Review #125: 'The Witches' (1966)

After a terrifying experience in Africa, involving native voodoo witch doctors, Gwen Mayfield (Joan Fontaine) has a nervous breakdown and returns to home. Once recovered she takes a job as head mistress in Heddaby, a small quaint English village. She is introduced to brother and sister Alan and Stephanie Bax, who had given her the job. Alan is a distant character. He'd always wanted to be a Reverend, but 'could never do this'. His evidently tortured soul wonders through the film, zombie-like, impotent to the happenings in his village.

Gwen begins to suspect there is something strange going on in Haddaby, when two of the school children she is teaching, - Linda and Ronnie (Ingrid Brett & Martin Stephens) - are kept apart from one another. A sinister plot to make sure Linda keeps her virginity. Gwen delves deeper into the escalating events in the village, and is slowly driven to a relapse of her breakdown, as the idea of witchcraft, and human sacrifice circle in her mind. She is constantly reminded of the imagery that had brought her first nervous disposition in Africa. The film cleverly draws parallels with the ancient 'arts' of the folkloric black arts of witchcraft and voodoo.

Based on the book 'The Devil's Own' by Norah Lofts, the always excellent Nigel Kneale (writer of such British classics as The Quatermass Experiment et al), weaves a tale of increasing anguish, and conspiratorial plotting. Amongst this is a line of dialogue completely out of place, but an absolute joy. After Gwen relapse and memory loss, she is placed in a nursing home. She is sat in the 'TV' room, where an old, knitting lady states, "You're the lady that's lost her memory. I've got veins". Well, it made me chuckle.

A Hammer film, co-produced with Seven Arts, this is not one of their greatest films. It is relatively pedestrian. But very enjoyable. The ritualistic climax does move far too close to camp farce, as the townsfolk writhe ridiculously around the floors, dressed in rags for inexplicable reasons. Joan Fontaine (who owned the rights to the book), suitably over acts, using her contorted face to emote pain, confusion, and a little bit of horror. It's one of those films that fits perfectly with a wet, lazy, Sunday afternoon. Well, that's how I like to spend those types of days.


Directed by: Cyril Frankel
Starring: Joan Fontaine, Kay Walsh, Alec McCowan
Country: UK

Rating: ***

Marc Ivamy