Bizarre musical numbers make for a memorable experience in this folk horror classic.
Off in some remote corner of horror movies is the little-known British subgenre of
folk horror, and atop a throne of jagged stones, twisted tree limbs, rotting moss and creeping vines, sits this film, its king:
The Wicker Man.
Folk horror finds itself closely related to “occult horror,” but whereas cult horror typically involves stories of satanists acting as everyday modern people trying to bring about the end of the world in some supernatural fashion (e.g.,
Rosemary’s Baby [1968] and
The House of the Devil [2009]), the “evil” in folk horror feels much more isolated and autonomous (e.g., this film and
The Witch [2015]); it seems ancient and natural, as if millennia ago it infected the land, becoming one with the earth itself.
This ancient-ness lends itself to another primary characteristic of folk horror: the existential, mind-bending horror that befalls its often puritanical characters, as their faith and entire belief system slowly crack before shattering completely against a force that they’re maddeningly helpless against.
The reason
The Wicker Man sits atop the throne, and why it’s one of my favorite horror movies, is that in the midst of this nearly
Lovecraftian nightmare, director
Robin Hardy effortlessly infuses it with an anomalous whimsy that absolutely should not work in a horror film, but absolutely does, adding fuel to the otherworldliness of its fish-out-of-water story. Peppered throughout the film are these utterly bizarre, yet bizarrely catchy musical numbers about sex and fertility - with one of the early numbers accompanied by a hallucinogenic montage.
It makes for a strange, but undeniably memorable experience when your eyes and ears are baffled, but your foot is delightedly tapping along. As in any great film, the sights and sounds of
The Wicker Man burn themselves into your brain. It’s unforgettable.
Distributed by:
Warner Bros. /
Anchor Bay Entertainment /
Rialto Pictures /
StudioCanal
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