Joan Mitchell is a bored Pennsylvania housewife with a hippie college student daughter and a disinterested husband, Jack. Dissatisfied with the ennui of suburbia, she finds herself drawn to a neighborhood woman who practices witchcraft; naturally, bad things ensue.
This wonky feminist thriller comes from genre legend George Romero, and is certainly one of his most unexpected and unusual offerings; the film had a troubled release history, coming out under various titles such as "Jack's Wife" and "Hungry Wives," only to be later known as "Season of the Witch," which I'd argue is the most fitting title. It became something of a lost film until it was unearthed in 2006 by Anchor Bay Entertainment.
"Season of the Witch" is a strange one; like Romero's earliest pictures, it is very apparently low budget, bathed in grain and not nearly as slick as "Night of the Living Dead," though I think it's unfair to compare the two. They are incredibly different films. "Season of the Witch" is part horror, but more so a grindhouse thriller of major feminist proportions. The film is surprisingly cerebral in spite of its production's shortcomings, and has the effect of disorienting the viewer in a world of kitschy '70s decorating and an array of heavily-characterized housewives. Virtually all of the film takes place indoors, primarily in the protagonist's house, which is likely due to budget issues but nonetheless lends the film the claustrophobic sensation of being trapped inside a suburban '70s hell.
Joan's bizarre relationships with both her husband and daughter are highlighted throughout the film, though the primary focus becomes her paranoia and apparent hallucinations, which entail a masked intruder breaking into her home again and again; these scenes are actually rather effective and startling. Shades of "Rosemary's Baby" come into play as the subject of witchcraft pervades the plot, and the film boasts a killer montage featuring Donovan's "Season of the Witch" that only could exist in a certain time and place. The conclusion of the film is surprisingly grim, and is the singular moment in which Romero really lets loose on what remains overall a subdued psychological thriller.
Overall, "Season of the Witch" is one of George Romero's strangest offerings, and is a fantastic time capsule of an era in which "The Brady Bunch," mod patterns, and women's lib were all major cultural forces. It is very much dated in its fashions and set pieces, but that is part of what is so charming about it. The gritty, low-budget production values show through the film, but never really prevent it from effectively getting its theme across. And while it's not traditionally scary, there is something weirdly nightmarish about the way Romero captures the interior sets—part of it is indubitably the gaudy '70s decor, but part of it is also the skill of Romero at boxing his audience into an enclosed world—in this case one where hausfraus are prone to coffee table witchery. 8/10.
This wonky feminist thriller comes from genre legend George Romero, and is certainly one of his most unexpected and unusual offerings; the film had a troubled release history, coming out under various titles such as "Jack's Wife" and "Hungry Wives," only to be later known as "Season of the Witch," which I'd argue is the most fitting title. It became something of a lost film until it was unearthed in 2006 by Anchor Bay Entertainment.
"Season of the Witch" is a strange one; like Romero's earliest pictures, it is very apparently low budget, bathed in grain and not nearly as slick as "Night of the Living Dead," though I think it's unfair to compare the two. They are incredibly different films. "Season of the Witch" is part horror, but more so a grindhouse thriller of major feminist proportions. The film is surprisingly cerebral in spite of its production's shortcomings, and has the effect of disorienting the viewer in a world of kitschy '70s decorating and an array of heavily-characterized housewives. Virtually all of the film takes place indoors, primarily in the protagonist's house, which is likely due to budget issues but nonetheless lends the film the claustrophobic sensation of being trapped inside a suburban '70s hell.
Joan's bizarre relationships with both her husband and daughter are highlighted throughout the film, though the primary focus becomes her paranoia and apparent hallucinations, which entail a masked intruder breaking into her home again and again; these scenes are actually rather effective and startling. Shades of "Rosemary's Baby" come into play as the subject of witchcraft pervades the plot, and the film boasts a killer montage featuring Donovan's "Season of the Witch" that only could exist in a certain time and place. The conclusion of the film is surprisingly grim, and is the singular moment in which Romero really lets loose on what remains overall a subdued psychological thriller.
Overall, "Season of the Witch" is one of George Romero's strangest offerings, and is a fantastic time capsule of an era in which "The Brady Bunch," mod patterns, and women's lib were all major cultural forces. It is very much dated in its fashions and set pieces, but that is part of what is so charming about it. The gritty, low-budget production values show through the film, but never really prevent it from effectively getting its theme across. And while it's not traditionally scary, there is something weirdly nightmarish about the way Romero captures the interior sets—part of it is indubitably the gaudy '70s decor, but part of it is also the skill of Romero at boxing his audience into an enclosed world—in this case one where hausfraus are prone to coffee table witchery. 8/10.