[Editorial] Heathens, every one of them! The Unholy Trinity of Folk Horror

A lot has been made of folk horror in recent years, spurred on by the release of Midsommar in 2019. But folk horror has a much longer, varied history, one that is encompassed beautifully in Kier-La Janisse’s documentary Woodlands Dark and Days Bewitched. However, a central question for viewers, fans and scholars alike is, what exactly is folk horror? It is a genre that seems to have defied clear definition, something that seems to work in its favour. Attempts have been made to formalise the scope of folk horror, suggesting that it refers to films that (i) seek to channel archaic elements for eerie, or horrifying purposes, (ii) that present a clash between these arcane ideas and some aspect of modern life (iii) and/or create their own folklore. This is a definition that, in my opinion, captures the essence of what we mean when discussing folk horror, although it may not satisfy all devotees of the genre.

What has never been in doubt is that whatever folk horror is, three films have come to define it, namely Witchfinder General (1968), Blood on Satan’s Claw (1971) and The Wicker Man (1973). These are held up as the template for the esoteric, spooky, naturalistic, and secular horrors that exist within the realms of folk horror. 

In brief, Witchfinder General follows the bloody reign of Matthew Hopkins, the titular general, as he cuts a swathe through the English countryside, accusing all and sundry of witchcraft. Following his abuse of Sara Lowes, her fiancé Richard gives chase, hell bent on vengeance. In Blood on Satan’s Claw, a group of children terrorise each other in deference to a furry, malformed demon that is accidently unearthed in a nearby field. In The Wicker Man, Sergeant Howie is sent to the remote island of Summerisle to investigate the disappearance of a young woman and grows increasingly disturbed and entangled in the rituals of the residents, who are preparing for their May Day celebration.  

It is possible to view these three films, not only chronologically in terms of their production but also in terms of the social and cultural contexts they evoke. In Witchfinder General we see the widespread condemnation of witchcraft during the 17th century, followed by the resurgence of the ‘old gods’ and a desire to shift away from Christianity in Blood on Satan’s Claw in the 18th century and, finally, in The Wicker Man we see depicted the more generalised shift towards spirituality, and decreased fear around moving away from the Christian faith in the 20th century. As each film progresses, we see how Pagan practices and groups have moved out of the shadows and feel able to practice their rituals publicly, albeit on a secluded, private island. But The Wicker Man is the logical end to the trilogy, not least because, by its end, we see that the Old Gods can win and that archaic notions of purity, propriety and the idea of sin can be cast aside in favour of personal freedom. That this freedom may come at the expense of a life or two is what makes it horrifying. 

Whilst all three films feature relatively different plots and characters, there are clear shared thematic elements that have combined to unite these three films forever into the unholy trinity of folk horror. It is also these shared elements, most notably the misty countryside landscapes, heavy presence of naturalistic elements such as woods, and remote locations, and the notion of an older, darker religious practice disrupting the order of the day, that have come to define the genre for future filmmakers, and it is possible to see the spectre of these films in many contemporary offerings.

If we consider the definition proposed above, we see that all three works meet the brief in one, or all aspects. In Witchfinder General, we see the clash between contemporary belief under a puritanical and punitive religious sovereignty seeking to stamp out folk traditions through torture and violence, in Blood on Satan’s Claw, the rituals enacted by the children evoke an ancient evil that seeks blood and body parts to make itself whole again. These rituals play with both the notion of channelling the arcane and also a clash with modernity, with the local Judge and Reverend seeking to save the souls of the feral monsters roaming the woods, all hair and wildness. The Wicker Man is perhaps the most definitive piece in terms of satisfying all three elements of this proposed definition. The May Day celebrations represent the ultimate in uncanny, eerie archaic horror. Howie represents modernity, as well as law and order, and clashes delightfully with Summerisle residents throughout and finally, the rituals and practices displayed in The Wicker Man have become so ingrained in popular culture that they represent a folkloric tradition in their own right. 

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Sex abounds in these films, with varying degrees of acceptance. In The Wicker Man, Sergeant Howie is at once disgusted and fascinated by the rampant sexuality that pervades Summerisle culture. Alongside the lusty carnal delights of those involved in the ritualistic practices in these films, the concept of female sexuality is set apart, as something especially wicked and dangerous. In Blood on Satan’s Claw, Angel is positioned as a temptress, sent to lure the children of the village to their spiritual doom. Willow McGregor in The Wicker Man is a source of temptation to Howie, a constant winking and bum slapping reminder of his own baser instincts. The scene in which she tries to lure him, siren-like, through the walls of the Green Man Inn has become iconic, not only for it’s absolutely deranged nature, but also because it speaks to the intrinsic fears within these films, the women are wicked and must be burned. In Witchfinder General, this is made explicitly clear in the gruesome torture sequences, and we see this in Angel’s comeuppance in Blood on Satan’s Claw. What makes The Wicker Man so distinct in this trilogy, is its refusal to demonise female sexuality, instead we see Howie’s prudishness become his punishment, his refusal to partake of the sins of the flesh is intrinsic to his downfall. 

Death and sacrifice are perhaps to be expected, given that these are horror films. But the approach within each film is notable in its distinctions. In Witchfinder General, death is something to be feared, a punishment for daring to cross a neighbour, or discredit a murderer sent on orders from the King. In Blood on Satan’s Claw, death stalks the fields, watching the children of the village through Angel’s eyes. It is a terror that awaits at the end of a children’s game of chase and is all the more disturbing because of it. In The Wicker Man, death is a celebration (although Sergeant Howie might beg to differ), and a natural part of the circle of life. The residents of Summerisle are at peace with their own mortality and are also willing to spill a little blood if their faith demands it.

A final shared theme is that of religious zealotry and bigotry. Matthew Hopkins is wielding his faith as a weapon, to collect money and the lives of those whom he believes deserves to die. He believes in his God given right to do so. In Blood on Satan’s Claw, tension arises between Reverend Fallowfield and Angel, as Fallowfield tries to impose order and faith onto Angel, who is wild in her newfound devotion to chaos-monster Behemoth. This conflict between Christianity, often positioned as the traditional faith, and the much older Pagan tradition is expertly teased out in The Wicker Man, in which Howie’s stiff, buttoned up faith is sardonically mocked by Lord Summerisle and clan. We are also treated to visually sumptuous ritualistic displays that evoke the direct contrast between the pagan worshippers and their Christian counterparts. In Blood on Satan’s Claw we see children roaming woodlands, bedecked in flower crowns and garlands (and some very strong eyebrows), in The Wicker Man the May Day parade is a spectacle of sinister papier-mâché animal masks and sword wielding dancers. Compared to the cold stone church, with its uncomfortable wooden benches and dreary sermons, is it any wonder the children in Blood on Satan’s Claw and the residents of Summerisle would rather frolic in the woods and fields? When faced with the rigid anti-pleasure, anti-woman rhetoric of Christianity, is it any surprise that people choose to occasionally bloody their hands in exchange for freedom? 

As others have noted, folk horror is a feeling. It is not something readily pinned down for examination, rather you know it when you see it. As these three films highlight, there are many ways to bring forth the spirit of folk horror, but one thing is clear, if anyone asks you to come play in the woods, it's worth checking the date on the calendar first. 

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