Defending the Witch (NOTE: Not my mother-in-law)

I’m old enough to remember when The Blair Witch was released. The word-of-mouth marketing campaign, the “lost footage” and the use of unknown actors whipped everyone into a frenzy.

I finally got a chance to watch it with friends, and when it was over, my sister came up to me and yelled, “Stupid. Stupid. STUPID.”

Everyone agreed.

I was too busy trying to hide the fact I had pooped and peed my pants. Because this movie scared the fuck out of me.

I can trace this fear and anxiety to one particular event. When I got my first motorcycle – three-wheeler because kids weren’t daffodils and were given dangerous machines and little direction on their use. I went for a ride with my buddy in the woods.

And we got lost. And it was fucking scary. I was a suburban kid who also spent time in the city, so the woods were not familiar.

It took a while to figure out just where in the hell we were, and how to get back home. Bonus, I almost ran out of gas.

There are also other abandonment issues, and I blame them on my mother. She’s a lovely woman but will be late to her own funeral. I spent many days after school waiting to be picked up, and as more kids left, it got lonelier and I got more desperate.

True story: I once went shopping with my mother, and she thought I was in the car. So, she left me because she thought I was in the bag seat, eating candy. Yes, abandoned at a grocery store.

IT WASN’T FUNNY MOM!

First Impressions

You all know I love movies and the “found material” angle was spooky to me – legends, myths, ghost stories, all that shit has entranced me.

The three characters were great.

The bitchy, super driven pain in the ass shut the fuck up character who reminds me of my wife. Always in charge, never wrong, and destined for glory or defeat. Whatever the outcome, that person will never stop until the smoke clears. My wife would ride a fucking rocket into a nuclear reactor if it was an obstacle to a finish line. She’s crazy. And all mine.

The mellow stoned out dude who’s just in it for the art, man. Perfect because we know people like this who are creative, and don’t get tangled up in it. As a writer in marketing, I have met plenty of untalented dimwits who think they are the next Michelangelo or Hemingway.

I was written up when I was younger and working in marketing for saying, “It’s not the fucking Sistine Chapel! It’s a webpage. JUST GET IT DONE!”

It’s the Fozz Management Style. Don’t like it? Get the fuck off my field.

Finally, the sound guy.

Come on, where’s the talent to this? You hold a mike boom and then walk around and listen to tape. Other than making sure the huge penis like microphone not get into frame, you’re just a mouth breathing half-wit who can press buttons – and also crumble like a sand castle at the first hint of trouble.

When he threw away the map, and really bought into the fact that shit had gone sideways, it was like a punch to the gut.

I liked him because he was roly poly and said good-bye to his mom and seemed like a dude who is just cruising through life, looking for the next beer and semi-hot babe who falls into his path. Granted, he’ll trip over her, spill his beer, and get drawn on after passing out, but hey, we all need a little John Belushi in a horror film.

Ten minutes into this flick, you know the two guys are going to hate this pain in the ass director. You can see it in their faces. It’s what makes the movie work.

Strong females are usually cast as stone-cold bitches, and is it fair? I don’t know. Go ask Whoopi. Wait, don’t. She’s said enough already.

The Journey

If you’ve seen Deliverance and you still think fucking around in nature is a good idea, well, you’re dumb.

Even going in with limited knowledge, you know these three dipshits are in for trouble. A dark, foreboding atmosphere that kicks off with them talking with two fishermen who are clearly the result of incest.

(I’m sure they were diddling fish and other wildlife before this top-flight trio showed up.)

As our Intrepid Leader continues to take herself way too seriously, the other two dudes are ready to wrap shit up and get home.

Nope.

The Unseen Shit Attack

It’s said that a viewer’s imagination can come up with something way scarier than what can be shown on screen. Jaws was a terrific example.

For me, I wanted to see more of the witch, but when the team was awoken by distant screeching, shit thrown at their tent, and other abnormal actions – my sphincter dialed in tight.

The Downfall

Hippie Camera Guy gets zapped, but not before they are wandering in circles, and following a stream. The lighting in these shots is phenomenal, because your eyes don’t notice it, but the monkey part of your brain does.

Hazy, dank, weak autumn lighting paints everything with a coating of fine soot and ash. Night is coming, and it’s gonna get shitty.

It is the color of desperation.

Hippie Camera Guy runs out into the woods and never returns. Well, part of him returns. HIS FUCKING TEETH WRAPPED IN HIS SHIRT.

End of the Line

The rest of the movie is a slide into insanity, complete with the blubbering, snot-soaked apology. The final scene inside the house and the very last shot of the man standing against a wall . . .

If that doesn’t make you feel like the skin of a flayed lizard just brushed across your neck, then you’re fucking dead.

Go watch this movie again, and forget what you’ve heard.

It’s the season of the witch. Strap in.