The Witch: A Review

First things first: All the people in this movie spoke 17th century English. That means you’re in for a hour and a half of “Didst thou entrance the bewitch-ed forest?” and “What dost ye sayeth?” and all that. My wife was like “where are they? Are they speaking Irish?” So I mansplained that they were actually In New England, right where she grew up, but duh there’s no Wal-Marts because these crackers just landed at Plymouth Rock! But the thanksgiving dinner was no turkey. It was their baby and a witch was the guest of honor!

I kind of grew tired of feeling like I was in a church — I hated that shit — and when the witch finally showed her boobs they were really big but also really old and saggy, so I focused on my jalapeño bacon cheddar pizza, which made for an unpleasant morning bathroom experience and the thing is I knew that going in but I did it anyway.

I also noticed that they don’t say “me” or “we” the right way because maybe the long Ē sound wasn’t yet invented. They say “meh” or “may” or somewhere in between, which is weird because that’s how Kanye does it, and I had no idea he was English. So there ya go.

Anyway, there was probably some sort of symbolism here with the blood and the pubescent daughter and the oppressive, superstitious family and all the praying and how fear and suspicion will lead to your own demise and all that, but I finished school a long time ago so I dunno I don’t have to really think about those things any more. They had Bells Hopslam on tap, which was good with the pizza.