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(How Do YOU Halloween?): SEASON OF THE WITCH & A Woman's Right for Sex and Rage

By. Bee Delores    

Horror master Geoge A. Romero delivered a wonderfully irreverent slice of revenge with his third directed feature, SEASON OF THE WITCH (1972), aka HUNGRY WIVES. When it comes to Good For Her cinema, it doesn’t get much better than this criminally overlooked and underrated story about a bored housewife who reclaims her self-worth and identity through turning to witchcraft. Unmistakable themes about one’s innate power, using magic for your greatest desires, and deservedly killing abusive, gaslighting men twist like rose bushes up a dark, disturbing trellis. It’s a somber setpiece requiring a bit of patience; it crackles with silence and forces the viewer to consider the weight of womanhood in the face of a white supremacist, patriarchal society.

Joan Mitchell, played by Jan White, walks listlessly through her suburban life. She has everything she could possibly want, except for cold, cruel husband Jack (Bill Thunhurst) so demanding and relentlessly detached from her that she wishes he were dead. Her daughter Nikki (Joedda McClain) attends college and has forged her own life. With an empty nest, Joan struggles to understand her place in the world, what to do with herself these days, and how to get what she really wants. In the opening sequence, she dreams that Jack puts a collar and leash around her neck and leads her to a metal cage, where she’s expected to heel until he gets back. She also keeps seeing an older, grey-haired clone of her, hammering home the idea that time is wasting away. She has nothing to show for her life but a fractured marriage. These driving metaphors underscore her entire motivation for seeking out a local coven for guidance.

During a gathering of witches and non-witches alike, Joan looks on in awe, enticed by the ideas of complete autonomy and endless possibilities about fiery retribution. Her sheepish smirk and starry eyes deceive her, but she keeps her composure for a shopping trip for items to build her own altar, such as herbs, candles, and other tools. She also buys a book about witchcraft and quickly begins exploring the long-hidden spiritual side to herself. Her openness to receive the natural energies in the world give way to a whole new existence, once untethered to strict roles of men and women. Instead, she opts for self-possession and self-expression. She frees herself from society’s rigid expectations and defines what life should be.

Joan would have lasted about five minutes in Stepford before somebody tried to replace her. In Pleatherface's examination of The Stepford Wives, suburban domestic bliss comes with a particularly ugly price for women who dare to have minds of their own. Joan's answer to that kind of control is considerably less polite.

As she builds her craft, her confidence grows exponentially, but the High Priestess of the coven warns that all this power could contaminate the soul. Witchcraft should be used for throwing good things out into the world, not for some new-found power trip to teach wrongdoers hard lessons. But she could be wrong. Joan seeks a way out of her life and into her lost feminine rage and sexuality. She’s exhausted by being gaslit and abused by the men in her life, including her daughter’s boyfriend, a student teacher named Gregg Williamson (Raymond Laine). After summoning him to her home, Joan experiences unreal pleasure that she’s never once felt before with Jack. She’s uncovered who she was always meant to be, it seems.

Detractors will likely theorize that Joan is heading down a one-way road to destruction. Given her mental and emotional state, however, she has just mastered her art in a very raw, tangible way. In destroying her former self, she sheds that skin like a chameleon and emerges reborn. Witchcraft unlocks something inside of her that many women struggle to accept and don. Joan’s discovery of witchcraft directly feeds into her sexual appetites, further elevating her worth and giving her the know-how to make things happen, good and bad. Human beings are naturally very sexual creatures, and after a very long hibernation, she becomes a more ferocious and insatiable version of herself.

It all leads up to the shocking conclusion and brings the High Priestess’ warning back into focus. Is it really worth it if the woman becomes a monster? Or is there such a thing as a victim-to-monster transformation? Or are they simply human? SEASON OF THE WITCH toys with these questions and suggests that, perhaps, yes is the answer–to everything. You wish for it, and let yourself have it. That’s what Joan’s entire character arc is rooted in; she has things she wants to do in life, from experimentation to being able to breathe. She shouldn't be crucified, much like Thomasin in Robert Eggers’ 2015 folk horror film, THE WITCH, for embracing her true potential and living to tell the tale. It’s a thunderous, empowering tale about dominance, shattering archetypal standards, and learning how to channel rage into sex.

Margaret White would undoubtedly have a few choice words about Joan's newfound sexual freedom. Bee Delores' look at Mike Flanagan's CARRIE explores another household where a woman's body becomes a battleground for control, though Carrie has considerably less say in the matter than Joan does. Apparently, some people would rather face supernatural destruction than let a woman make her own decisions.