A knock at the church door announces the arrival of Joan (Zoe Carroll), a woman accused of witchcraft and seeking shelter. Magda is reluctant but Agnes is more welcoming, immediately sensing a bond between the two women. The sisters disguise Joan in a nun's habit, despite learning that the escapee is sought in the town, the accuser being Joan's husband who, we learn, did so to distract from his affair with Joan's sister.
The trio's peaceful existence is eventually disrupted to the point that they are forced to leave the church for safety; but the solution to their sanctuary comes, not from external sources, but in the bond discovered between Agnes and Joan.
Exquisitely photographed in black and white (by the director), Witches of God, as the title suggests, is a plea for acceptance; that women can be both healers, forces of power, and yet next to God. It's a quiet film, located in nature and mysticism, with strong performances from Leroy, Caddick and Carroll. Nothing is really explained, which adds to the film's potency; it's a slow burn movie, the director's first feature, but an involving one which does a lot on a very small budget. Dodds' next film, Under the Cover of Darkness, will be worth seeking out.
Fletcher is incarcerated, pending trial. But a local man, Thomas (Russell Shaw), accosts William, accurately predicting the events to follow; at Johanna's trial, the convicted woman will also accuse Twyla of being a witch, events which indeed come to pass. William and Twyla, now also imprisoned, are offered a means of escape by Thomas, but as the three make their way into the woods, evading their captors, he has a story to tell them that will implicate all three in a quest through time.
Witch's big reveal is a mid point lurch into something far less prosaic than the film's first 45 minutes, and for a while, when the timey wimey stuff starts happening, the viewer feels that the first section was constructed rather plainly to contrast with the fantastical second part. The problem here is that, despite the cleverness of the concept, nothing really happens in the second half of the film either; there's a lot of talk and some running around, a few nicely mounted CGI bits and then a modern day end coda suggesting a sequel. I applaud Hinde and Zammit's attempt to do something different, and the 'authentic' (Hungarian) village set looks good; but honestly, it's a bit of a slog despite the narrative sleight of hand.
For those who haven't seen one of these offerings yet, here's the setup: an opening shot in which someone gets murdered; a series of establishing scenes where the characters are introduced and domestic squabbles aired, normally in a house - or youth hostel - hired for the film; a section where not much happens but the soundtrack suggests impending doom; the final 'reel' where all the exposition occurs, the creature turns up, and the final girl (and it is usually a girl) gets away.
The success of this formula can vary from film to film; in this case it's a misfire. Sarah (Tash Chant) returns from the American university where she's been studying, to attend a family reunion; the student is on medication following mum's death and an incident in which she received unwanted attentions from a tutor. So the last thing she wants to hear is that her father Paul (Mark Collier) is remarrying; the lucky woman is Ariel (Amanda Jane York). Also at the dinner table is Paul's horrible brother Martin (Robin Kirwan), his wife Vicky (Lynne O'Sullivan) and their three kids.
Sarah is prone to nightmares featuring her late mum, a noose and a strange light emanating from the shed in the garden. In fact the action in the last third of the movie takes place almost entirely outside - at night to boot - and, confusingly, includes a sort of life sized wooden animated doll (Jodie Bagnell in a suit). You have to wait until about ten minutes before the end to understand how the elements all tie together (although they don't). As usual with movies made for ITN Productions the acting is a really mixed bag; here Tash Chant is rather bland and can't really pull it off when under duress. It's always good to see older actors in horror films, but they're all pretty wasted in this one, resorting in some cases to pantomimic gurning when things switch up a gear. And in terms of photography, you'll all have heard of 'day for night' as a term - this one does 'night for even more night', such is its impenetrability.
Cory (Alexander) is having a bit of a tough time. He's been summoned home following the death of his father, but is uneasy at returning to the family dwelling, mainly because of Pamela (Imogen Smith), a woman who had been living with dad until his death and who now looks likely to inherit his estate.
A flashback to 1985, shot on faux camcorder, shows Cory as a youth in a rather tense family setup, with a younger Pamela (played by Elizabeth Arends) casting spells and generally being a bit witchy.
Cory's rather awkward sister Fiona (Heather Cairns) arrives on her bike for the same reason. She's been undergoing therapy and has been advised to keep a video diary as part of her healing. She's not that welcome, particularly as Cory is back together with old flame Lars following a messy breakup with another guy.
But back at the house, things are getting weird. An ageing Pamela is dying; she's served by a Grand Witch (Graham Putney) and Cory's half brother Rex (Rohan Quine, who looks a lot like a young David Bailey, only with nail polish). Her only chance of returning to rude health is to ensure that she is reunited with Cory, the last of the line; and she'll use all her power to achieve this.
Many reviewers have been unnecessarily savage when writing about this one; to use the line from 1989's The Abyss, "you have to look with better eyes than that". I may be wrong, but I think this is a perfect homage to 1970s British horror, updated with overtly gay characters but without the gratuitous nudity favoured by those movies. The photography is generally sumptuous, although the split screen effects are a bit random (again an acknowledgement of 1960s/70s cinema?), and veteran composer François Pervirella Evans's score is so brilliantly eccentric it should be formally released now.
I would have liked Inherit the Witch to be much more full on; it's a bit hesitant, almost afraid to offend, but I loved the central characters (Alexander, almost constantly mildly fucked off, is good value) and the down-in-the-basement end, much as it's telegraphed from way off, is pure Alan Ormsby. Awkward then, but not crap - don't believe the others.
