order of the Golden Dawn. The 19th century sees the rise of industry, the prominence of Darwin’s theory of evolution and a rejection of established history as decreed by the Church, the invention of photography and film; a series of events and developments that challenged our understanding of the world around us and the values that we held on to.
Subsequently wars would decimate the population and increase the uncertainty of the people. I’m over-simplifying but for some the loss of loved ones drove them ever closer to cold clinical science and a rejection of Christian morality (how can there be a God if this happens?), and for others it drove them ever deeper into mysticism and spirituality – witness the rise of spiritualism and the pagan revival.
Aleister Crowley dressed for the Golden Dawn, c. 1910
Aleister Crowley’s public image dominates impressions of the occult in the 20th century. His debauched rituals, hedonistic lifestyle and a number of scandals, made for great column inches in newspapers of the time. His self-marketing as ‘The Great Beast’ made him a simple go-to. His image was such that popular novelist Dennis Wheatley used him as inspiration. Meanwhile an increasing public appetite for information about these strange cults and ancient-but-modern-practices, popularised via James George Frazer’s The Golden Bough at the end of the 19th and start of 20th centuries, was at least partially sated by the likes of Montague Summer’s books on demonology and witchcraft (which remain in print today).
Witchcraft and paganism are wonderfully archaic to the modern Western European. Their ‘otherness’ remains attractive, misunderstood and barely comprehensive to those brought up in ostensibly Christian countries. Living as I do in Ireland, I can attest that the old religions are still very much a part of the national identity – celebrated via ancient stone monuments, iconography and traditions that have fed into our Christianity.
Sexy
The representation of witchcraft and paganism on film is in a state of flux. The power of a controversial narrative like The Wicker Man – where a Christian cop comes face to face with adherents of the ‘old religion’ and is promptly sacrificed by them – doesn’t hold the same impact today. Instead a modern reworking would end up feeling like one of those American City-Kids-Drive-Through-The-Deep-South-And-End-Up-Molested-By-Hicks-type films. A sort of religious xenophobia.
Key art of the sexy young witches of film The Craft
Witches have been made to be viewed as sexy and attractive in the 21st century. It probably started with television sitcom Bewitched, and Britt Ekland’s turn as Willow in the aforementioned The Wicker Man can only have helped. But so much now from Buffy The Vampire Slayer through Charmed and their ilk have sexualised the presentation of witchcraft – the balance definitely in favour of attractive young women. Paganism/wicca/witchcraft is of course a sexual religion anyway, but where are the men? Roman Polanski’s vision of witches (MacBeth) this aint!
While the subject of witchcraft has been of interest to filmmakers and cinema-goers since the dawn of celluloid (film is after all a magical projection – a fascinating ethereal experience as impressive as any illusionist’s trick), it isn’t until the late 1960s that a particular movement emerges.
For the purposes of this article I’ve opted not to look at documentaries which focus on voodoo, but they should be considered alongside the witchcraft films and I may return to them in a follow-up essay. While the witchcraft documentary isn’t normally viewed as part of the Mondo craze, I feel it should be. Like Mondo, these films are dealing with sensationalist topics in a documentary form, exploitation if not sexploitation and a liberal dosage of staged sequences passed off as real.
Witchcraft ’70 has a global view which easily makes it fit with the other Mondo films, moving around the world through a series of bizarre rituals, funky music and curious camera work. The trailer boasts the use of hidden camera techniques as a way of getting up close to the events depicted, but it is clear that this is nonsense, for the camera work is so intimate at times that it can only have been possible with the full knowledge (and staging) of the participants.
Promotional still from Witchcraft 70
“Lock Them Out For Ever More”
Two years earlier had seen the release of a far more interesting (and sincere) project. Anthony Balch presented a cut-down version of the 1922 Danish film Häxan by Benjamin Christensen, released with a new narration by novelist William S Burroughs as Witchcraft Through The Ages.
Ostensibly this is an earnest attempt to recreate scenes discussed in the infamous Malleus Maleficarum, and certainly with its opening scenes featuring woodcut illustrations from medieval texts, and preponderance of old crones, this is not a sensationalist film in the same way that Witchcraft 70 is. It is rather like one of those old illustrated lectures – lots of slides of ancient imagery… and then it evolves into something rather special.
An ageing crone in Haxan (1922)
There are sequences of puppet animation designed to recreate the medieval vision of hell, and there are a number of scenes with actors that play out the scenes of occult activity. These are in stark contrast to the images of sexy nubile witches that dominate popular culture today – instead they are weathered old crones, their long lives etched into their faces.
Witness the seduction of an ugly fat priest by an aging woman – and later a priest (the same one?) is tempted by a vision of the Devil – a grotesque figure played by the director Christensen – gleefully flicking his tongue and pumping the shaft of a huge stick in a piece of masturbatory symbolism. This is debauchery and exploitation with a bit of style. Rich tableaus and sumptuous black and white photography allow for a beautiful looking work of cinema – but the film itself thrives on the thrill of disgust. We love being frightened, and we love being repelled. As Burroughs’ voiceover intimates – the friends of the devil can be beautiful, but more often than not they are old and ugly.
There is nudity, but rather tastefully done. Rather with its jazz score and slimmed-down running time, Witchcraft Through The Ages is presented as a trippy film – perhaps best endured while smoking something herbal.
A silhouetted witch in Haxan (1922)
Sanders
Herbal enhancers would go a long way to aid any viewing of the series of witchcraft films which feature Alex Sanders. Sanders is a notorious figure in modern English witchcraft, forming the ‘Alexandrian’ form of wicca, and developing a reputation as a shameless exponent of the craft. A rather lanky figure with a voice that could send you to sleep (through boredom), he surrounded himself with an assortment of beautiful women which are exploited to full advantage in the articles and documentaries about his coven.
British tabloids were filled with stories about Sanders and his witch coven. While he adorned himself normally with a loincloth, the other members of the coven are seen in the altogether (skyclad), dancing around, and engaging in various sexualised rituals with Sanders.
Promotional advert for “Legend of the Witches”
Legend of the Witches (1970) took the so-called ‘King of the Witches’ and in a rather adept from of marketing, brought his group to wider attention. Like a modern day Crowley, Sanders stands at the head of a group of individuals happy to take their kit off for the camera and go through the motions of practising their ‘ancient’ religion.
Wicca is of course all about ritual, and these are essentially well-crafted, thoroughly rehearsed performances that are then put on for a limited and exclusive group of people connected to the group. Legend opens up the events for a global audience and asks them all to participate. But the camera is frequently at a distance, taking in seductive silhouettes and observing intimate kissing, placing the viewer once again in the position of voyeur. This is sexploitation disguised as documentary. Salaciousness in the guise of impartial objectivity.
That the whole thing is staged for the benefit of the cameras is obvious very early on – the sequence where a new male initiate chases a naked female witch, blindfolded, through a darkened wood, is lit and framed in a completely artificial manner. Attractive aesthetics, but insincere. The sequence nicely foreshadows the chase of Rowan by Howie in The Wicker Man – quite possibly director Robin Hardy viewed this before planning his own fictional piece – a film which draws heavily on The Golden Bough too.
The slightly shorter Strange Rites (1971) is rather more obscure, but equally fascinating as a piece of exploitation. The bulk of the film appears to be set within a strange eerily lit cavern, with Sanders once again in charge of a group of naked female figures. Cue more of the same sort of quasi-religious, sexualised imagery. Erotically charged, and very obviously staged.
But if magic is a ritual, and ritual is a performance, then does it matter that a documentary isn’t really a documentary at all, but a piece of entertainment?
I’d argue that Sanders in particular is responsible for the popularised modern notion of witchcraft and depictions in film especially. He becomes a powerful totem, surrounded by a bevy of considerably more attractive female forms. It is undeniably a male heterosexual fantasy, which fits in with popular culture today. Are there films where the situation is reversed? A high priestess and a string of male coven members ready to prostrate themselves? And if there were, would we look on the sexual role reversal as repugnant?
I’d be interested in knowing…
This is a slightly revised version of an essay I originally wrote for Diabolique #9 (March/April 2012) in my capacity as editor.
The infamous fertility ritual from The Wicker Man (1973)
A Cultural Crisis 