Haxan » The Juggler

Witch-Hunting Movies

May 082012

Since there are few sociological phenomena as troubling as the Witch-Hunt- not to mention, of more alarm to modern Pagans- it seemed worthwhile to point out some films that deal specifically with the historical issue of Witch-Hunting; perhaps some Pagan cinemaphiles will wish to check them out for cinematic perspective on the subject:

One of the first notable experiments with new-fangled film-technology was 1922′s Swedish Haxan (subtitled “Witchcraft Through the Ages”). Born of a visionary attempt to mount a historical presentation of the medieval Burning Times through the new art of “moving pictures,” the film may seem awfully quaint to 21st century audiences (part of its charm, to my mind). It takes great pains, however, to establish the Magickal belief-system of the Middle Ages; explain how Witchcraft fixed into this; and to examine the routes and procedures employed by the medieval church to associate Witchcraft with diabolism. Most damningly of all, Haxan bluntly displays the torture devices used to force victims into the confessions necessary for execution. One of the first times in the 20th century that the subject of medieval Witch-Hunting had been studied thoroughly, with an eye towards generating public understanding of the phenomenon, this film is one for which I have great admiration and affection.

There were apparently two methods of burning a condemned Witch to death, in the Middle Ages: the one most familiar to us, whereby you set up a stake, build a pyre around it, fasten the Witch to it, and then set the pile ablaze; and the other, whereby you build a huge fire, and having fastened the Witch to a wooden frame, pitch the frame and Witch into the blaze. The latter is depicted in Ingmar Bergman’s 1957 film-masterpiece The Seventh Seal. A sort of traveling tour through the Swedish Middle Ages- you meet strolling players, roaming flagellants, and sufferers of the Black Death, as well as victims of Witch-persecutions- the movie follows a disillusioned knight as he continues a prolonged chess game with Death. Moody and expressive, Seventh Seal is regarded as a cinema classic of world renown, preoccupied with the point and futility of Life, and the fear of Death. Few scenes match that of the hysterical, doomed woman, fated to die pitched into a bonfire as a medieval Witch.

Likely as not, when you think of late ’60s English horror films (especially ones starring Vincent Price), you think of something kind of campy and over-the-top. However, 1968′s Witchfinder General is apparently of another sort altogether- more of a historical drama, based upon the horrors inflicted in England in the 1640s, through the criminal activities of the notorious “Witchfinder General,” Matthew Hopkins. Taking advantage of the turmoil of the English Civil War, Hopkins and a disreputable associate made a brief career “finding” Witches in East Anglia: meaning that they perfected a series of torturous “non-torture” techniques to crush their victims, forcing confessions from them (due to the upheavals of the period, records are difficult, but it may be that Hopkins was responsible for some 300 deaths, in just about two years). Caveat: I have not seen this movie, but I have read such good things about it, that it is on my Witch-Movie Wish-List: apparently it is a cut above the usual low-budget “horror movie” standard, gathering many champions over the years; held at the time to have been extremely violent in its torture scenes, I gather that the shocked reactions came out of watching innocent people broken into acquiescence with charges that will condemn them. Mr. Price is said to be unusually restrained in the menace of his performance, and despite the lurid depictions of Witch-Burnings on the adverts (Witches were not burned in England), Witchfinder General appears to be a good (fictional) representation of the worst episode of Witch-Hunting in England’s history. (When the movie was released in the United States, it was re-titled The Conqueror Worm: which is such a strange identification and term, I’m not clear why they wished to do this.)

Then there is one of 20th century America’s masterpieces of theater, Arthur Miller’s 1952 play The Crucible. Written in both courageous and brilliantly intuitive response to the McCarthy “Communist Witch-Hunting” hearings, Miller’s play is the defining dramatic representation of the Salem Witch-Trials (although not necessarily the most historically accurate). Miller takes some perfectly acceptable artistic license- for instance, “upping” the age of Abigail Williams to approximately nineteen or so, in order to script a dramatically compelling illicit relationship between her and John Proctor (the real Abigail was something like thirteen); as well, for dramatic value, Miller envisions an actual Witches’ Meeting in the Massachusetts woods, led by the Witch-Slave Tituba, with the Salem Witch-girls participating. Again, very exciting and compelling- but probably not something likely to have genuinely happened in 17th century Puritan New England. However, this is the scene upon which the 1996 movie The Crucible opens. Faithful to the source material, yes, and a thrilling visual to start the film- but an invention, to start things off on an active (supernatural) note. The movie is, however, a very distinguished presentation of Miller’s text (still relevant in the 1990s and the 2000s), performed by a very impressive cast. For an accessible viewing of a well-done adaptation of a brilliantly written play, depicting the quintessential American Witch-Hunt: please check out this movie.

A curious Gallic film-fact, of which I was unaware: There is also, by the way, for those possessed of a penchant for incurable elan, a 1957 French film-adaptation of Miller’s work, called Les Sorcieres de Salem with a screenplay by Sartre (of all people), starring (as proto-American Puritans) Simone Signoret and Yves Montand. I appreciate what must be the existential sympathy felt by the peoples of France, for the victims of New England Witch-Hunting; still, I’m thinking that watching this movie must be a kind of surreal experience.

Circling Witches in Haxan

culture, film 2 Responses »

Mar 152012

The 1922 Danish/ Swedish film Haxan may not be to every Pagan’s taste, but I’m pretty impressed with it, as an ingeniously conceived “lecture in moving pictures” on medieval Witchcraft (and the demonization thereof by the medieval church), and as a pretty fearless indictment of the criminality of the medieval church’s Witch-Hunting. (The thing that totally got me was the very straightforward presentation at the end of Part 4- the movie is divided into 6 Parts- of medieval torture devices [the director had made it his business to find and photograph medieval torture devices, and then "demonstrate" how their barbarity was employed]. For instance, although I have often come across references to “pinchers ripping the flesh,” it was not until Haxan that I really got what “pinchers” were and how they ripped one’s flesh.)

Since the director probably doesn’t have much material available to him that dates to before the 1800s, and as most of his sources seem genuinely medieval (the middle section- Parts 3 and 4- appear derived exclusively from the Malleus Maleficarum), I find his research very “pure”- very much, “go back and look at the original sources, to see what they have to say.”

In this light, three instances of Witches “generating” Witchcraft by turning in a Circle are significant, I feel. The first one totally cracks me up; it occurs in Part 2, where the director is discussing various ways in which medieval Witchcraft might have been utilized- as say, if two Witches decided they wanted to Curse somebody.

There is a shot of a medieval house, with the door. These two gleeful Witches come scurrying along, with small brass bowls. They set these bowls down on the ground, hike up their skirts- and “urinate” (mimed of course, but still) into them. (Truthfully, I have never seen a woman “urinate”- mimed or not- on film before.) Having passed their piss, they pick up the piss-bowls, and- wait for it- turn gleefully in Circles several times, before throwing the (now-Charmed) piss-bowls against the house door and running away.

This is how to Curse someone, if you are a medieval Witch.

Then there is a shot during the Sabbat sequences of Parts 3 and 4, of three ladies dancing in a Circle- back to back. This is a demonstration of something often alleged of Witches at the Sabbat, their apparently strange custom of dancing backwards with each other; this sequence is followed by one depicting a small group of Witches shuffling in a slow-moving, purposeful Circle. Such shots reflect a scene often depicted during illustrations of the Witches’ Sabbat, namely a group of Witches (sometimes accompanied by demons) “going” in a Circle as a means of “generating” or creating Witchcraft.

That such was a folkloric understanding of Witchcraft is shown in England by Doreen Valiente, who informs that circular patches in fields are known as “Hags’ Tracks,” out of a belief that they were caused by dancing Witches (except when they were called “Faerie Tracks,” under the impression that Circle-Dancing Faeries were responsible for their formation: dancing in Circles is one of the folklore-elements associated with both Witches and Faeries).

Another example is the ballad Allison Gross, which tells the story of the “ugliest Witch in the North Country,” who bewitches the hero of the song by turning in a Circle three times: “She’s turned her three times round and around,” according to the lyrics. (A really fun song, Allison Gross can be heard on YouTube, and then again on YouTube.)

The Witches’ Circle-Generation of Magick is further seen in the Witch-Plays of the Jacobean Era, in Jonson’s The Sad Shepherd (when the Witch Maudlin spins in a Circle to create the Magickal effect of a “good turn”); in Middleton’s The Witch (as the Witch-Band dances their Witches’ Dance around their cauldron); and in Macbeth, in references ranging from the Witches “winding up their Charm,” in [Act I, scene iii], to dancing an “antic Round” at the conclusion of [Act IV, scene i].

A question might be: why are these Witches turning, or “going” in Circles so? What exactly do they mean to accomplish, what purpose is served?

A solution is offered by Gerald Gardner in Witchcraft Today, when he says that Witches believe that they have an “energy” within them that can be “raised” or “generated,” and that this process is immensely helpful to the facilitation of Witchcraft.

Witch Film Classics: Haxan

culture, film 4 Responses »

Mar 082012

One of the most luridly misunderstood films in the history of cinema, as well as a fantastic accomplishment in silent-film technology, is 1922′s Swedish/ Danish Haxan (“The Witch”), directed by Danish film-maker Benjamin Christensen. (It is also sometimes known as Witchcraft Through the Ages.) I say “lurid” because it has a reputation for being a very trippy, out-there, psychedelic sort-of affair (apparently there was a version with William S. Burroughs providing dialogue). However, it is actually a very sober-minded film, quite well and logically arranged, intended to build up to a massive indictment of the medieval Burning Times. Produced at a time when cinema was a brand-new medium, Mr. Christensen’s work is basically a documentary with dramatization: it is described as a “cultural and historical presentation in moving pictures.” It definitely deserves to be considered a Witch Film-Classic (perhaps the first Witch Film-Classic), and should be viewed by any Witch or Pagan who wishes to know better the Middle Ages horror of the Witch-Burnings. It is happily available at Hulu.com; please set aside some time and check it out.

Mr. Christensen is moved by the same impulse that has driven a certain genre of historical research throughout the 20th century- a desire to understand what caused the Burning Times- and Mr. Christensen deserves to be recognized as a pioneer in the field. His scope-of-study, for the 1920s, is immense; his dedication and commitment to his subject admirably heroic; and his conclusions are scathing towards the medieval church. It should be born in mind that the material covered by Haxan has been very much collected by now; at the time that Christensen began his project, however, it was just nineteen years after the 1800s ended, and Witchcraft Scholarship was not nearly as complete as today. How he amassed his materials, I would love to know; a number of the antique illustrations that he displays are quite familiar (having been reproduced over and over), yet this film must have been the first time many of them were widely viewed, and Mr. Christensen derives a number of his film-images from them.

Christensen is very methodical in setting up his “presentation in moving pictures.” He begins by the introducing the curious “chapter of the Witch [Haxan]” in the History of Mysticism, explaining that belief in Sorcery and Witchcraft are “as old as Man,” and that primitive Humans, confronted with the inexplicable, assumed the agency of Spirits. Mr. Christensen helps us to understand the superstitious tenets of such a primitive world as (ahem) still to believe in Magicke. (A device that I love is his use of dioramas, assisted by helpful pointers.) Soon enough, he begins to discuss medieval Witchery with the aid of actors and sets that manage to look much like how one would expect the Middle Ages to appear. Soon enough, again, we are being treated to a reenactment of a medieval Witchcraft case; here Christensen’s source is noticeably the infamous 15th century Witch-Hunters’ manual, the Malleus Maleficarum (written by Inquisitors, from personal experience).

Here enter the sequences that earn Haxan its reputation for phantasmagorical weirdness; however, the responsibility for hallucinogenic perversity needs to be laid at the door of the medieval church, because this is nothing less than a depiction of the deranged, demonic Witches’ Sabbat invented by churchmen. Notice how these sequences suggest a twisted version of A Midsummer Night’s Dream, as demented demons beat out drums while Witches abandon themselves to carnality and sacrilege. It looks crazy and gonzo, but it is no more than what the medieval church propagated, endorsed by torture and human life.

One of the most damning sequences is a straightforward demonstration of medieval torture devices.

The luridness of Haxan’s Sabbat scenes is not an exploitation of Witches, nor an indulgence in grotesquerie: rather it is a heartfelt indictment of the Burning Times, and of the [Holy] Inquisition that spawned it. If anything, they are meant to be viewed as satirical, a means of shouting “J’accuse!” across the centuries. Piercing out the perhaps genuine elements to a medieval Witches’ Meeting, please pay attention to the number of times that you see Witches dancing in circles (sometimes back-to-back, as was often alleged), as well as the suggestion of festivity and communal Magickal-Working- pay attention, in other words, to just about everything that is not overtly Demonic. The rough-hewn state of film-technology in the early ’20s makes some of Christensen’s screen effects all the more impressive: please, please check out the fantastic sequence of Witches flying, surely one of the first presentations of Flying Witches in cinema, as well as one of the most evocative. It’s just stupendous- even more so for being created without computer generation.

If Haxan seems kind-of “all-over the place,” it is perhaps because it next goes into the “Satanic Panic” scares experienced by convent nuns (some of these sequences can seem amusing); it then concludes with a strange coda, where Mr. Christensen attempts to explain the medieval belief in Witchcraft as misdiagnosed mental illness. This was a trendy theory in the early 1900s (although Christensen undercuts his point a bit by talking in terms of that quaint nineteenth century malady, hysteria); nowadays, we tend to feel that there must have been some more to it than that. Whatever its flaws, this is a deeply heart-felt work (as well as an unusually personal one; Christensen “introduces” himself to us with a shot of himself at the film’s beginning, and addresses the audience throughout, in his title-cards). In its way, this is an example of a film-auteur before there was such a thing.

Watching Haxan is actually getting a really good history lesson in Middle Ages demonological Witchcraft- with one super-notable exception. When Christensen was conceiving and filming Haxan, there had been little serious research into Witch-History. At the conclusion, Christensen cites “8 million” men, women, and children as the number of Burning Times victims. We now recognize that as an inflated number, perhaps arrived by judging the terrified tone of the period (I have no idea upon what justification that number is based). The most scrupulous inquiry tends to suggest some 200,000 Witch-Burning victims (roughly 80% of them women).

Be that as it may- the film closes with the only image that it possibly can: a shot of medieval Witches, burning on a pyre.