If you’ve ever wanted to experience a descent into madness set against the soothing backdrop of the Pacific Ocean, The Witch Who Came from the Sea is here to disappoint—um, entertain. It’s got everything: an alcoholic woman, a creepy dad complex, some casual castrations, and the kind of nonsensical plot twists that make you want to scream at the screen, “Wait, what?” This movie isn’t so much about horror as it is a psychological trip to “I Need A Drink.”
Plot: Molly’s Very Bad Day(s)
Meet Molly, a troubled bartender with a past so dark, it makes the inside of a coffin look bright and sunny. After her father’s apparent death (which, surprise, wasn’t so much tragic as it was self-inflicted), she’s left with a bizarre mix of dysfunctional relationships, horrible impulse control, and a penchant for making poor life choices. First, she’s shown having a rather peculiar threesome with two football players who end up on the receiving end of her straight razor. (We won’t even get into the fact that this is presented as just “part of her day.”)
Molly’s spiral continues with a string of lovers, including an aging actor who just wants to talk about The Birth of Venus(really, if you’re trying to flirt with someone who’s casually murdering people, maybe leave the art history discussion for another time), followed by some serious self-esteem issues as she’s discarded in public, and then—wait for it—she castrates a guy. Oh, and she may or may not have a hidden stash of weird childhood trauma that triggers her murderous tendencies.
Murdering Your Way to Closure
The film’s centerpiece isn’t so much the fact that Molly kills people in a way that makes the average slasher film look like a toddler’s temper tantrum—it’s how shockingly nonchalant everyone around her is. She goes around town, killing a guy in his bathroom with the kind of glee you might see from someone opening a can of beans. She casually admits to the murders, says she’s sorry, and yet no one seems to have the common decency to lock her in a padded room.
After committing murder after murder, she decides to overdose on sleeping pills, because why wouldn’t you? Who needs therapy when you can just sleep it off—literally?
The Acting: A Masterclass in “What Are You Doing?”
Millie Perkins gives a performance that can only be described as “she tried.” Molly’s character is so erratic that even the viewers struggle to understand if we should sympathize with her or just hand her a straitjacket and say, “Here, you might need this.” The rest of the cast, including the likes of Lonny Chapman and Vanessa Brown, play their parts with the level of enthusiasm typically reserved for a script reading at 3 a.m. after a bender.
At some point, it feels like everyone is just waiting for someone to scream, “Make it stop!”—but they never do. Instead, we get the joy of watching people flounder in the swamp of Molly’s mental breakdown while she goes on her merry killing spree. It’s like The Godfather, but everyone’s drunk, emotionally unstable, and, oh yeah, completely homicidal.
The Climax: A Drowning of Logic and Taste
In the final moments, Molly, like the tragic figure she believes herself to be, overdoses on sleeping pills, visions of her family and childhood traumas flooding her fevered brain. As the police arrive to arrest her, she’s left dreaming of the ocean—like, is this poetic, or is this just a good way to ruin whatever remaining sense of reason you had? The film closes with a symbolic shot of a skull… because, of course, that’s what we needed to cap off a tale of vengeance, castration, and childlike trauma.
Final Thoughts: Like a Horror Movie That Missed the Point
The Witch Who Came from the Sea is the kind of film that you watch in one sitting because you can’t look away, but afterward you’re left wondering if you’ve just been subjected to some weird cult initiation. It’s a chaotic blend of exploitation, psychological horror, and “wait, am I supposed to feel sorry for this person?” There’s absolutely no emotional payoff to Molly’s tragic tale, no catharsis in her gruesome acts—just a nihilistic plunge into madness that ends with a whimper, not a bang. It’s a film that dares you to ask, “What was the point again?” and then answers with a slow, insincere shrug. It’s a disasterpiece, really. You’ll be haunted, but only by the poor choices you made in deciding to watch it in the first place.
