Or: George Romero does feminism. This might not seem like the most obvious conceit for a movie, but Romero’s at his happiest (and best) when exploring social themes and concerns under horror / supernatural premises, and this rarely-seen feature, recently exhumed on DVD in the US, is a flawed but worthwhile addition to the director’s canon. Season of the Witch was Romero’s third film, following the epochal Night of the Living Dead and the scarcely-mentioned romantic comedy There’s Always Vanilla, and tells the story of Joan, a bored and repressed middle-aged housewife who finds release and fulfillment through the occult. Her confidence grows as she begins to identify herself as a witch, even though she finds a new lease of life, she also takes on a whole range of new problems…
Those looking for Dead-style carnage in the film will be sorely disappointed, as Season of the Witch is ultimately a very slow and talky film. Like Night of the Living Dead, its limited budget and resources is partially concealed by a script that doesn’t call for outlandish sets and effects, but the tense paranoia of Night has given way to a more stately pace that often feel like the film isn’t really going anywhere. This is especially true of an early scene in which Joan and her future lover Greg debate the powers of the mind; it feels in some way significant, but is really too opaque in its intentions to feel that it’s advancing our understanding of the story, and also seems to go on forever. Apparently Romero shot over four hours of material before cutting it down to ninety minutes; weirdly, the film feels both overlong and incomplete – it’s a tough one to sit all the way through, but although it’s pretty obvious what the film’s about it’s hard to say what it actually means. More practically, some important plot points get lost along the way, including crucial information about Joan’s miscarried baby, which does contribute greatly to our understanding of her character.
That said, one shouldn’t approach Romero films expecting anything overtly didactic or opinion-based. He’s admitted himself that he’s more impressionistic in his writing, preferring to hold a mirror up to social issues that interest him rather than pursuing an agenda. Obviously, this approach works incredibly well in the Dead films where he’s comparing different strata of society, but it comes rather unstuck in Season. It’s clear that Joan’s move into the occult is a metaphor for feminist liberation, but Romero sends mixed messages about the implications this has. Most troubling of all is the sequence in which she (unwittingly) kills her husband, who dies unrepentant for the patriarchal quasi-slavery he has held her in. Is Romero really suggesting that female emancipation will lead to tragedy? It’s unlikely, given the measured ambivalence he shows elsewhere towards the issue.
As long as one is prepared to resist looking too hard for a clear-cut message, such flaws are eminently forgivable for a director who was ultimately still honing his trademark style. Although the camerawork frequently lacks finesse, the editing is unmistakably Romero, as is the effective use of music. The opening dream sequence, in which Joan’s oppression is played out in literal terms, is startling and the death of her husband is brilliantly shot and cut, despite my reservations. As might be expected, the acting is very variable, but Jan White and Ray Laine are very good as Joan and Greg, getting good mileage out of their scenes together and frequently showing real chemistry. Season of the Witch is not the easiest film to watch, a feeling that’s not helped by the really murky print on Anchor Bay’s DVD release, and neither is it the best introduction to Romero’s work. However, I’d recommend it to any Romero fans more interested in his themes than splatter. In some ways, it’s a partial dry-run for Martin, another Romero character-study and arguably his best feature. Season is rough and ready, but provides food for thought for the patient viewer.