![]() ![]() (Beware, for wicked spoilers this way come.)Īlready, many label the coming-of-age journey of The Witch‘s female protagonist Thomasin as a feminist tale of empowerment. The witch in this case, neither metaphorical nor sympathetic, embodies an almost blameless evil: a fact of living on earth that’s as material as rain or food poisoning. By taking the Puritan nightmare at face value, The Witch puts the onus of meaning-making on the contemporary audience and asks us to make a conclusion about what lore like this means about who we were as people back when we believed in it. But in a brilliant clash of world views, Eggers’ The Witch combines the sincere terror of the original witch’s tale with the echo chamber of modern hindsight. More recently, though, it’s also been reapproriated to incorporate everything from Arthur Miller’s metaphorical scapegoats to the WB’s Halliwell sisters (and whatever the hell Strega Nona and her magic pasta pot are). The ancient, devil-loving hag who wreaks havoc on good, devout Christians is, of course, a tale as old as most countries. The Witch, described simply by its first time writer/director Robert Eggers as a “New England fairytale,” tells a story we’ve heard many times and in many different ways-but with one crucial difference. Margaret Atwood, author of Half-Hanged Mary and descendant of accused witch Mary Webster ![]()
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