1966's "The Devil's Own" was the actual title of a 1960 Norah Lofts novel that provided this final screen role for Hollywood legend Joan Fontaine, who purchased the rights before finding a willing producer in England's Hammer Films. Other published titles for the story include "The Little Wax Doll" and "Catch As Catch Can," Nigel Kneale's treatment issued in Britain as "The Witches," a bit obvious perhaps yet still anonymous. For all the author's bellyaching about the studio's adaptations of his Quatermass serials ("The Quatermass Xperiment," "Quatermass 2," and "Quatermass and the Pit"), Kneale's own attempt to adapt someone else's work turns out to be downright embarrassing for everyone involved, in particular Joan Fontaine, who signified her own disappointment by retiring from any further screen work. The pre credits sequence displays an admirable level of tension as Joan's Gwen Mayfield fails to avoid a confrontation with an African witch doctor for some unknown transgression in her line of duty as a teacher, spending several months recovering from a nervous breakdown. This apparently plays into her being hired as head schoolteacher in the quiet country village of Heddaby, where Duncan Lamont's local butcher cheerfully introduces himself by skinning a rabbit in full view of the camera. Two students appear to be problems, as pretty Linda (Ingrid Boulting) isn't allowed to be courted by shy Ronnie (Martin Stephens), her elderly Granny (Gwen Ffrangcon-Davies) torturing the girl to no avail for both are falling in love. The bright and eager Ronnie suddenly falls under a hex, a wax doll found with its head cut off, the boy and his mother fleeing to stay out of further danger. Ronnie's father decides to pay a surprise visit on old Granny, and is found the next day drowned in what the coroner reports as 'misadventure.' Gwen's suspicions about witchcraft turn out to be correct, but this is where the picture completely falls apart, a repeat of her earlier African breakdown followed by a memory loss of 12 months; by the time she returns to Heddaby we know where it's going but not the heights of hilarity that ensue. Director Cyril Frankel had delivered one prior classic for Hammer, 1959's "Never Take Sweets from a Stranger,' but here he's hamstrung by a script that's only half a decent film, left without a suitable finish, the so called witches coven reduced to dancing like New Years party goers when not eating what appears to be dog feces or writhing on the dirt floor of a disused church. Those who aren't reduced to laughter at this point probably deserve to suffer the same torture as actually viewing this bitter pill!
Review of The Witches
