The Viy (1973)

I curse you! With the wings of a bat! With the blood of a serpent! With the blood of a woman! I curse you! I curse you!

--The Witch

This film is adapted from the story by Nicholai Gogol. The narrative revolves around a Russian folktale which depicts a group of seminary students leaving for a brief vacation from their studies, one of whom runs afoul of a witch. The philosopher, as he is known, is named Thomas Brutus (Leonid Kuraylov). Kuralyov does a nice job in this role, playing a somewhat harmless, hedonistic seminary student who is slowly driven mad by a series of mortal trials. His nemesis is played by Natalya Varley who brings rare intensity to her role as a malevolent witch, seeking dominion over those whose spirits are weak. The story is rife with comic strands, particularly in its depiction of the Orthodox Church. Don’t expect any somber exorcists plying their trade in vaulted cathedrals. The seminary is full of humans with human weaknesses including a tendency toward drinking and a healthy sense of self-preservation. His teachers are greedy cowards. His colleagues are brawling drunkards. But then the tale takes a dark turn. This is a story about death, all of our deaths. The one that can’t be bargained with.

When I recently watched this movie I was in a bit of a health crisis, having been told by a doctor that it was likely that I was suffering from an illness with a very high mortality rate. I knew what the disease could do so I had no delusions about the outcome if he was correct. Fortunately, this diagnosis turned out to be incorrect. I didn’t know that I was going to get a reprieve when I watched The Viy. I was simply trying to find a moment of escape from the reality of potential nonexistence. One might understand death on an intellectual level, even talk flippantly about it at a dinner party. But when it looms on the horizon, all you have between you and death is whatever residual belief in afterlife or energy transitions. Total nonexistence can be disconcerting, particularly when you are not prepared. I learned that I was not quite ready. I knew fear. My heart ached for those who have tread this road before me. In short, it’s totally different when you’re the one so chosen. When it is you under the knife—in the chemo chair—beneath the spinning machine—the technicians unable to look you in the eye because death surrounds you. This is what I was contemplating when I watched Viy, a film in which I found a small measure of peace—knowing that I was not the only one who wasn’t quite ready. The story follows Gogol’s narrative almost exactly. I think I see where Gogol was going with this and why the story is so resonant in Russian culture—a society that lives in much closer communion with death than westerners.

In the story the philosopher is attacked by the witch in scene that is really trippy. In fact, the whole movie is surreal. It’s shot at a faltering film speed with filters to give it an antique, unreality. It almost looks like found footage from the twenties. The philosopher is able to fight off the witch, beating her savagely. He escapes back to the seminary only to find a summons waiting for him. Yes, he is being called by a Cossack noble whose daughter has died. Her last wish is for Thomas Brutus to attend her grave vigil. The philosopher is dragged, against his will, to the remote village where he is forced to stand isolated vigil over the girl for three nights. And yes, you guessed it, she is the witch. What follows is a contest between the two. The weak-willed priest, with nothing but prayer, music, and vodka to insulate himself from these dark forces strains against the elemental darkness represented by the witch. She wants to drag him into the deepest pit of despair. I like her malice. Death can feel like that sometimes—like something malicious that attacks you from the outside. For those who are interested in the history of dark fantasy with a vaguely Tolkienish tint, you probably need to see this movie. The climactic scene, while devoid of CGI, is so much more rewarding than most modern efforts with its creative filters and costuming. This film is part theatre and part cinema, an art form often lacking from GOT teleplays of today with largely wooden acting and digital spectacle.

But there is more to this story. As I noted, the philosopher has no inclination to fight the witch, but is thrust into the church against his will. While he tries desperately to escape his fate, the Cossacks are always there to drag him back. As the nights progress, reason gradually leaves him as he battles a force that threatens to overwhelm him. The witch is both beautiful and single-minded, seeking to avenge herself upon the priest by calling down all of the dark forces at her disposal. Once again, I love the malice Varley brings to this character. Even those folks who prefer not to see witches cast in villainous roles might find something of value in this Medieval depiction—if for no other reason than the way she destabilizes the philosopher’s universe. There is a marvelous dancing scene after the second night in the church that explores what happens when madness will not dissipate through any other means other than music. What struck me while watching the film are the ways we bargain with death. We throw up barriers to protect ourselves from its approach. This is a story about the way we bargain with death, and how those barriers erode the closer it comes—that terrible fear the unprepared (which is most of us) face when that final doorway opens, and all that awaits you is the night. Is prayer really enough?

Rating: Four Hits