Archive: Author: Keri O'Shea

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…

By Guest Contributor Marc Lissenburg

The above exasperating question was often put to horror fans around 20 years ago, when proudly displaying the latest additions to their film collections. The query arose due to less informed peers confusing analogue vinyl music (‘records’ as they were commonly known) with a groundbreaking digital development in domestic movie collecting. Sandwiched between the VHS tape boom of the 80s and the birth of DVD in the ‘noughties’, was a medium that was born, and effectively killed off, in the same decade. I am talking, of course, about the LASERDISC.

Laserdiscs, or LDs as they were commonly known, created a furore of excitement for film fans in the mid 1990s. The 12 inch, mirrored platters were notably superior in quality to their magnetic tape predecessors. The infamous VHS blur and hiss were superseded by, at the time, unprecedented pristine pictures and digital sound. ‘Home Cinema’ had started to evolve in 1995, and Dolby Surround Sound was all the rage. While all film enthusiasts benefited from this leap in technology, it was the UK horror community who had a few special reasons to embrace it…

With the BBFC keeping UK domestic horror releases on a short leash in the early 90s, the main source of owning uncut copies of gory epics were European video tapes. More often than not though, the tapes in circulation were copies, several generations old. Fuzzy ‘pan & scan’ reproductions, hard-coded Dutch subtitles and a muffled soundtrack was the tithe for owning that elusive uncut version. But LDs changed all of that. The swift side step of the censor’s scissors with internationally-imported discs meant horror fans didn’t have to fret over the BBFC’s frigid attitude.

Although their picture quality nowadays leans ironically more toward VHS, they were a significant stepping stone toward the cutting edge Blu-Ray discs that horror fans have grown accustomed to today. Gone was the mere bleary insinuation of blood-drenched special effects. Tom Savini’s amazing work on William Lustig’s Maniac with his ‘shot gun blast to the head scene’ was vicious enough on hazy videotape. But, when watched digitally, the clarity of blood, skull and brain drifting across the screen had a supreme lucidity about it that had never been witnessed domestically before. This was just one example of how new life had been infused into depraved scenes of death. And it wasn’t simply the improved visual quality that endeared LDs to horror aficionados. It was the accurate presentation as well. Anamorphic, letterboxed prints in the director’s original aspect ratio that are taken for granted today, gave purists the opportunity to watch organic renditions of movies delivered from the silver screen onto the cathode tube for the first time.

Lest not forget the impact that the sonic improvements of LDs made either. The irritating hum of videotape that impeded a movie’s ambience as was finally overcome. The squelch and crack as intestines were munched on and skulls were crushed, suddenly had a newfound intelligibility about them. Never before had the award-winning resonance of Regan’s demonic aural onslaught in ‘The Exorcist’ sounded so disturbing. As the possessed child’s churlish blasphemy flitted from speaker to speaker, wallpaper nationwide would almost peel in fear!

Whilst the multitude of benefits to owning LDs was obvious, the means of obtaining them were not. Before the dawn of e-purchases had broken, acquiring these much sought-after treasures was far more complicated than simply clicking your computer’s mouse a few times. One method was through specialist mail order companies. Companies, such as the France-based Laser Enterprises, would use airmail instead of email to get their latest catalogue to you. An austere black and white photocopied document contained typed descriptions of their wares. It ultimately meant you rarely got to see the cover artwork of the LD until it actually arrived.

Although a good source for uncensored discs, the arrangement was not without its obstacles. Shipping costs were high due to the fragility of the items. The perilous journey via airlines and courier vans meant there was always a chance the condition of your LD could be compromised before it even reached the confines of your laserdisc player. Then, the lurking threat of UK Customs and Excise seizing a foreign disc once on these shores was yet another complication. True, the area of law concerning importing laserdiscs was a grey one, but with overseas editions retailing in excess of £50, buying from abroad was still a little risky.

Who could forget the tension we had to endure of waiting for our airmailed package to arrive? It was almost on a par with Argento’s finest moments on celluloid! Even if you were fortunate enough to be home when the disc eventually got there, a further haggle usually transpired at your front door. Trying to assess any damage to the package before signing for it, pitted against the courier’s reluctance to hand it to you before ascertaining your signature, was all part of the ‘fun’!

A much safer way of procuring these scarcities was at film fairs up and down the country. Leisure centres nationwide would play host to these assemblages of horror devotees, looking to buy or sell macabre memorabilia. Traders would display their merchandise with a little round “BBFC 18” sticker placed on the outer cellophane of its packaging. The gesture seemed enough to give them a dubious licence to sell imports. How much knowledge Trading Standards possessed regarding the Laserdiscs country of origin was unclear, but with pirate tapes being the main focus of the odd raid, the little red dot (probably also bootlegged!) clinging to the wrapping seemed to suffice.

An obvious advantage of film fairs was being able to actually see what you were purchasing. The cost of this convenience, however, was, well… the price. Discs at fairs would start at £60 and spiral upwards, depending on the rarity. At a time when internet fan forums were not yet in vogue, and a feedback system was unheard of, there was an utter reliance upon the scruples of the seller. A dear friend paid £140 for the Japanese uncut LD of Flesh for Frankenstein: upon getting it home, he was given a harsh lesson in Japan’s attitude to pubic hair on film. Although no cuts were made to the movie, it was, in effect, censored with the offending furry regions blurred out.

Those unfamiliar with laserdiscs may be interested to know that, regardless of the generous surface area, the actual playing time per side was limited to around 60 minutes in CLV (Constant Linear Velocity) format. This meant the cumbersome platter had to be flipped over manually every hour or so. While the awkward nature of LDs didn’t help with the atmospheric continuity of a film, it did allow for some extravagant packaging. Glossy, full colour covers dwarfed the paper VHS counterparts, allowing for more macabre artwork to be displayed. These soon evolved into lavish gatefold sleeves which doubled its canvas even further. The EC Entertainment release of Fulci’s CITY OF THE LIVING DEAD, for example, unfolded to reveal a vibrant photo of Giovanni Lombardo Radice’s Bob character meeting his classic demise courtesy of the infamous ‘drill through the temple’ scene in all its gory glory. The decorative casing still remains a major factor for LDs retaining their place in many a horror enthusiast’s collections.

We take for granted the ability of being able to pause a movie and step it forward frame by frame. But with LD technology, this was only possible if it was a standard play CAV (Constant Angular Velocity) disc. You could still pause a CLV disc, but instead of a frozen picture, the viewer was left with a blank gaudy blue screen. The technological advantages of CAV were counterbalanced by the fact it was limited to a paltry 30 minutes per side. With this multiple disc quandary in mind, distributors soon slashed a new niche into the LD market – luxurious collector edition box sets.

Clive Barker’s classic Hellraiser got the deluxe box set treatment seven years after its theatrical debut when released by Lumivision. Limited to 2500 pressings worldwide, the double disc set offered a re-mastered transfer in its original aspect ratio of 1.85:1. With the aforementioned CLV and CAV formats cleverly employed, it meant the gruesome culmination of Frank being hooked and ripped apart could be devoured frame by frame. The concept of ‘extras’ was an innovative one at the time, so the deleted scenes, interviews and audio commentary by Mr Barker also significantly added to its appeal.

The discs were housed in a sumptuous gatefold sleeve, which naturally had Doug Bradley’s Pinhead sinisterly gracing the cover. Opening the plush sleeve revealed some opulent rare art of the demonic Cenobites adorning its inner fold. Remove the exuberant sleeve from its plastic casing and a bound original screenplay, signed by Clive Barker himself, was revealed. The whole ensemble was contained in a sable, 2 inch wide, vinyl coated box. Its façade had an indented depiction of Pinhead, uncoloured but for the silver pins protruding from his skull, along with the movie title emblazoned across the top in lustrous red lettering. Although retailing at a staggering £90 upon release, it remains an arduous task trying to prove this morbid assemblage is not worth every penny!

The advancement of technology means Laserdisc players appear more redundant then ever these days. But while Dominoes Pizza et all did a roaring trade as pizza boxes were recycled as LD packaging for Ebay sales, horror fans by and large held on to the gems of their collections. How foolish it would be to part with the exclusive red pressing of the uncut Evil Dead 2? And who was heartless enough to flog their copy of Cannibal Ferox that, was not only gorgeously presented, but also had enclosed a 7 inch vinyl record containing the soundtrack and tongue in cheek ‘vomit bag’!

Gimmicks aside, there were some features that even to this day are exclusive to their LD formats. The Italian based Cult Epics release of Deodato’s infamous Cannibal Holocaust, for example, had an isolated analogue soundtrack, which retained all the music but was devoid of any dialogue. Regardless of the numerous DVD editions that have materialized over the years, the isolated soundtrack has never featured on any of them. The special edition of George Romero’s masterpiece Dawn of the Dead is another instance. It contains a rare director’s audio commentary that, again, has failed to appear in any of its recent releases.

Despite all the advancements of deathly digital delights from the aforementioned era, decomposing corpses were interestingly not the most frightening thing about preserved LD collections. The threat of ‘laser rot’, due to poor quality adhesive being used in manufacturing older discs, looms over fans’ precious compilations to this day.

Given the ongoing innovations in technology continually revitalizing cherished classic horror films, it is highly debatable as to whether anyone actually watches their old LD wares or simply delves into them to admire the sumptuous artwork. A distinct retro romanticism surrounds the VHS tape, however, with Laserdiscs perceived as more ‘old hat’ then Freddie Kruger’s Fedora. But just think forward a few years. When we are enjoying a Fulci classic play out in the centre of our living room in its new holographic format, will our children ask of a Blu-ray disc, “Is it a drinks coaster?”