When Hex Marks the Plot Hole
Some movies make you believe in magic. Two Witches just makes you believe in Advil. Pierre Tsigaridis’ 2021 horror film promises “two loosely connected tales of witchcraft and terror.” What it delivers instead is a cinematic séance gone wrong—a mess of clichés, screaming, fake blood, and scenes that feel like they were cursed by someone who hated editing.
It’s not that Two Witches lacks ambition. It’s that it takes that ambition, sets it on fire, and stirs it with a plastic wand. Watching this film is like being stuck in a haunted house where the ghosts won’t shut up long enough to scare you.
Act One: The Curse of the Confused Pregnant Lady
The movie begins with Sarah (Belle Adams), a woman so pregnant and so paranoid she could’ve headlined a reality show. She’s out to dinner with her boyfriend, Simon, when an old woman across the restaurant gives her the look—you know, the kind of look your grandmother gives when you announce you’re going vegan.
Sarah freaks out. Simon, who has the emotional range of a microwave oven, shrugs it off. Cue nightmares, shaky camera work, and a musical score that sounds like someone rubbing a balloon against an old violin.
Soon Sarah’s seeing witches, hearing whispers, and losing her grip on reality. The problem is, so are we. When she finally goes full possession mode, attacking her boyfriend in the middle of the night, it’s meant to be horrifying. Instead, it feels like watching a sleepwalker audition for WWE Raw.
And that fetus scene in the bathtub? It’s supposed to be shocking. But by that point, the audience is numb from confusion. It’s like watching Rosemary’s Baby if Rosemary were replaced with a GPS that keeps recalculating the route.
By the end of Act One, Simon is dead, Sarah is missing, and the old witch is eating fetus stew while the radio explains the plot we just saw. You’d think this would be a natural point to roll credits, but no. The movie decides, “Let’s start over.”
Act Two: The Witch Who Really, Really Needed a Hobby
Enter Masha (Rebekah Kennedy), the granddaughter of the creepy old witch from Act One. She’s young, eccentric, and apparently allergic to boundaries. Masha believes she’s about to inherit her grandmother’s powers—because nothing says “family heirloom” like demonic possession.
Masha lives with Rachel (Kristina Klebe), a museum director whose patience is tested to saintly limits. After Masha brings home a one-night stand who decks her mid-sex (romance is dead, folks), things only get weirder.
She starts stealing Rachel’s stories of abuse, claiming them as her own, and stares at everyone like she’s trying to decide whether to hex them or hug them. It’s uncomfortable—but not in a scary way. More like “Why hasn’t anyone called a social worker?”
When Grandma Witch dies, Masha inherits the power of… whatever this movie thinks power looks like. Cue flashing lights, whispering voices, and scenes that feel like they were directed by a strobe light with a grudge.
The Christmas Party from Hell
Just when you think things can’t get more random, Masha crashes a Christmas party where—surprise!—characters from the first story are hanging out. Because in the Two Witches cinematic universe, small talk is more dangerous than Satan.
She murders someone in the bathroom (because why not), and Dustin overhears her chanting the same phrase Sarah mumbled before vanishing. Ah, connection! Thin, lazy, and pointless connection, but connection nonetheless.
Melissa, the party host, promptly gets hit by a car. Not because of magic—just bad timing. Which pretty much sums up the movie’s entire approach to storytelling.
The Gift Nobody Wanted
From here, Two Witches dives headfirst into chaos. Masha shows up uninvited to Rachel’s mom’s house on Christmas Eve, holding a live rabbit and claiming it’s Rachel transformed. Because apparently, witches now practice interpretive zoology.
Mom freaks out. Masha breaks the rabbit’s neck. Mom looks under the table and—poof!—dead Rachel. It’s supposed to be shocking, but by now the film’s gone so off the rails it’s almost slapstick. You half expect Masha to slip on the rabbit blood like it’s a Looney Tunes bit.
The movie tries to build tension, but every scare feels copy-pasted from a better film. Creepy lights? Check. Shadowy hands? Check. Random chanting in a language that sounds like someone gargling soup? Triple check.
By the time Masha’s grandmother’s ghost shows up and forces people to stab themselves, you’re not scared—you’re impressed the actors can keep a straight face.
The Devil, the Dumb, and the Deranged
The climax features Masha doused in gasoline, lit on fire, and then resurrected by a coven of other witches who apparently had nothing better to do. The Devil himself shows up, looking like he wandered off the set of a bad Halloween commercial, and declares Masha the new queen of witches.
There’s no buildup, no logic, and no real payoff—just fire, screaming, and a vague sense of exhaustion. It’s the cinematic equivalent of being yelled at for two hours by a very stylish toddler.
And just when you think it’s over, the film cuts to Sarah, the woman from the first half, babbling about witches eating her baby. Her laughter echoes as the screen fades to black. It’s meant to be chilling, but at that point, the audience is just relieved it’s done.
Acting Possessed
To their credit, the cast tries. Rebekah Kennedy goes all in as Masha, oscillating between creepy and cartoonish like she’s auditioning for both The Exorcist and Mean Girls. Kristina Klebe does her best to ground the madness, but she’s trapped in a script that keeps tripping over its own broomstick.
The supporting cast mostly screams, bleeds, or dies conveniently. No one seems to know what movie they’re in—some think it’s an art film, others think it’s a drinking game. Everyone’s wrong.
The Witch Who Cried Wolf—Too Often
The biggest sin Two Witches commits isn’t being bad—it’s being boring about being bad. Horror thrives on rhythm, tension, and surprise. This film just throws everything at the screen like a toddler with finger paints: blood, nudity, slow motion, loud noises. It mistakes chaos for atmosphere and confusion for complexity.
It’s as if Pierre Tsigaridis wanted to make Hereditary but only saw the trailer.
Even the editing feels bewitched. Scenes start and stop without warning. Shots linger too long on nothing. At one point, a character walks down a hallway for what feels like the length of a Gregorian chant album.
The Curse of Pretentious Horror
Here’s the thing: Two Witches wants to be artsy. It wants to be about female rage, inherited evil, and generational trauma. But instead of exploring those ideas, it just throws a bunch of screaming women into foggy rooms and calls it feminism.
It’s like the film watched The Witch (2015), misunderstood everything, and thought, “You know what this needs? More soup made of fetuses.”
Final Incantation
Two Witches is a film that mistakes weird for deep, loud for scary, and disjointed for profound. It’s ambitious but incoherent, stylish but soulless—a potion brewed from leftover ideas and flat performances.
There are moments of genuine creepiness, but they’re buried under layers of overacting and underthinking. The result is a movie that’s more confusing than cursed and more laughable than lethal.
By the end, you won’t fear the witches—you’ll pity them. Because the real spell this movie casts is one of disappointment.
Rating: 3 out of 10.
Two witches, no plot, and one very tired audience. If this was meant to hex us, mission accomplished.
