The Wicker Man (1973) is often hailed as a masterpiece of folk horror, but I can’t help but feel that this overhyped film is nothing more than a dull, plodding exercise in pretension. Directed by Robin Hardy, with a screenplay by Anthony Shaffer, this British horror film tries to sell itself as some sort of existential folk horror that juxtaposes the rigidity of Christianity with the free-spirited abandon of pagan rituals. It’s certainly trying to say something—though what that is, I still can’t quite figure out after sitting through it.
The plot, on paper, should be the stuff of nightmares: a devout Christian cop, Sergeant Neil Howie (Edward Woodward), travels to the isolated island of Summerisle to investigate the disappearance of a young girl, Rowan Morrison. What he finds instead is a bizarre, sexually liberated pagan society that is fully immersed in rituals that defy the laws of his religion, and it’s soon clear that something sinister is afoot. As Howie begins to probe deeper, he uncovers a disturbing truth: the islanders are preparing for a human sacrifice to ensure a bountiful harvest. Naturally, Howie is the intended victim. There’s a creepy pagan ritual, a giant wicker man, and a scene so “scary” that critics have been falling over themselves to call it one of the greatest horror endings of all time.
But let’s be honest: The Wicker Man is as dull as a flat tire. The film starts out slow, and when it finally gets going, it doesn’t offer any of the thrills or chills that make a horror film memorable. The pacing is glacial, and the first hour feels like watching someone fill out paperwork for a very boring police report. Sergeant Howie, with his wooden performance, stumbles through endless conversations with the bizarre and unfriendly locals, who respond to his inquiries with an aloofness that would make even the most patient viewer lose interest. His naivety—while crucial to the plot—just makes him look like a fool in the worst way possible.
Edward Woodward as Howie is painfully one-note, and I can’t tell if that’s a fault of the script or his acting. He’s constantly agitated, constantly trying to figure out what’s going on, but his panic feels forced and unearned. It’s hard to sympathize with a character whose entire personality seems to revolve around his devout Christianity and shock at the paganism around him. It’s like watching someone discover that their childhood friend is a cult leader, and they keep yelling “but this is wrong!” without any depth or nuance. His earnestness is comical, and by the end of the film, you’re not scared for him—you’re just hoping it ends quickly.
Christopher Lee, as the suave and sinister Lord Summerisle, is a bit of a letdown too. While the film tries to position him as the ultimate antagonist, he barely registers as a credible threat. There’s nothing menacing in his demeanor—he’s not a terrifying villain; he’s more like an urbane old man who’s found a fun new hobby in paganism. The film hints at a larger, more sinister force behind the island’s community, but Lee’s performance doesn’t carry the weight needed to elevate it beyond a campy, half-baked plot about growing crops and honoring the old gods.
The women of the island—Britt Ekland as Willow MacGregor and Diane Cilento as Miss Rose—are more notable for their sexual freedom than any actual character development. Ekland’s seduction scenes, where she dances naked in front of Howie, feel like awkward, forced attempts to inject sex appeal into a film that’s otherwise devoid of any real suspense or horror. The nudity, which seems to be included for no reason other than shock value, doesn’t add to the plot—it simply serves to remind the audience that the islanders are “liberated” in a way that’s supposed to be strange and unsettling. But after a while, it just feels like filler to distract from the lack of a compelling narrative.
When the film finally does get to the infamous climax, with Howie being locked in a giant wicker effigy and burned alive, it’s hard to muster any real fear or excitement. By this point, The Wicker Man has already lost its momentum. The ending is indeed visually striking, but it’s more of a shock tactic than a real payoff. The film builds to this moment as if it’s the culmination of a journey of revelation, but by the time it happens, you’ve stopped caring about the characters. The film’s entire “horror” is built around the concept of ritual sacrifice, and it fails to make that concept as horrifying as it could have been. Instead, you’re left with a tired metaphor about the clash of old religions and new, which feels more like the filmmakers trying to justify the film’s slow pacing than actually saying something meaningful.
There’s also the issue of the film’s overall message. It’s clear that The Wicker Man is trying to create tension between the rational, Christian world and the chaotic, free-spirited pagan world, but it doesn’t really do much with it. The clash between the two philosophies is never explored in a way that makes either side compelling. The islanders’ paganism is painted as strange and threatening, but they never seem all that evil. Their actions feel arbitrary, like a group of eccentric people indulging in whatever they feel like. And Howie, who’s supposed to represent Christianity’s righteousness, just seems like a relic of a bygone age, caught in a trap of his own making. Neither side is convincing, and the whole conflict feels shallow.
The Wicker Man might have been groundbreaking for its time, but watching it now, it’s hard to see why it’s regarded as such a classic. It’s a film that’s high on concept but low on execution, with too much focus on philosophical musings about religion and too little on creating real tension or horror. If you’re into films that spend an inordinate amount of time on slow, drawn-out shots of people walking around, with the occasional attempt at shock value thrown in, then this might be your thing. Otherwise, it’s an underwhelming, overhyped snooze fest.
