Sometimes I'm surprised by the ways that I read movies. I recently purchased, viewed, and enjoyed the classic British cult thriller The Wicker Man (another board in my platform for selling 1973 as one of art's biggest years in the 20th century). For those of you who haven't seen the film, it's basically a detective story about a constable infiltrating a secluded Pagan community to investigate the disappearance of a young girl. Things, of course, get way outta hand.
Without getting too deep into details of the plot, I want to talk about the way the message of The Wicker Man has been conceived of by its viewers. Many critics have read this film (and especially it's ending sequence) as reflections on the insanity of ritual and religion. Yes, the film is about a Pagan island, a deeply religious inspector (sometimes described as "bible-thumping," which I think is very misleading, given the context), and the kinds of conflict that arise when their two cosmologies collide within the context of the secular law. I wonder if many 21st century viewers were more likely to identify with Christopher Lee's Lord Summerisle, whose debonair mannerisms and libertine outlook contrast sharply with the high-strung, scripture-quoting Sergeant Howie (Edward Woodward), the supposed protagonist of the movie. Indeed, the Pagan society seems to be presented as being pretty chilled out, with lots of folk singing and sexual liberalism. I guess it would be only natural for a viewer today to root against the forces of conservatism, and to carry that outlook into the final interpretation of the work as a whole (despite the fact that the Pagans are also subject to intense ritual).
For all of his God-themed temper tantrums, Howie makes a good point; the denizens of Summerisle are, in fact, subjects of a Christian nation, as there is not strict separation of church and state in the United Kingdom. But that's a technicality that isn't really worth picking too much over. What I really want to get to is the whole point of this post: can we see The Wicker Man as a modern rendition of the Temptation of Saint Anthony?
The big reason why I was interested in seeing The Wicker Man was because of Woodward’s Sergeant Howie; in an age when the celluloidic faithful are inevitably cast as either villains or naïve buffoons, the idea of a ‘religious detective’ is very, very intriguing to me. Not to mention the fact that he is a virgin, a narrative curveball that breaks so sharply, it’s a shame that the 2006 remake didn’t retain it (I guess American audiences couldn’t conceive of Nicholas Cage as celebate?). For me, this was an incredible crucial element of The Wicker Man’s appeal; placing this brooding, serious detective, tightly wound within a symbolic universe, in direct confrontation with his metaphysical Other. The fact that he is separated from their experience in such a sharp way makes it all hit harder. In many ways, it’s a renaissance-era reading of the Other, since their savagery is born of the Devil and not lack of reason or technology. I love this character, the same way that I love Christ in the Wilderness or Buddha besieged by Mara. Like the paintings of Bosch and Dali that depicted the fleshy trials of that famous Egyptian monk, Saint Anthony the Great, The Wicker Man too depicts the pious in the desert. Sure, we may see this in other forms, such as the ubiquitous by-the-book cop in the dens of corruption, but the fact that we’re dealing with two religious systems here, both living within the context of the law (he is, after all, a policeman) makes it so much juicier. If the film is read in the manner of most modern critics, the Christian/Pagan dichotomy isn’t as important as, say, the reason/faith one. But it’s how I enjoyed the movie.
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