Hipnótica. Te atrapa desde el primer momento no solo por su producción y puesta en escena, sinó por el contenido. Muy interesante el puente que ha tendido Christensen entre el medievo y los tiempos modernos y muy interesante el paralelismo entre la brujería y la locura, la inquisición y las instituciones psiquiátricas.23 julio 2015 (Editado)
Dirección y reparto
¿Cómo valoras esta película?
Interesante e inquietante.23 julio 2015 (Editado)
Bellísima película. La banda sonora es preciosa, y la historia que tan bien narra la película no deja de sobrecogerte. Seria advertencia para todos aquellos que padecemos los vaivenes de la estafa mundial, sin una razón crítica que salvaguarde todo queda para ser corrompido por el dogma, viva este mito en una cruz con un tipo con barba, o en un parqué lleno de tipos con corbata.23 julio 2015 (Editado)
Fascinante y maravillosa, me han impresionado la calidad del montaje y la absorbente banda sonora. Cuenta toda la historia de la brujería de una manera muy directa y coloquial que hace que te enganche ya desde el principio. MUY RECOMENDADA!!23 julio 2015 (Editado)
"Christensen was certainly a cinematic visionary, and he had a keen notion of the powerful effects of mise en scene. While Häxan is often cited as a forerunner of the devil-possession films of the '70s like The Exorcist (1973), I found myself constantly reminded of Tobe Hooper's effective use of props and background detail in The Texas Chainsaw Massacre (1973) to create an enveloping atmosphere of potential violence. Häxan is a film that needs to be viewed more than once to gain a full appreciation of the set design and decoration--the eerie use of props such as animal skeletons, cauldrons, and human skulls, as well as claustrophobic sets and chiaroscuro lighting to set the tone. It is not surprising, then, that the surrealists and later the followers of the avant-garde found so much to admire in this film. Bordering on the incoherent but also deeply engrossing, Häxan is a film made to shock and outrage, to challenge and subvert, even if its all-too-easy psychoanalytic correlation of witches and female hysteria seems as dated and silly as the ancient superstitions themselves. In fact, Häxan has circulated most widely since the late 1960s under the title Witchcraft Through the Ages, which is a shortened version edited and produced by British filmmaker Antony Balch that features a dry narration by beat novelist William S. Burroughs and a funk, wholly unsuitable jazz score. This presents a fascinating case history of the way in which the film has transcended both time and meaning, its creepy imagery reimagined in different times as camp and parody. But, viewing Christensen's full version today, one cannot wholly dismiss it as inadvertent humor and intentional gross-out. Rather, Häxan makes a bold statement using titillating and disturbing imagery, the power of which has not been completely diminished even after eight decades. Even if Christensen's conclusions are faulty, his cinematic techniques and understanding of the inherent power of the medium imbues Häxan with a rare timelessness. That is some kind of achievement and certainly is evidence that Christensen deserves a more prominent place in the history books. "
"Like fellow Scandinavian pioneer Carl Dreyer, perennial subject-for-further-research Benjamin Christensen was fascinated by the superstitious hysteria and social oppression surrounding witchcraft, although where Dreyer is a transcendental brooder, Christensen suggests a vigorous smirkster way before Lars Von Trier was even a gleam in his mother's eye. Accordingly, the director's notorious opus plays National Enquirer to the Hawthornean augustness of Day of Wrath -- boldly sensationalistic, it's a session of medieval woodcarvings animated into a zesty parade of satanism, anti-clericalism and anarchic sexuality, all set to sumptuous UFA visuals. Basically a string of vignettes, the movie starts out lecture-like, dryly doting over tidbits of gruesome medieval ignorance, before unspooling the "illustrative" reenactments -- grave-robbing and possessed nuns abound, with the main course a horrific daisy-chain of Inquisition persecution, from accusation to torture to allegedly purifying death. Against the grotesquely gluttonous, deceiving, repressed order of the church depicted here, the witches' sulphurous bacchanalias (where Christensen, tricked up as Satan, complete with horns, tail and wagging tongue, presides gleefully) cannot help but carry the stamp of liberating transgression, or at least muddle up staunched borders separating purity and vice. Either way, Christensen catalogs occult romping with full-tilt sardonic drollery, from a bunch of Méliès critters emerging out of between a woman's legs to young maidens stamping out a flamenco over a cross before planting kisses on the Devil's fork-tailed ass. Whether or not intended as faux-documentary, the film is a brimstone headtrip before they were fashionable, a notion underscored by its 1968 resurrection (titled Witchcraft Through the Ages) amid hipster circles, revamped with percussion jazz score and narration by none other than beat vulture William S. Burroughs. In black and white. "