THE WITCH WHO CAME FROM THE SEA

THE WITCH WHO CAME FROM THE SEA

Undermining the very same primitive impulses, alienated monsters, and malicious madmen which its surface plots externally celebrate, the horror film (and dark fiction for that matter!), at first consideration a subversive art form, too often mirrors the one-sided ignorance of conservative mentality, echoing in its crass simplifications of human nature the Western ethics of simplified Good and Evil. It is ironic that horror and science fiction, forms celebrated for crossing taboos of theme, taste, and subject, are often employed in such a puritan manner, reinforcing cultural norms rather than stretching boundaries of acceptability or challenging our pre-conceived notions. Oh sure, traditional horror films may let the monster break free and threaten scantily clad women, or threaten the moral majority momentarily in some other exploitative surface manner, but by the story's end, the surface quo is reaffirmed: the monster is caught, the madman silenced. Rule is returned. Far from threats against stability, then, much horror is simply another tool for the ruling emotional cliché of any given moment, pretending to overturn the balance between madness and reason while in fact honoring convention rather than innovation. Yet there are fear films that shed the mock-civility and stock-monsters of genre, attacking our sensibilities, values, and expectations, honest in their attempts to 'go too far.' These films are truly horrifying, challenging in a manner that simple creature-features and franchise films can't hope to match. The Witch Who Came In From The Sea is such a film.

Exchanging men in rubber suits and the supernatural/fantastical conventions often symbolizing warped human impulses for a naturalistic, infinitely more disturbing emphasis on warped psyches, this film was an emotional/thematic precursor to such influential psychological horror movies as Henry, attacking its exploitative subject matter of incest, abuse, madness, and revenge in a serious, disturbingly realistic manner. Walking the fine line between exploitation and tragedy, terror and drama, this psychological thriller charts the pain, confusion, and vulnerability of a character neither simplistic monster nor symbolic 'bad guy.' A carefully written, emotionally sensitive screenplay, this fatalistic fable interweaves mythic resonance with warped mental stress, delivering to its unprepared audience a descent into depravity that hurts as much as it thrills.

A vivisection of family stability and a culture more concerned with commercialism and the appearance of things than the hidden nature of truth, director Cimber crafts in this psycho-drama a nightmarishly intense, disturbingly moving portrait of a woman both victim and victimizer lashing out at others in order to find herself. No masks here but those we each wear in our jobs, relationships, and that everyday sleepwalk called life. And no salvation by way of crosses, spells, or ray-guns; no saving grace at all except in the dark oblivion which ends the picture just as it began in a confused menage of mythic associations and mental illness.

Scripted by Robert Thom, a writer whose work defies easy categorization, this revealing exploration of the lingering effects of incestuous child abuse, soul-numbing banality, and self-deluding fantasies introduces us to Molly (Millie Perkins). A directionless, lost, pitiful if attractive woman whose bruised personality feeds off the nightmares of a never-ending past, Molly is haunted by her inability to love and trust the very men she sexually hungers for, scarred by the abuse of her father. She sleep-walks in a useless existence, working as a barmaid in Santa Monica when not watching her sister's two sons (hallucinating over men on television and trying to block out memories of her father's sexual advances). Molested at an early age, she is unable to trust anyone -- particularly men -- and wrestles with guilt, paranoia, and lust. Masking her tragic history by fixating on the lives of television personalities and regaling her nephews with Roman fertility myths, she interweaves her psychosis with legend, seeing in herself the incarnation of a Goddess born from the life-giving testicles of Zeus, which in turn bore Venus in classical mythology. From claiming that her father was a sea captain father whom she adored (which her sister angrily denies) to finally merging the seeds of her repressed memories, unchained sexual desires, and fascination with myth into a secret persona that turns her into a murderous, castrating 'goddess,' this complex, satisfyingly rich story of psychology, archetypal images, and carnage is disturbingly tender.

An ode to the Outsider, this poison poem to perversity dares to treat its subject and its audience seriously -- perhaps this is why it is often overlooked by fans and lambasted by critics, the former wanting nothing more in a horror film that a slick surface story with tit, ass, and blood, and the later afraid to consider the value of anything outside of high drama lest they become infected with an ounce of humanity. This is a shame on both counts, as The Witch Who Came In From The Sea is as finely written and acted a tragedy that one could wish for, and its interweaving of a naturalistically shot reality crumbling beneath mental anguish and repressed sexual desires is a dark miracle of characterization. This movie hurts, padre. Perhaps that's why so many people resist its bleak, ugly charms. This isn't a film that entertains; you won't walk away feeling happy, content, uplifted, or horny. No, you'll feel like slitting your wrists -- which is precisely the point.

Treating admittedly exploitative themes and imagery with patience, realism, and an odd if effective tenderness, this introspective story combines pathos and perversion, exploitation with catharsis. Belonging too neither art house nor grind house, its sensibilities entice and enlighten even as they shock. Matt Cimber's direction is assured and unhurried, lending deeper meaning and believability to the script by allowing his characters to develop slowly. And a disturbing relationship drawn between childhood innocence and seedy adulthood is cemented in the myths referenced so often by Molly, suggesting not only the warped parent/guardian who despoiled her but also predicting, in part, the oddly endearing ending that allows our anti-hero to achieve in her sick, dying mind a marriage between Faerie tale dreams and warped psychosis more substantial than any moment in her life. One feels there was no other way her story could have ended.

Treating a neglected minor masterpiece with respect, the folks at Subversive Cinema have ensured that the impressive elements of the film are supported by just as effective technical aspects. The picture is presented in anamorphic widescreen (2.35:1), and looks absolutely stunning, allowing famed Dean Cundey's photography to shine, with the carefully composed shots mirroring the contradictory claustrophobia and freedom represented in the characters. The carefully arranged interiors are captured with precision, and colors are pleasing. Audio is offered in 2.0 Dolby Surround sound and mono, both of which are crisp. As usual, Subversive makes sure to surround the feature with extras that celebrate and provide further insight into the feature, including a 35 minute interview piece, an informal yet informative commentary with Cundey, Perkins, and Cimber, and Bios of Matt Cimber, Millie Perkins, and Dean Cundey.

A wonderful treatment of a decidedly serious piece of psychological horror, The Witch Who Came In From The Sea a modern adult fable -- a contemporary myth fusing the archetypes of old with the psychological dilemmas, emotional horrors, and sense of empathetic isolation undeniably modern. Not for those out seeking a simple-minded good time, those wishing to look fear and pain in the face will find just the darkness they seek.

Review by William P Simmons


 
Released by Subversive Cinema
Region 1 - NTSC
Not Rated
Extras :
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