The Czech film "Witchhammer" is a 1600s-era supernatural drama about how the presence of a wisp about witches could destroy not just the entire community but the bedrock itself. A religious panic may not be the best substrate for a horror film, but if you add enough grimacing, manipulation, and horrific torture - it crosses into the genre via its audacity.
Like Arthur Miller's "The Crucible" blended with Howard Hawks/John Carpenter's "The Thing," "Witchhammer" leaves a lot of room for interpretation and wincing thought. Staged like a play, you do not realize until the end that every sideways glance or character-building shot serves its purpose well. In between the ruthless assault on the senses from medieval truth-seeking devices (going unnamed for reasons of protection, not for the faint at heart,), a larger narrative is unfolding about parties who share the same central philosophy yet practice it in different ways.
In the middle of the movie, there is a small scene where the grand inquisitor is brought in from out of town (played with an almost gumshoe-like liminal edge by Vladimir Šmeral,) debates with one of the town's most revered leaders over the use of Malleus Maleficarum or Witchhammer as the tribunal's guiding text. At the time of the story, this controversial German text is almost 200 years old and seen as "dangerous" and "outdated." Nonetheless, as Šmeral's investigator is given full decisions on jurisdiction here - Witchhammer takes the film to dangerous places.
Oddly, for a story as large as a town being engulfed in rumors of witchcraft and devilry, the whole problem stems from a homeless woman sneaking into the church for communion and stealing a wafer to take to feed her cow so that it will begin producing milk again. Soon, women are being tortured and burned at the stake. Confessions are being recorded under the worst physical circumstances imaginable. Midway through the film, even you as the viewer are made to feel like there is no end in sight.
Questionable behavior is unearthed (of course,) but the dusty old Witchhammer has no concrete method for trying this. Properties are being surreptitiously traded behind the scenes. The members of this religious Star Chamber-like dais are even in disagreement over the contents of confessions made under .. you know. Honestly, the whole outlook is so grim that if you were not a product of the 300 years that followed - all hope would be lost.
In a shocking turn, the town's priest Lautner (played with Douglas Fairbanks style zest by Elo Romančík) is called to a dinner with his fellow priests and the Bishop. There after cracking open a 20-year-old cask of wine, Lautner is served with papers. As he has already railed against the grand inquisitor, it's easy for him to see why he was targeted. When they roll out his friends beaten, bloodied, and brainwashed - he immediately becomes contrite. It is a long, painful trip to this conclusion. Like Dreyer's "The Passion of Joan of Arc," watching them reel off a hateful screed toward Lautner and then seeing his immediate forgiveness follow almost puts the bedrock back in place. No matter what follows this glint of light, "Witchhammer" makes its lasting impression.
