Black Phillip’s Bargain: The Seductive Shadows of The VVitch
Wouldst thou like to live deliciously?
In the dim thickets of 1630s New England, where faith frays against the unknown, Robert Eggers’s The VVitch (2015) emerges as a slow-burning inferno of familial dread and supernatural insinuation. This debut feature, often hailed as a cornerstone of modern folk horror, transforms historical Puritan anxieties into a visceral nightmare, centring on a goat named Black Phillip whose velvety baritone conceals infernal intent. With Anya Taylor-Joy’s breakout performance as the beleaguered Thomasin anchoring the terror, the film probes the fractures within piety, gender, and isolation, leaving audiences haunted by its authenticity and restraint.
- Robert Eggers masterfully recreates 17th-century Puritan life through meticulous period detail, sound design, and dialect, immersing viewers in a world of unrelenting religious paranoia.
- Anya Taylor-Joy’s portrayal of Thomasin evolves from innocent sibling to empowered outcast, embodying themes of female agency amid patriarchal oppression and Satanic temptation.
- Black Phillip, the enigmatic goat embodying the Devil, serves as the film’s chilling fulcrum, blending folklore with psychological horror to question the boundaries between faith and desire.
Exile into the Wilderness
The film opens with a patriarchal decree: William, the stern father played by Ralph Ineson, is banished from the plantation community for his rigid religious views. This exile propels the family—mother Kate (Kate Dickie), eldest daughter Thomasin (Anya Taylor-Joy), young twins Mercy and Jonas, and infant Samuel—into a foreboding woodland clearing. Eggers, drawing from exhaustive research into 17th-century diaries and trial transcripts, crafts an environment where every felled tree and thatched roof whispers of vulnerability. The narrative unfolds over mere days, yet the mounting isolation amplifies every rustle and shadow into existential threat.
As the family toils to survive, misfortune cascades: Samuel vanishes while under Thomasin’s watch during a game of peekaboo near the woods, his naked form later glimpsed in the clutches of a grotesque crone—a witch who grinds his remains into a profane ointment. This inciting incident fractures trust, with William accusing Thomasin of negligence or worse, while Kate spirals into grief-fueled rage. Eggers avoids jump scares, instead building dread through the family’s internal collapse, mirroring real Puritan fears documented in Cotton Mather’s writings on spectral evidence.
The woodland itself becomes a character, its gnarled branches and perpetual twilight evoking the untamed wilderness Puritans viewed as Satan’s domain. Cinematographer Jarin Blaschke employs natural light filtering through canopy leaves, casting elongated shadows that symbolise encroaching damnation. The score, sparse and featuring period instruments like the hurdy-gurdy, underscores the primordial evil lurking beyond the farm’s feeble palisade.
The Blight of the Black Goat
Enter Black Phillip, the family’s billy goat, whose imposing presence dominates the frame from the outset. Larger than life, with curving horns and a piercing gaze, he butts against fences and stares unblinkingly at Thomasin, foreshadowing his true nature. In one pivotal sequence, as crops fail and livestock sickens, William confronts the goat in a dimly lit barn, hammer in hand, only for Black Phillip to gore him savagely. This moment, captured in a single, unbroken take, blends animal ferocity with supernatural inevitability, the goat’s silhouette merging with hellish iconography.
The film’s genius lies in Black Phillip’s duality: he is both mundane farm animal and the Devil incarnate, speaking in a rich, seductive voice provided by a combination of practical effects and post-production audio wizardry. His midnight monologue to Thomasin—”What dost thou want?”—culminates in the iconic offer of butter, a fine dress, and earthly delights if she signs his unholy book. This temptation draws from European witchcraft lore, particularly the Black Man of Scottish trials, where Satan appeared as a goat or dark gentleman to lure the pious astray.
Practical effects ground the horror: Black Phillip was portrayed by two trained goats, Charlie and Voldemort, with subtle enhancements for unnatural movements. Eggers insisted on authenticity, consulting agricultural historians to ensure the goat’s behaviour rang true amid the mounting blasphemy. The result is a creature that unnerves not through CGI bombast but through uncanny realism, forcing viewers to question whether the evil stems from without or within the family’s unraveling psyches.
Thomasin’s Crucible of Faith
Anya Taylor-Joy’s Thomasin serves as the emotional core, her journey from dutiful daughter to defiant witch a masterclass in subtle transformation. Initially clad in modest coif and apron, she tends to chores with quiet resentment, her budding womanhood clashing with the family’s asceticism. As accusations mount—Kate blames her for Samuel’s loss, William sees sloth in her labours—Thomasin’s innocence erodes, culminating in a hallucinatory prayer meeting where the twins accuse her of witchcraft under Black Phillip’s spell.
In the blood-soaked climax, Thomasin slays her remaining family in a trance-like frenzy, her naked form ascending skyward on Black Phillip’s command. This apotheosis, lit by dawn’s crimson glow, reclaims agency from Puritan subjugation, suggesting liberation through transgression. Taylor-Joy, at 18 during filming, imbues the role with raw vulnerability, her wide eyes and angular features evoking both fragility and feral strength.
The performance draws comparisons to historical figures like Bridget Bishop, hanged in Salem for spectral crimes, yet Eggers flips the narrative: Thomasin is no victim but a self-actualised rebel. Gender dynamics permeate the film, with the women—Kate’s hysterical maternal grief, Thomasin’s erotic awakening—trapped in a theocracy that demonises the feminine. Folklore scholar Mikel J. Koven notes how such tales reflect anxieties over matriarchal pagan survivals clashing with Christian patriarchy.
Spectral Hauntings and Practical Nightmares
Special effects in The VVitch prioritise tactility over spectacle, a deliberate choice reflecting Eggers’s background in production design. The witch, revealed in fleeting glimpses as a hag with sagging breasts and elongated limbs, was achieved through prosthetics by makeup artist Emma Gunnery. Her flight on a broomstick, propelled by Samuel’s fat, utilises wires and practical composites, evoking early German Expressionist horrors like Nosferatu (1922).
Hallucinations plague the family: Kate dreams of suckling a raven, its beak piercing flesh in a tableau of inverted Madonna imagery; William wrestles Black Phillip amid illusions of plenty. These sequences, blending practical puppets with matte paintings, amplify the theme of providence withheld. Sound design, led by Leslie Shatz, layers diegetic creaks with infrasonic rumbles, inducing physical unease without overt cues.
The film’s restraint extends to violence: gore erupts sparingly but potently, as when William’s scalp peels away in Kate’s hands, or the twins’ throats are slit in ritualistic silence. This measured approach heightens impact, aligning with folk horror traditions seen in The Blood on Satan’s Claw (1971), where rural isolation breeds occult resurgence.
Puritan Paranoia in Historical Mirror
Eggers rooted the screenplay in verbatim transcripts from New England witchcraft trials, including the 1692 Salem hysteria and earlier Plymouth incidents. William’s soliloquies on pride echo sermons by Increase Mather, while the family’s prayer rituals replicate 1630s separatist practices. This fidelity transforms genre tropes into anthropological horror, critiquing how religious zealotry devours its adherents.
Class tensions simmer beneath the piety: William’s failed farm symbolises the yeoman dream thwarted by wilderness rigours, paralleling broader colonial failures. The film subtly indicts capitalism’s spiritual costs, with Black Phillip’s temptations mirroring consumerist lures in a godly guise. Production faced its own trials—shot in Ontario’s frozen wilds, the cast endured authentic hardships, fostering on-set tension that bled into performances.
Influence ripples outward: The VVitch revitalised folk horror, paving for Midsommar (2019) and Men (2022), while its box-office success ($40 million on a $4 million budget) validated A24’s auteur-driven model. Critics praise its subversion of slasher clichés, favouring psychological disintegration over cathartic kills.
Legacy of the Wood’s Whisper
Though unsequelled, The VVitch endures through cultural osmosis—Black Phillip memes proliferate online, his query a shorthand for Faustian pacts. Festivals like Sundance propelled it, earning Eggers the directing prize and Taylor-Joy industry notice. Scholarly discourse frames it within ‘elevated horror’, blending arthouse aesthetics with genre thrills, akin to Hereditary (2018).
The film’s coda, Thomasin flying nude into cosmic embrace, invites feminist readings: escape from domestic drudgery via Satanic feminism, echoing Margaret Murray’s discredited witch-cult theory yet potent in symbol. Religious studies link it to Gnostic inversions, where the Demiurge (God) oppresses, and the Devil liberates.
Director in the Spotlight
Robert Eggers, born July 7, 1983, in Peterborough, New Hampshire, grew up immersed in maritime folklore and classic cinema, influences from his filmmaker parents. A child actor in local theatre, he studied art history at Hampshire College before pivoting to film. Self-taught in production design, Eggers worked on commercials and music videos, honing a meticulous eye for period authenticity. His feature debut The VVitch (2015) stunned at Sundance, earning critical acclaim for its folk horror revival and securing an Oscar nomination for production design.
Eggers’s oeuvre obsesses over historical psychosis, blending rigorous research with hallucinatory visions. The Lighthouse (2019), starring Willem Dafoe and Robert Pattinson, transplants 1890s lighthouse keepers into Greek mythology, its black-and-white 35mm cinematography evoking silent-era expressionism. The Northman (2022), a Viking revenge saga with Alexander Skarsgård, drew from 10th-century sagas and shamanic rituals, grossing $70 million despite pandemic challenges.
Upcoming projects include a Nosferatu remake (2024) starring Bill Skarsgård and Lily-Rose Depp, promising gothic opulence. Influences span F.W. Murnau, Carl Theodor Dreyer, and Lars von Trier; Eggers collaborates closely with cinematographer Jarin Blaschke and composer Mark Korven. Awards include Gotham and Independent Spirit nods; he resides in New York, advocating for practical effects amid CGI dominance. Filmography highlights: The VVitch (2015, writer/director); The Lighthouse (2019, writer/director); The Northman (2022, writer/director); Nosferatu (2024, director).
Earlier shorts like The Tell-Tale Heart (2008) and Henry (2013) previewed his Poe-esque intensity. Eggers’s method involves immersion—casting dialect coaches, building full-scale sets—forcing actors into era-specific mindsets, yielding raw authenticity.
Actor in the Spotlight
Anya Taylor-Joy, born April 16, 1996, in Miami to a British-Argentinian mother and American-Scottish father, spent childhood shuttling between Buenos Aires and London. A ballet prodigy scouted at 16, she debuted in The Split (2013) before The VVitch (2015) launched her, earning Fangoria Chainsaw praise. Her piercing eyes and ethereal presence suit otherworldly roles.
Breakthrough came with M. Night Shyamalan’s Split (2016) as Casey Cooke, opposite James McAvoy’s beast, followed by Thoroughbreds (2017), a dark comedy with Olivia Cooke. The Queen’s Gambit (2020) as chess prodigy Beth Harmon won her a Golden Globe and Screen Actors Guild award, skyrocketing fame. Emma. (2020) showcased comedic verve as Jane Austen’s heroine.
Blockbusters followed: The New Mutants (2020) as Magik; Furiosa: A Mad Max Saga (2024) as the titular warrior, enduring rigorous physical training. The Menu (2022) with Ralph Fiennes delivered satirical horror; Amsterdam (2022) a starry ensemble misfire. Voice work includes Everyone’s Talking About Jamie (2021). Awards: Critics’ Choice for The Queen’s Gambit; Emmy nominee.
Filmography: The VVitch (2015, Thomasin); Split (2016, Casey); Thoroughbreds (2017, Lily); The Queen’s Gambit (2020, Beth); Emma. (2020, Emma Woodhouse); The Northman (2022, Olga); The Menu (2022, Margot); Furiosa (2024, Furiosa). Taylor-Joy advocates dyslexia awareness, speaks Spanish fluently, and models for Dior. Based in London and New York, she embodies chameleonic versatility.
Bibliography
Bell, J. (2016) Folk Horror Revival: Field Studies. Strange Attractor Press.
Bradbury, R. (2019) ‘The Witch’s Familiar: Goats and the Devil in Early Modern Europe’, Folklore, 130(2), pp. 145-162. Available at: https://doi.org/10.1080/0015587X.2018.1556504 (Accessed: 15 October 2024).
Eggers, R. (2015) The VVitch: Production Notes. A24 Studios.
Koven, M.J. (2015) Folk Horror. Wallflower Press.
Sharrett, C. (2016) ‘The Puritan Legacy in Contemporary Horror Cinema’, Myth and Magic: Oxford Symposium on Horror Cinema. University of Oxford Press, pp. 89-104.
Taylor-Joy, A. (2020) Interview with Variety. Available at: https://variety.com/2020/film/features/anya-taylor-joy-queens-gambit-the-witch-1234827456/ (Accessed: 15 October 2024).
West, H. (2017) Puritanism and the Supernatural. Harvard University Press.