Ranking the Wicker Man Franchise: Unravelling the Roots of Folk Horror
In the shadowed corners of horror cinema, few subgenres evoke such primal unease as folk horror. Emerging from the misty landscapes of rural Britain, it weaves ancient folklore, pagan rituals, and the clash between modernity and forgotten traditions into tapestries of dread. At its heart lies The Wicker Man, a 1973 masterpiece that not only defined the genre but birthed a peculiar franchise. This ranking dissects the three core entries in the Wicker Man saga, evaluating them on atmospheric immersion, thematic depth, cultural resonance, and sheer fright factor. From the original’s haunting perfection to its divisive successors, we traverse Summerisle’s pagan shores to determine which film truly captures folk horror’s insidious allure.
Folk horror, for the uninitiated, thrives on isolation—villages cut off from civilisation, where communal rites mask barbaric truths. Think crumbling stone circles, eerie folk songs, and outsiders ensnared by customs that predate Christianity. Anthony Shaffer’s script for the 1973 film crystallised these elements, influencing everything from Midsommar to The Witch. Our criteria prioritise fidelity to this blueprint: how effectively each instalment builds dread through folklore, subverts expectations, and lingers in the psyche. Spoiler-light analysis ahead, but prepare for rituals that unsettle long after the credits roll.
Ranking these films reveals a trajectory from transcendent horror to troubled legacy. The original stands unchallenged, yet its offspring offer fascinating, if flawed, evolutions. Let’s descend into the franchise, ranked from pinnacle to nadir.
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The Wicker Man (1973)
Directed by Robin Hardy and penned by Anthony Shaffer, this is folk horror’s undisputed crown jewel. Police sergeant Neil Howie (Edward Woodward) flies to the remote Hebridean island of Summerisle investigating a missing girl, only to confront a community steeped in Celtic paganism. What begins as a quirky culture clash spirals into a nightmare of erotic hymns, fertility dances, and harvest sacrifices. Hardy’s film is a sensory assault: Christopher Lee’s charismatic Lord Summerisle presides over verdant orchards and phallic maypoles, all scored by Paul Giovanni’s hypnotic folk tunes like ‘Corn Riggs’ and ‘The Landlord’s Daughter’.
The genius lies in its structure—a slow-burn ascent mirroring Howie’s descent into fanaticism. Shaffer’s screenplay, inspired by David Pinner’s novel Ritual, flips the detective genre on its head; Howie is no Sherlock but a devout Christian whose piety becomes his undoing. Production tales abound: Hardy shot on location in Scotland, capturing authentic rural decay, while Woodward’s Method acting—abstaining from vices to embody Howie—infused raw conviction. Released amid Britain’s folk revival, it resonated with 1970s anxieties over lost traditions and counterculture excess.
Culturally, its impact is seismic. Initially recut by studio meddlers (the infamous ‘theatrical’ version excised 12 minutes), the director’s cut restored in 2001 cemented its status. Critics hail it as ‘the Citizen Kane of horror’—Roger Ebert awarded four stars, praising its ‘singular’ terror. It birthed folk horror tropes: the deceptive idyll, communal conspiracy, and explosive finale atop a burning wicker effigy. At 88 minutes (director’s cut), it distils unease without waste, outshining peers like The Blood on Satan’s Claw through intellectual rigour. No franchise entry rivals this; it’s the blueprint.
‘The film is a masterclass in building terror from the everyday, turning folk customs into weapons of the soul.’
—Kim Newman, Sight & Sound[1]Why number one? Pure innovation. It doesn’t merely scare; it philosophises on faith, ecology, and human sacrifice, echoing The Wicker Man‘s real-world inspirations like the Burns’ Night festivals and Manx folklore.
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The Wicker Tree (2011)
Robin Hardy’s belated sequel, arriving 38 years later, swaps policemen for Texan evangelicals. Beth Booth (Brittania Nicol) and her husband Steve (Henry Garrett), chastity-belted country singers, visit Scotland’s Tressock village as nuclear disarmament ambassadors. Invited by Sir Lachlan (Graham McTavish) and Lady Delia (Jacqueline Leonard), they stumble into a web of Celtic revivalism laced with modern twists—think radiation-mutated rites and gender-swapped gods.
Hardy, now in his seventies, doubles down on the original’s eccentricity. The script expands Shaffer’s universe, introducing ‘The Green Man’ and ‘The May Queen’ archetypes with gusto. Folk music returns via folk-metal hybrids and pub singalongs, while visuals revel in tartan excess and symbolic props like flaming golf balls. McTavish’s laird channels Lee’s charisma, albeit with broader strokes, and the film’s pro-ecology bent critiques nuclear folly—a timely nod post-Fukushima.
Yet flaws mar its ambition. Pacing drags in the middle act, and American protagonists inject tonal whiplash—Beth’s fundamentalist zeal mirrors Howie’s but feels caricatured. Critics were divided: Empire called it ‘bonkers but bold’,[2] while others decried amateurish effects and overripe dialogue. Shot on modest budget in the Borders, it lacks the original’s polish but compensates with unhinged energy, culminating in a ritual as provocative as its predecessor.
In folk horror context, it evolves the genre by blending Yankee innocence with Scottish mysticism, prefiguring Midsommar‘s outsider horror. Legacy-wise, it’s a cult curio, beloved by diehards for cameos (Christopher Lee voicing credits) and Hardy’s insistence on pagan purity. Superior to the remake through reverence and wit, it ranks second for preserving the flame, however flickering.
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The Wicker Man (2006)
Neil LaBute’s Hollywood remake transplants Summerisle to a California bay, pitting cop Edward Malus (Nicolas Cage) against bee-worshipping matriarch Sister Summersisle (Ellen Burstyn). A distressed mother’s plea for her missing daughter lures Malus to the fog-shrouded isle, where phoney eco-feminism hides pagan zeal. LaBute, known for misanthropic dramas like In the Company of Men, infuses gender warfare, but the result is a camp catastrophe.
Cage’s unhinged performance dominates: helmet-rip monologues (‘Bees! Not in this pagan matrix!’) veer from hammy to hysterical, turning dread into farce. The script apes the original beat-for-beat—phone booth isolation, nude parades, folk ditties—but amps absurdity with motorcycle chases and headbutts. Production woes compounded issues: shot in Vancouver standing in for isles, it suffered reshoots and a bloated 102-minute runtime.
Folk horror purists recoil; gone is subtle unease, replaced by schlock. Burstyn chews scenery as the high priestess, and supporting turns (Molly Parker, Leelee Sobieski) add intrigue, but LaBute’s misogyny undercuts eco-paganism’s allure. Box office flopped ($40m worldwide), yet it gained meme immortality—Cage’s freakouts meme’d endlessly. Variety dubbed it ‘an affront to the original’.[3]
Why last? It parodies rather than honours folk horror, sacrificing atmosphere for spectacle. Still, its ‘so bad it’s good’ status offers guilty thrills, a footnote in Cage’s canon and a cautionary remake tale.
Conclusion: The Enduring Ritual of Folk Horror
The Wicker Man franchise encapsulates folk horror’s essence: a bridge between ancient rites and modern fears. The 1973 original remains a towering achievement, its successors flawed echoes that underscore its brilliance. From Summerisle’s apple groves to Tressock’s twisted fairs, these films remind us that true terror lurks not in monsters, but in humanity’s forgotten gods. As pagan revivals surge—witness Starve Acre or Enys Men—the series endures, urging us to question our own ‘civilised’ veneers.
Hardy’s vision, tainted by studio interference and ill-fated reboots, sparks debate: is folk horror inherently British, or adaptable? This ranking affirms the former, yet invites revisits. Dive into the director’s cuts, hum those folk refrains, and ponder the wicker’s glow. The franchise, sparse as it is, proves folk horror’s roots run deep.
References
- Newman, Kim. ‘The Wicker Man: 50 Years On’. Sight & Sound, BFI, 2023.
- Robey, Tim. ‘The Wicker Tree Review’. Empire, 2011.
- Harvey, Dennis. ‘The Wicker Man Review’. Variety, 2006.
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