Archive: Author: Keri O'Shea

By Keri O’Shea

Why did Nazisploitation movies enjoy such a brief, if lurid moment in the sun during the European cinema of the 1970s? Perhaps the old adage ‘history is written by the winners’ applies as much to the arts as it does to other aspects of society; certainly, there has never been any great number of either exploitation, art-house or anywhere-in-between Western films based around the atrocities of the Soviets during WWII, though the subsequent Cold War did at least feed into a wealth of paranoid American sci-fi (a topic for another post, mind you). There are various reasons that this may be the case, above and beyond the fact that the Russians fought alongside the Allies at this time. It could be that, having come through the trials of the Second World War, exploitation cinema simply relished the opportunity to mock the defeated Nazis – at a safe distance, and after enough years had elapsed for it to be possible to deal with this subject matter without calling to mind the very real history upon which it was all based. By the 1970s, or indeed 1969 when Love Camp 7 appeared, the war wasn’t a fresh wound – though it still remained fresh enough to be vivid, so mingled with the mockery there may have been some chances to work through the trauma, even if in a rather indirect (and often salacious) way.

Of course though, there are lots of other reasons for the rise of Nazisploitation: in a nutshell, the Nazis afford a wealth of imitable aesthetics, smart uniforms and – far more so in the fictional universe, actually – an array of tall, attractive, nubile players to wear, then shed said uniforms. The Nazis allow so many possibilities for filmmakers simply because they were hyperbole and farce writ large: also, their half-baked racial policies begot a number of sexual policies which themselves provide fertile ground for directors looking to turn a buck. When any regime runs love camps, let alone a regime as notorious as National Socialism, it may be hard to resist filming a version of that. Sex, violence, torment – far and away enough elements to work with, right there. And then, there are the ladies…

I don’t pretend that this feature will be a rundown of all the main Nazi lead roles played by women, but as a number of Nazisploitation films approach or pass their fortieth birthdays, I can’t help but compare a couple of films made at very nearly the same time. Ilsa: She-Wolf of the SS was made in 1974; the far less-known Elsa: Fraulein SS (also known as Fraulein Devil, Captive Women 4, Fraulein SS and – confusingly as hell – Fraulein Kitty) followed quickly in its footsteps, appearing in 1977. Now, whilst the righteously notorious Salon Kitty (1976) bears close analysis all of its own, and many of the films which followed in Ilsa’s exceptional wake follow a very similar format to Ilsa (with the lead actress of Elsa, Malisa Longo, even appearing in a bit-part in Salon Kitty, just to show how much cross-pollination was going on), Ilsa and Elsa are interesting representatives of the features of the genre overall. This is both because Elsa shows just how far Ilsa had an impact within the remits of that genre, and also because the director of the later film, Frenchman Patrice Rhomm, re-framed some key ideas for his own spin on the story. Elsa feels like the end point in a continuum, encompassing elements of both Ilsa and Kitty.

In any case, there are lots of points of comparison. Both Ilsa and Elsa are high-ranking military, selected by their superiors for various special operations. The war effort needs them: each film is set at around the time when Hitler’s glorious ‘Thousand Year Reich’ looks to be on its uppers, and desperate times require desperate measures, with each woman taking on top-secret roles. For Ilsa (the incomparable Dyanne Thorne) this means overseeing a medical facility where various crude experimentation is intended to find solutions to help the Reich; prisoners-of-war are brought to her for the purpose. She has her own pet project, though, and that is to see whether her own hypothesis – that women can withstand pain better than men – is true. If it is, Ilsa intends to use this evidence to show that women could be used for the front line. Which is vaguely egalitarian, I suppose. As for Elsa, she also works with enemies of the Reich: however, she selects her number from Nazi party members, whose families have in some way betrayed the cause. Her nubile young women have something else to prove, although the perils of the front line are also important.

Colonel Elsa Ackermann is somewhere between Ilsa and Kitty in that she is also charged with special duties pertaining to the SS, but she is to perform these via recruiting girls and running a kind of ‘pleasure train’ (yeah, you heard). In order to console men broken by the pressures of warfare, see, girls will be provided: the train where they will be held will be luxurious, the girls carefully chosen for their beauty – and each room will be bugged to within an inch of its life, naturally, so that the fiercely-loyal Elsa can uncover any wrongdoing as the SS officers get jiggy with her frauleins. Elsa essentially becomes a brothel madam, but one who still dresses in the uniform – except, that is, when she appears in lacy underwear and thigh-high boots. In both Ilsa and Elsa, each woman has their fair share of lacy undies and kinky boots, and each is sexually voracious, with bad things happening when their libidos get thwarted in any way. Would it really be exploitation cinema if each director didn’t remember to have them disrobe fairly regularly? And, in each film, it is a failed love affair which threatens their mission, in one way or another. Ilsa has her half-German, half-American – the only man who hasn’t been a rampant disappointment in the bedroom; Elsa has the disillusioned SS officer Hans, and his slow rejection of her steadfast Nazism is a significant factor in her increasing on-screen wickedness. Each of the women is, after all, a flawed sadist – each woman represents a mismatch between the required cruelty of doing well in the SS and being feminine, or at least, having sexual needs beyond their desire for total power over others.

Each film plumps for a somewhat different look at the realities of war, however. Elsa: Fraulein SS is spliced with real war scenes, particularly at the beginning of the film, whereas Ilsa: She-Wolf of the SS keeps a closer focus on its own footage and versions of events – but Ilsa is by far and away the nastier of the two, not only because director Don Edmonds is so unflinching in what he shoots, but also because there are real historical precedents for some of the experiments shown. This is ramped up to an unprecedented level in the Chinese film Men Behind the Sun (1988), China’s bright red scream about Japanese war atrocities and a piece of cinema which truly deserves to be called horrific; you see the same experiments in Ilsa and Men Behind the Sun a decade later – each director has simply shot versions of ordeals which really happened, making for a sickening sense of deja-vu. Ilsa may be choc-full of nudity, but it never allows viewers to be diverted by this for very long before smashing our face into some gratuitous scenes of human torment. I’ve seen many people scoff at Ilsa as ‘not that bad’ in terms of its unpleasantness, but for me it’s still a genuinely very nasty film. Elsa keeps the violence and torture rather lower in the mix, and there are only a few scenes which would really qualify, but as the leading lady unravels she certainly goes some way towards playing catch-up with her would-be contemporary.

But what of their fates? Each of them does, of course, fail in their ultimate goals and in each film a pesky resistance movement comes along to threaten their ‘good work’ – aided and abetted by the women they’ve been working with, i.e. Ilsa’s medical subjects and (some of) Elsa’s women of pleasure. Each commander’s weakness for a certain man in their lives is also a key factor in their downfalls, plus in Elsa’s case, espionage simply breeds more espionage – there’s a moral in there somewhere, folks. There’s something about viewing Nazism even through an exploitation cinema lens that makes filmmakers feel they have to end things in a way which broadly mirrors the real-life end of the war, and really speaking, this kind of highly sexualised spin on Nazism had done what it needed to by the end of the decade, not really resurfacing in a similar way again (although Nazis pop up as zombies, generally tediously, quite a lot these days).

That said, both Don Edmonds and Patrice Rhomm found it difficult to simply wipe out their anti-heroines in one fell swoop. Their deaths are left fairly ambiguous; Ilsa even popped up again and again in different roles and parts of the world – though I’m not suggesting that this happened in a coherent narrative across all of the films, of course. As for Elsa, did she even die? The jury’s out, though I’d say her demise was just as ambiguous as Ilsa’s. It’s as if we have to see the good guys win, sure, but an interesting female character in good boots with entertaining sexual proclivities is just too precious to get rid of entirely.

Now, as far along in time from the films which comprise the Nazisploitation genre as the films themselves were from the events they were loosely based on, we can perhaps still appreciate that, whilst enjoying this oddball array of films along the way.

By Keri O’Shea

(For the first part of Keri’s article on the historical basis of this film, please click here. As with Part 1, please note that you should read this article after seeing the film.)

Those observant Christians who began to arrive in New England during the middle decades of the 1600s had – as you might expect from people taking such a serious step – high hopes for their new lives. Newly unfettered from an English monarch whom religious leaders believed was fundamentally unsympathetic to their needs, the Puritan settlers were determined to establish themselves in their new land and to do things very differently there, hopefully with their example acting as a model and a beacon to those still in Europe who might also seek a truly reformed, fairly-governed commonwealth. To maintain their religious vision it was important to settlers, from the outset, to organise themselves along rigid and highly formalised lines, with clearly-understood rules, regulations and responsibilities. Patriarchal structure was largely transplanted to the New World intact and for the new colonies to stand a chance at success it was deemed necessary for convention to be promoted, including having the traditional family placed on a high pedestal. Men worked hard on the land, women were expected to extend their broods within wedlock and everyone had to work wholesale to raise up the next generation of true Christians.

As much as these new communities sought to throw off their shackles, then, they still retained those they felt were useful. A culture of legislature, social codes and punishments which hinged upon policing the behaviour of peers soon developed. It was necessary perhaps, to instill order in a harsh and unfamiliar environment which had a native population of heathens as a constant reminder that God’s path could be a precarious one, and certainly not one followed by all. In-group and out-group sentiment in amongst all of this soon became a matter of life and death.

There were those who dared defiance and many people didn’t want to simply pick up their old roles in this new haven, as they hoped for still greater reform and change. They argued with their elders, and some – notoriously – were eventually banished from the protection of their communities completely. As with being outlawed in medieval England, this was a very serious thing to face, and like the rebellious real-life female preacher Anne Hutchinson, a first-generation emigre from Lincolnshire who arrived in America at around the same time as the film’s family, the family in The Witch are excommunicated and banished from their settlement because of father William’s outspoken and socially-unacceptable version of Christian belief.

Taking his family into the wilderness as a result of this banishment, William sets about establishing his own farmstead. It is worth mentioning here that, according to the consensus among early Puritan thinkers, “overt repudiation of ministerial authority…could be interpreted as signifying a covenant with the Devil” (Karlsen, p.120). To many in a community of this kind and at this time, this type of rejection of the new order was suspicious, even damning. And as such, William’s actions could be seen as paving the road to Hell with good intentions, as the idiom goes. His real-life contemporaries certainly thought so: in any case, banishment, isolation and deprivation can do plenty to convince people that they are under otherworldly attack, particularly in such a hostile and lonely environment as New England. If what befalls the family is genuine supernatural interference, then they’ve certainly been set up well to receive it; if not, then they have been given enough very real calamity to perceive that they suffer it.

As for the role of the witch in general in these communities, we have discussed already how Puritan society – this brave new world – had yet taken with it age-old beliefs about magic which it fell back on in its frequent times of difficulty and despair. In many respects, what communities saw as malign interference was blamed for equally age-old phenomena: blighted crops, ailing livestock, curdled milk, spoiled beer, poor weather; these are all things which could harm the progress of an agrarian society such as the Puritans had established but constituted natural, yet deeply frustrating events which could still be pinned on outsider influences. Witches were frequently blamed for such calamities, and hundreds of women (and men, and children, but primarily women) were tried and often executed for their ‘crimes’. Witches could also, we are told, cause animals to behave in uncharacteristic ways, such as being “taken with strange fits” or “behaving in a strange or affrighting manner” (Witchcraft Papers 1:94). All of these things could spell doom for farms which were meant to be completely self-sufficient.

All of these phenomena occur for the family in The Witch; they run out of food, cannot grow more, and their animals either keel over or worse, have a malign affect on the family in different ways – as that rare old beast the black goat known as ‘Black Philip’ demonstrates. Black Philip, incidentally, encapsulates lots of old ideas of devils as goats or he-goats – more than could be feasibly included here; the goat has biblical-era ties to Satanic mischief (see Revelations for mentions of the ‘lambs’ gathered on the right-hand side of Jesus and the ‘goats’ on the left). Black Philip, at first a regular farm animal, helps to sow the seeds of doubt in William’s mind regarding his much-loved eldest daughter Thomasin – after the younger children begin to claim they’ve been talking with the creature and he’s accused Thomasin of being ‘wicked’. He’s a striking creature whose influence on the family feels utterly believable, even as the narrative moves forward and his role transforms.

With regards to the prevalence of witches in New England, there are still further reasons why the ideas of enemies-within began to take hold there. One interpretation is that witchcraft accusations became prevalent where a widow, wife or daughter stood to inherit large amounts of land and property. Whether the intentions were overt or not, naming a woman as a witch made for an easy way to grab and distribute material wealth from ‘unorthodox’ families which had subverted the preferred order of things, in a society where means were still limited. Whilst not a direct factor in The Witch, true, it’s yet more evidence of the precarious, often ruthless society in which their real-life contemporaries existed. Add sex, sexuality and sexual jealousy to this kind of mix, and it isn’t difficult to see how and why women often lived particularly risky lives in 17th Century America; in danger of plausible accusations by well-respected members of communities, in danger when ostensibly in a position of financial gain, in danger of sexual attention, life was hardly straightforward for many. By the same token, for those who really believed they had sealed a covenant with Satan (and I believe many did think this) then who can blame them for wanting it? The promise of ease and fulfillment away from their mundane world of toil and threat must have seemed a welcome proposal for many, whatever the cause.

Before any such covenant could be signed, however, it was common for Satan to tempt and to wear down prospective signatories via the phenomenon of possession.

Today, most of us would see this in rational terms, as a body and mind worn down with mistreatment and stifling social roles finding an hysterical outlet which would have seemed, to witnesses, something completely unnatural. Add hearsay to fright and voila, you have something recordable, transmittable and imitable, but no doubt exaggerated, hence so many possession yarns which fit the same bill down through the centuries which can still be used in a 21st Century setting to scare modern audiences.

The Puritans did not view possession as evidence of witchcraft in and of itself, though; rather, this was a step initiated by the Devil (or his witches) to lure their prey, to break the spirits of the pious and to eventually gain new recruits. The Witch uses this idea; whilst the possessed child is young (although the youngest person accused of witchcraft at this time was around seven) it happens as a direct consequence of his encounter with a beautiful lone female living in the woods – a warning sign if ever there was one that something is deeply wrong. His attempts to repel whatever-it-is which is nagging at him causes physical symptoms which chime with those described across numerous accounts of possession in Puritan New England; he repels the evil in the end, but at great cost. In this, he has much in common with those real-life figures who underwent the tortures of possession: observers spoke of them being subjected to “thousands of cruel pinches,” “visited with strange Fits”, “sometimes weeping, sometimes laughing, sometimes roaring hideously” (Karlsen, p.11). Many were unable to find their way back to God; many died, either of their own physical symptoms or via the interventions of the well-meaning. This is certainly the case for Thomasin’s unhappy younger brother.

Ultimately, however, it’s Thomasin who is the prize. Everything which befalls her family leads up to her final temptation, whilst also leading to the film’s striking final scenes. Contemporary figures for Thomasin in the 1630s are rather fewer than you might expect however, and this was generally the case. The main demographic group for accusations of witchcraft was women of maturer years, around forty as a general rule of thumb, and possibly due to the factor mentioned above – inheritance issues. A reasonable number of younger women are on record, though there are not many of them. There was, however, a young girl called Elizabeth Knapp who could conceivably be a source of inspiration for the character of Thomasin…

Knapp was just sixteen in the 1670s – albeit the generation after the film is set – when she first exhibited signs that something was seriously awry. The eldest child of her parents, from being a normal and normally-pious indentured servant in a reasonable affluent Puritan household, she at first began showing signs that she was possessed, speaking out against the system in which she lived. Knapp at first began “bursting into extravagant laughter” and complaining of the kinds of painful physical symptoms mentioned above; she explained her afflictions by saying that none other than the Devil – in the shape of various neighbours – was tormenting her.

Her fears were dismissed at first, largely because the woman she initially identified was well-protected and respected in the community (it’s always who you know), but what’s interesting here is that Knapp soon described her temptations by the Devil as overtly sensuous in nature. Knapp said:

“‘The Devil had appeared to her many times over the previous three years, that he offered to make her
a witch, and that he proffered to her ‘money, silks, fine clothes, ease from labor, to show her the whole
world…'”(Karlsen p.236)

Whilst far from the only woman to be teased away from the humdrum world by promises of comfort, and there are other possible individual inspirations for Thomasin’s character, Knapp’s assertions about what she had been offered give a strong reminder of Thomasin’s late words to the Devil, or to her ‘Black Philip’; after undergoing every horror, every loss, Thomasin wants immediate relief, sustenance, fine things to wear. Black Philip is keen to oblige, with the film’s strongest line of dialogue occurring as he finally leads her to give way with some simple, poignant words as he asks if she would prefer to ‘live deliciously’ Elsewhere, Knapp had talked of giving herself ‘body and soul’ to the Devil; this is as close as a young woman would dare to allude to sexuality in those stern, punitive times, but allude to it she does, I believe; Black Philip’s instruction to Thomasin to ‘remove her shift’ before calling her to the coven certainly does the same.

At the end of The Witch, as with the real-life contemporary figures who craved release from Puritan hardship, it’s hard to begrudge the character of Thomasin taking steps to gain her wishes; if the ensuing scenes are all just the death-gasp of a girl’s failing intellect, well, in many ways that feels like a shame. Somehow it’s hard not to find yourself on the side of the coven which has presumably thrown off hardship of its own at some cost, when it could finally accommodate a girl who is done with privation. But whatever you make of the glorious ambiguities of the ending of The Witch – whether this is indeed a supernatural film, or a tale of very human responses to an extreme situation – what we certainly have is a devotedly religious, loving family whose earnest prayers repeatedly fall on deaf ears; be it their nonconformity, their rebellious streak, their plain poor luck, or that they’ve been forsaken by God, their slow unravelling against an unforgiving backdrop makes for a startling piece of cinema.

Are there witches? Were there ever witches? That there are so many verifiable links to real historical accounts and to phenomena which people believed in so deeply (and died for) only adds to this film’s immense and deserved gravitas, and forever keeps us at arm’s length, doubting everything we see – just like Thomasin and her family.

“Handmaidens of the Lord should go so as to distinguish themselves from Handmaidens of the Devil.” (Cotton Mather, Ornaments for the Daughters of Zion, 1692).

Select Bibliography

Malleus Maleficarum by Heinrich Kramer & James Sprenger, trans. by Montague Summers (1928). Accessed online via http://www.malleusmaleficarum.org/shop/the-malleus-maleficarum-pdf/

The Devil in the Shape of a Woman: Witchcraft in Colonial New England by Carol F. Karlsen (1987).

Entertaining Satan: Witchcraft and the Culture of Early New England by John Putnam Demos (1982).

By Keri O’Shea

Editor’s note: this article discusses The Witch in detail, and as such contains some spoilers. Please read it after you’ve seen the film. For a spoiler-free review, click here.

One of the most unusual and atmospheric films to hit the festival circuit late last year, The Witch – a claustrophobic tale of isolation, privation and the possibility of malignant supernatural forces in the New World – is about to get its general release. There’s been a sizeable promotional campaign behind the film so far, and it seems that the distributors have high hopes that it will make something of a breakthrough into the mainstream. We’ve already commented that we think some of the choices behind this promotion have been questionable and may even risk misrepresenting the film to a potential audience who expect something different; I certainly hope that isn’t the case, and that those who go and see it properly appreciate this rather understated historical thriller. Misleading poster campaigns are, after all, par-for-the-course these days; that isn’t really the topic of discussion here. Rather more relevantly, many hundreds of films have boasted that they are ‘based on true events’, and The Witch is fascinating because it, too, declares that it is based on a number of alleged real-life accounts from the 17th Century – it’s the nature of those accounts which gives this film both a unique perspective and an otherworldliness which reaches right back to the real New World settlers of the time.

“If ever there were witches, men and women in covenant with the Devil, here are multitudes in New England.”
The Rev. Samuel Parris (1692)

Those who set off from England seeking to build their ‘City on the Hill’ – their Christian utopia, unfettered by what they saw as the corruption of Europe – nonetheless took with them many of the anxieties which had plagued them in the Old World. Frequently, these anxieties concerned witchcraft. In making the claim, therefore, that The Witch is uniquely closely based on the accounts of settlers who found themselves threatened by magic in their new communities, these ‘true-life events’ are poised at an intriguing intersection between real and unreal, natural and supernatural, Christianity and its dark, persistent underbelly. Names, places, dates, ages – many of these things were meticulously recorded by the Puritans and are verifiably true; they just happen to occur in these meticulous narratives alongside descriptions of malevolent curses, plagues, blights, possessions, shape-shifting and unholy covenants with the Devil. Many early American settlers adamantly believed in the phenomena which scares Thomasin, her parents and siblings, and adjudicated against it accordingly. This article takes a closer look at some of the accounts which may have influenced the filmmakers, showing how they intersect with a sensitive and accurate exploration of these themes in the film and how The Witch captures this (to us) incongruous state very well, forcing us to peer between the lines of its narrative and wonder just what, if any, evil influence is holding sway over the family.

THE HAMMER OF THE WITCHES

In order to look at the society of the 17th Century, however, we need to look back further and to understand more about the belief in witchcraft which the Puritans first inherited, then exported. Times of unrest have long given way to periods of panic and unreason, and despite the Renaissance being known for great leaps forward in science and the arts, throughout the Late Medieval and Renaissance years various calamities were more and more often explained away as malignant interference caused by witchcraft. Whilst certainly not the only word on the subject, one book in particular encapsulated much of the paranoia about witches, whilst also exerting a surprising amount of influence in Europe (as well as taking advantage of new technology such as the Gutenberg Press, thus neatly representing how the shock of the new doesn’t necessarily dispense with the old). This strange nexus of officialdom and folk belief, peppered with unsubstantiated anecdote and meticulous rule of law, was a tome entitled the Malleus Maleficarum (‘Hammer of the Witches’) which appeared in the late 1480s and came to act as something of a ‘witch-hunter’s manual’, repetitively dismissing all cynicism on the subject in order to advise on how to detect, arrest, try and punish witches. Gaining credence and influence in the following decades, the MM thereafter turned up in the royal courts of Europe and the higher strata of the law, excusing and bestowing jurisdiction on the subject of witchcraft.

We shouldn’t underestimate how important something like the Malleus Maleficarum was; it set the bar for the treatment of witches for all of the subsequent ‘witch crazes’ which followed, and its words on what witches did (and why they did it) can certainly be seen in 17th Century New England. For instance, the book relates the words of an alleged witch and child murderer, who told her accuser “with our spells we kill them in their cradles or even when they are sleeping by their parents’ side…then we secretly take them from their graves, and cook them in a cauldron, until the whole flesh comes away from the bones to make a soup which may easily be drunk. Of the more solid matter we make an unguent which is of virtue to help us in our arts and pleasures and our transportations.” This unguent, then, was applied to the broomsticks of legend (the same witch also mentions enchanting chairs in the same way) and used for flight. It’s an idea about witchcraft which has lasted over five hundred years so far, so we shouldn’t be surprised that it makes sense within the remit of Puritan society too, and is referenced shortly after the baby disappears in our film. The Devil and his followers couldn’t create matter (only God had that power) but he could certainly help his practitioners to break the rules of the natural world, and – in keeping with a subtext of witchcraft belief that witches abhorred conventional gender roles, including motherhood and child-rearing – dispatching an infant would have been little concern to them, but monstrous to mainstream society.

Likewise, witches were believed to have the ability to shape-shift, taking on animal form; they were also frequently linked with ‘familiars’, animals which usually lived with the witches and worked on their behalf for the fee of suckling from them (and there’s that monstrous spin on motherhood again, folks). In The Witch, the family first hunt a hare which seems to have some sort of supernatural significance; they fail to catch it, and it lures father and son deeper into the unfamiliar woods near which they have settled, whilst also later re-appearing near the farmstead, inevitably a portent of far worse things to come. An association between witches and creatures such as rats, cats and hares (as well as alleged hybrid species, unrecognisable to witnesses) has been of longer duration, and the Malleus Maleficarum describes “a workman [who] was one day chopping some wood to burn in his house. A large cat suddenly appeared and began to attack him, and when he was driving it off, another even larger one came and attacked him with the first more fiercely. And when he again tried to drive them away, behold, three of them together attacked him, jumping up at his face, and biting and scratching his legs. In great fright and, as he said, more panic-stricken than he had ever been, he crossed himself and, leaving his work, fell upon the cats, which were swarming over the wood and again leaping at his face and throat, and with difficulty drove them away by beating one on the head, another on the legs, and another on the back. After the space of an hour, while he was again engaged upon his task, two servants of the town magistrates came and took him as a malefactor and led him into the presence of the bailiff or judge…the judge broke into these words: ‘You most wicked of men, how can you not acknowledge your crime? At such a time on such a day you beat three respected matrons of this town, so that they lie in their beds unable to rise or to move!'” Eventually, the hapless man is able to prove that the ‘respected matrons’ and the animals are one and the same. Ideas about animal familiars certainly persist into the Hopkins days in England, and cross the Atlantic too (as late as the 19th Century, the infamous story of the Bell Witch hauntings tell of a strange, large hare on his property which farmer John Bell initially attempted to shoot. This creature seemed to herald a widespread array of supernatural phenomena at the Bell family home, much of which later centred upon alleged visitations by a malign witch, often called ‘Kate’.)

So, from the time of the Hammer of the Witches and beyond, a rich seam of fear and accusation had frequently placed women in particular under suspicion of covert attempts to subvert and destroy Christian society via magic. It’s little surprise that, labouring under the dual weights of expectation and persecution which drove them to seek the New World in the first place, the Puritans would end up taking the old and deep-rooted belief in witchcraft with them, where it often became intensely magnified and distorted by their extraordinary, often challenging circumstances.

In the second part of Decoding The Witch, I’ll look more closely at contemporary accounts of witchcraft in 17th Century America, identifying further aspects which overlap with the narrative of the movie: assaults on crops, livestock, children – and the particular enticements offered by Old Scratch. To quote the Malleus Maleficarum one last time, we’ll look at the ways “witches can with the help of the devil bring harm upon men and their affairs in all the ways in which the devil alone can injure or deceive, namely, in their affairs, their reputation, their body, their reason, and their life” – a definite focus for the events in the film, not forgetting that level of uncertainty it’s able to maintain.

Click here for Part 2…