THE WICKER MAN (1973)
DIR. BY ROBIN HARDY

Sacrilege or Devotion?

By Sebastián Chicchón

A school, children dancing around a maypole representing a phallic organ, and a police officer scandalized by these so-called pagan rites. This is how one of the opening scenes of The Wicker Man, directed by Robin Hardy, begins. From the very start, the film announces its central conflict: a clash of beliefs. The story follows Sergeant Howie (Edward Woodward), a devout Christian, in his search for a missing young girl on a Scottish island. From the moment he arrives, he finds the inhabitants’ behavior strange and their customs deeply unsettling, such as on his first night, when he sees several couples having sex in a park, as well as a naked woman crying over a grave.

Natural light dominates, stripping away the typical clichés of classic horror cinema. This visual clarity creates a particular kind of unease: nothing is hidden, everything is visible. Horror does not emerge from darkness or the unseen, but from an assumed normality. I find it very bold that Robin Hardy chose to make a horror film with more scenes taking place during the day than at night. It is horror in broad daylight, which makes it all the more disturbing. Ari Aster, in Midsommar, reused this idea (and was clearly heavily inspired by this film), and in The Birds by Alfred Hitchcock, we find a similar sensation: a form of horror that does not rely on jump scares, but on a tense atmosphere where we, as spectators, feel constantly watched.

Sound also plays an essential role. Often considered the first folk horror film, The Wicker Man features numerous musical scenes and folk songs tailored to each moment, sometimes humorous, such as the landlord’s daughter’s song or the scene where a group of elderly men sing to the Swedish actress Britt Ekland, who plays Willow, in wide and medium shots that emphasize the collective and almost ritualistic nature of the moment. Humor is something the filmmaker deliberately sought to include. In an interview, he stated that the film was much more than a simple horror movie and that elements like humor interested him just as much, if not more, than frightening the audience in a traditional way.

I also noticed that the image has a noticeable grain, and that the quality and contrast vary from one shot to another. This can be explained by the fact that the film was shot on film and later restored for the 2013 version, which corresponds to what the director originally intended to show, without the cuts imposed at its initial release.

The film’s moral dimension is complex because, contrary to what one might expect from a horror film, where heroes and antagonists are clearly defined, the moral critique here is never straightforward. There is no real condemnation of paganism, and at times, Christianity even seems slightly mocked. On the island, the only Christian is Sergeant Howie, who believes all the inhabitants are mad simply because they do not share his values, when in fact he is the only one with a different worldview. This dilemma reminded me of the history of my country, Peru, colonized by the Spanish. They imposed Christianity on the Incas, who believed in the Sun god and sometimes practiced human sacrifice to ensure good harvests, much like in the film. When Howie denounces the Sun god and claims it will not improve the harvest, I wonder (as with the Spanish) by what right someone can impose their beliefs in a place that does not belong to them. The filmmaker seems to play with this concept of “normality,” even though the viewer clearly knows that killing someone is deeply immoral.

Ultimately, more than the violence of the sacrifice, what is truly frightening in The Wicker Man is the radical incomprehension between two worldviews. The mise-en-scène, through its harsh lighting, frontal framing, and use of song, prevents us from retreating into simple judgment. Hell, here, may not be a placem but the impossibility of recognizing the other as legitimate.