THE VVITCH: A New-England Folktale Decoded: Ambiguous Horror

The number of suspects grew rapidly, largely due to one of the accused, Rebecca Greensmith, who pointed to others, likely hoping to spare herself from torture. She confessed to intimate relations with the devil and summoning him during sabbaths. Witnesses emerged to corroborate her damning statements against her neighbors: of course, they had seen Elizabeth Seager dancing by moonlight and brewing mysterious concoctions in a black cauldron, and Mary Sanford squinting with her left eye and sporting a mustache above her lip. Four women were hanged, including Greensmith herself. Ayres managed to escape. In this particular town—Hartford—hysteria would erupt several more times. Not to mention that many years before Greensmith’s trial, it was here that the first witch in colonial American history, Alice Young, was hanged in 1647, five years after witchcraft had joined the exclusive list of twelve crimes punishable by death. THE VVITCH: A New-England Folktale

The Puritans, who disembarked from the Mayflower in 1620 and settled in Plymouth, founding New England, brought with them many burdens, fears, and entrenched beliefs from the old country. These were only reinforced in the challenging atmosphere of survival, isolation, and escalating competition for better land and higher status. The strict Puritan doctrine, based on unwavering adherence to the letter of the Scriptures, condemned virtually everything that wasn’t work, prayer, or studying the Bible.

Sin lurked everywhere for the faithful, manifesting as a beautiful neighbor, a glass of wine, loud laughter, or singing. It was thus easier to make sense of personified evil than to grapple with the abstract notion of the devil. For these people, the devil was a very physical and real being, and witches—his extended arms. Over all this loomed a mixture of legends, folk tales, and ingrained symbols that had seeped into daily life over generations, becoming widely accepted as fact. This was somewhat ironic in a doctrine that so harshly rejected any practices tainted by idolatry or paganism. The spiritual successor to the religion of the founding fathers, the United Church of Christ, is now considered one of the most liberal in the world. In the 17th century, however, there was little room for leniency.

The action of The VVitch: A New England Folktale takes place around 1630. A devout Puritan, William, along with his wife Katherine and their children, is exiled from their settlement. Soon after, their fifth child, Samuel, is born. Unfortunately, the baby vanishes while under the care of one of the sisters, Thomasin. At first glance, it seems straightforward—he was kidnapped by a witch who enjoys anointing herself with the blood of (preferably unbaptized) infants. Tragic, but such things happen. Unfortunately, the misfortunes don’t end there: ergot attacks the crops, and the eldest son, Caleb, succumbs to a mysterious fever. Katherine begins to suspect that the real witch may be under their own roof.

After Pope Innocent VIII declared witchcraft a heresy in 1484 and England made it a capital crime in 1563, many women fell victim to accusations and neighborly denunciations. Often these were solitary, older women, seen as herbalists, healers, or local midwives, and surprisingly often, they were women who owned significant tracts of land without male protectors. Fear and religious obsession, superstition, and a panic about Evil were tightly intertwined with calculated strategies. A zealous informant could always expect rewards from the grateful town hall or claim the “abandoned” land of their closest neighbor by law of possession. Interestingly, accusers always knew exactly what to charge a woman with, and she, exhausted by torture, would usually offer a story convincing enough to satisfy the honorable judge. Stories about witches and their practices were well-known to ordinary people long before anyone thought of cataloging them. Humans make sense of what they don’t understand or fear by translating it into a graspable set of symbols and archetypes.

Screenwriter and director Robert Eggers delved into old sources and legends to create The VVitch, a masterful blend of fear, cruelty, magic, and perversion, paranoia driven by religious obsession, isolation, and guilt.

Searching for evil everywhere it isn’t, the characters of The VVitch—primarily William and Katherine—fail to see it where it truly is and create it where it wasn’t before. Thomasin, portrayed brilliantly by the young Anya Taylor-Joy, initially seems to radiate light and innocence, though she also has a harmless, mischievous streak. A normal, cheerful, growing girl whose main fault is that she is becoming a woman and, by virtue of her gender, is as susceptible to temptation as an inviting gateway to Evil. Declarations of faith are stronger proof of innocence than faith itself; a mother’s despair drives her into madness, and the devil still seeks sustenance among those most satisfying to corrupt—those theoretically free of sin.

Are the visions experienced by Thomasin and others real, or are they hallucinations caused by ergot poisoning and collective psychosis? The fears of the farm’s isolated inhabitants are deeply human and tangible, but by weaving folk and para-religious symbols into them, the director illustrates the mechanism of taming fear by creating a myth so strong it becomes almost alive. The enigmatic witch lurking in the woods embodies everything whispered about witches: she can shapeshift, fly thanks to a blasphemous balm made of blood, suck the blood of animals, bring disease, and tempt both young and old, appearing as a seductive maiden in place of a repulsive crone, accompanied by demonic animals, symbols of death and possession. In 16th-century German engravings by Hans Baldung Grien, we see a laughing, naked witch riding a goat during a sabbath—a motif later revisited by Goya. The freedom of the flying witch, owing her shamelessness to consorting with the devil, was equally repulsive and fascinating. She embodied the desire for freedom and the simultaneous fear of it. Freedom, after all, is a sin that condemns the soul to damnation.

Modern witches follow a nature-based religion that honors the sacredness of the elements. They revere life in all forms and embrace the belief that everything you give will return to you threefold. Do what you will, as long as it harms no one. There is no room for the mythical devil with horns and a tail, but plenty for humanity, self-awareness, and, above all, responsibility for oneself and others for all that is done. God neither absolves guilt nor imposes punishment. It is still freedom, but one that requires great personal discipline. The deity takes on the tripartite form of the independent maiden, the loving mother, and the wise crone—eternally reborn and constantly changing, in harmony with the rhythm of the seasons and the rhythm of life itself. This vision is far removed from the depravity feared by the Puritans. Our imaginations of the unknown often say the most about ourselves. In this case, a sin yet to be committed took on the proportions of an unbridled apocalypse and the form of a witch joyfully surrendering her soul to the devil.

To what extent Eggers’ story is symbolic and to what extent it fits within the framework of a paranormal horror story is a decision each viewer can make for themselves. The director consciously leaves room for dual interpretation. Regardless of the viewer’s beliefs, it is an intriguing, atmospheric story steeped in depressive gray and faded white, where the anticipation of horror is more intense than the actual moments of terror—despite their undeniable brutality—and the worst demons remain invisible, safely hidden in human hearts.