The Wicker Man (1973): Folk horror’s towering icon catches ablaze in new 4K restoration (Review)

It towers over the horizon, casting shadow over everything below. It inspires dread, reverence and devotion, cutting an impressive figure of iconic proportions. It catches alight quickly and blazes with a terrible truth, and it becomes impossible to look away from its purifying, eye-opening vision. And we’re not just talking about the eponymous wooden effigy here, but Robin Hardy’s The Wicker Man as a whole. A film with a reputation that precedes it, it’s a rare work that not only defines an entire sub-genre, but has almost become a noun in its own right. “It’s a bit Wicker Man” has become shorthand for anything rural that has a sense of the unfamiliar; even something as innocuous as a pleasant holiday to the countryside populated with odd locals can feel like Hardy’s daymare come to life. Its massive legacy has seen it reach cult status, skyrocketing its strange vision to the masses and re-evaluating what was once reviled and misunderstood upon release. Now celebrating its 50^th birthday, Studio Canal present an offering fit for the old gods, with a strong 4K restoration and a wealth of bonus material to initiate novices and please avid disciples alike. 

But what gives The Wicker Man its timeless power? Firstly, the marrying of plot and place feels tremendously natural; Anthony Scaffer’s screenplay drops in its virtuous protagonist (Sergeant Neil Howie, played with unflattering commitment by Edward Woodward) to a web of deceit and lies on the isolated Scottish island of Summerisle, forcing him to fight an uphill battle with the locals and their aversion to admitting they know about a missing child. Howie’s journey is arduous and frustrating, meeting conflicting tall tales and smirking remarks left right and centre that reduces a potential murder down to a sick game. To make matters worse, Howie’s fervent Christian beliefs are offended at every turn by churchyard orgies, frank sex education and increasingly eccentric May Day celebrations that assure the buttoned-down policeman that he’s not on the mainland anymore. How much more can this dogged detective take before he gets too close to the terrible truth? Hardy and Schaffer take the story to its inevitable and iconic end, but as with all great films, it’s the journey that makes the destination worth it.

The Wicker Man‘s greatest strength lies in its complicated portrayal of its so-called hero and villains. On paper, Sergeant Howie should be easy to root for: his intentions are noble, protecting a child from a predatory world that seems ambivalent to their life or death. In execution, however, he is a tedious man, belittling others behind his WASPish faith and authoritative uniform with a gratingly imperious tone of voice. In turn, the people of the island are impish and fun-loving; during the many scenes of song and dance around Summerisle’s vibrant locations, it’s easy to imagine getting swept up in their infectious joviality, even if their norms are preposterously strange to most folk. After a while, it could be quite possible to say that the people of Summerisle are doing nothing wrong when they’re up against such an uptight bore who seems intent on spoiling their fun at every turn, and any viewer who begins to enjoy their company more than their supposed hero’s is in for one of cinema’s most brutal shocks. The way Hardy and Schaffer play with your loyalty throughout is the masterstroke here, and the overall feeling of being manipulated in such a way is a negative one, full of guilt and earned unpleasantness that only begins to manifest as the credits roll.

The Wicker Man is a film that proposes moderation, understanding and openness between church, state and everything in between. It’s a film of remarkable tolerance and honesty, positioning Christianity and paganism against one another with equal moral weight, their flaws on display for all to unpick. One could say it’s a liberal film, free of any real judgment for either side precisely because it condemns both libertarian and conservative viewpoints. Trying to wade through its complex spiritual and moral codes is a pleasure that everyone can pick up with each viewing, cementing its status as one of horror’s greatest and most harrowing works. 

Whether purchasing a 4K steelbook or a impressively-sized collector’s edition, fans will be treated to all three cuts of the film by Studio Canal. Although the differences in runtime aren’t hugely different, each version delivers its own structure and exposition tactics. The Theatrical Cut remains untouchable in its leanness that preserves the mystery, minimises unnecessary context and builds the suspense to unbearable levels, and all later revisions in the Director’s and Final Cuts feel slightly limp by comparison. The latter cuts see Britt Ekland’s sultry buttock-slapping dance moved to much later in the film, and an early appearance from Christopher Lee’s Lord Summerisle that somewhat breaks the ‘man behind the curtain’ allure of his character from the 1973 cut. Nevertheless, Wicker Man lovers will no doubt be intrigued to see what originally hit the cutting room floor, and although this footage proved difficult to remaster in quite the same way as the original film elements from the Theatrical Cut, Hardy’s vision remains curated and refined to the best possible ends. 

This half-centenary edition also sees Hardy’s sons Dominic and Justin team up to deliver some new bonus features for the discs, including a pleasant visit to some of Summerisle’s locations, a critical reflection on the impact of the film and a candidly amusing interview with Britt Ekland. The real gem in this set, however, is the short documentary about Robin Hardy’s recently-discovered annotated script that includes a long, expository speech from Lord Summerisle that ties the film’s mysteries off in a little bow. Actor/director/folk horror enthusiast Tim Plester and Dominic Hardy sit down to analyse why it didn’t make the cut in a fascinating, informed discussion that highlights the mastery of The Wicker Man‘s original edit, filled with respect and genuine interest in Schaffer’s dialogue, Hardy’s direction and Christopher Lee’s would-be delivery of the material. It’s a refreshing 10 minute featurette that crowns the boxset with the balance inherent to The Wicker Man as an intelligent, measured look into the dark parts of human behaviour that can be found in the most beautiful places.

Simon’s Archive: The Wicker Man (1973)