The Wicker Man

(1973) *****

JPX discussed camp when he reviewed The Evil Dead, which brings me to a two-part confession. One, I've only seen this movie one other time, and two, my friends and I were watching it mostly for camp value. I know now this is just plain wrong. I watched this with some work buddies at the behest of our friend Dave. He was the assistant to the head of Puffin paperbacks, who was such a macro-manager that Dave confided he would often blow off projects and later just tell her he did them. Naturally, he was my hero. I know now he wasn't watching this ironically, and maybe he had mixed feelings when Sgt. Howie's desperate cry of "Chroist! Oh, Chroiiiist!" turned into an office catch phrase. Anyway...thanks, Dave.

I know the remake is an easy target, but seeing it last month really emphasizes the beauty of the original. It's the endless supply of creepy details, among a setting and characters that seem completely normal. No, they do! The old duffers on the dock, the people in the bar, the kids, everybody -- they all talk and dress like the people from other cinematic Scottish island towns, like that of Local Hero or...well, that's the only one I can think of. But I grew up in Rhode Island and we sailed quite a bit, and those quaint New England towns share the same feeling as Summerisle, on the surface. The details, though, the details (besides the naked people). There's an eye painted on the boat, and strange things in the candy store window like chocolate babies and ram's heads. When Sgt. Howie writes Rowan's name on the classroom chalkboard, he just notices what was written there before: a lesson on the healing properties of various stones. In terms of spirituality and comfort, he may as well be in darkest Africa or on the freakin' moon, but he's probably got a kilt in the closet just like Christopher Lee's.

The Wicker Man is an amazing depiction of sly menace lurking beneath a bouyantly happy exterior. Sgt. Howie's duty and concern is played constantly against the fun everyone is having, and you just want to tell him to relax. As the truth gets nearer, however, and as the shape of the islanders' commitment becomes sharper, so do the skulls behind their smiles. Like the creepoid death hippies from Bad Dreams, they'll sing while you die. But, as Lord Summerisle might say, that's nature, and this people's dedication to the brutality of that is wholly sincere. They are, as he says, a deeply religious people.

And the movie offers a tantalizing hint -- just a teeny one -- that they might all be doomed.

The remake's bee-based matriarchy just withers in the face of the real spiritual history at work in the original. That's called doing your homework, but I guess Neil Labute's got eaten by his dog.

Loved it. Loved it.

P.S. Hyperlink city: Here's my remake review, Summerisle's remake review, Summerisle's original review, and the do-not-miss I'mnotMarc's review of watching the original with his mom. Cheers.