The Wicker Man Page #5

Synopsis: On Sunday, April 29, 1973, Sergeant Neil Howie with the West Highland Constabulary flies solo to Summerisle off the coast of Scotland. He is there to follow up on a letter addressed specifically to him from an anonymous source on Summerisle reporting that a twelve year old girl who lives on the island, Rowan Morrison, the daughter of May Morrison, has long been missing. The correspondence includes a photograph of Rowan. Upon his arrival on Summerisle, Howie finds that the locals are a seemingly simple minded lot who provide little information beyond the fact that they know of no Rowan Morrison and do not know the girl in the photo. Mrs. Morrison admits to having a daughter, seven year old Myrtle, but no Rowan. As Howie speaks to more and more people, he begins to believe that Rowan does or did live on the island, but that the locals are hiding their knowledge of her. He also begins to see that the locals all have pagan beliefs, their "religion" which centers on procreation as the sourc
Director(s): Robin Hardy
Production: LionsGate Entertainment
  1 win & 6 nominations.
 
IMDB:
7.6
Metacritic:
87
Rotten Tomatoes:
90%
R
Year:
1973
88 min
1,180 Views


to rely upon it and to

appease it when necessary.

Sacrifice.

Perhaps it's just as well that you won't be here...

to be offended by the sight of our

May Day celebrations tomorrow.

What if she's not dead?

What if Rowan's not dead?

Sergeant.

Heigh ho

Who is there

No one but me

My dear

Please

Come

Say how do

The things

I'll give to you

A stroke as gentle

As a feather

I'll catch a rainbow from the sky

And tie the ends

Together

Heigh ho

I am here

Am I not young

And fair

Please

Come

Say how do

The things

I'll show to you

Would you have

A wondrous sight

Mmm hmm-hmm-mmm

The midday Sun

At midnight

Fair maid

White and red

Comb you smooth

And stroke your head

Mmm mmm

Mmm mmm-mmm

How a maid can milk a bull

Mm-hmm, mm-hmm

And every stroke

A bucket full

We carry death out of the village!

We carry death out of the village!

"May Day festivals.

"Primitive man lived and died by his harvest.

"The purpose of his spring ceremonies

was to ensure a plentiful autumn.

"Relics of these fertility dramas

are to be found all over Europe.

"In Great Britain, for example, one can still see...

"harmless versions of them danced

in obscure villages on May Day.

"Their cast includes many alarming characters:

"A man-animal, or hobbyhorse,

"who canters at the head of the

procession charging at the girls;

"A man-woman, the sinister teaser,

"played by the community leader or priest;

"And a man-fool, Punch,

"most complex of all the symbolic figures -

"the privileged simpleton and king for a day.

"Six swordsmen follow these figures...

"and at the climax of the ceremony

lock their swords together...

"In a clear symbol of the Sun.

"In pagan times, however, these dances

were not simply picturesque jigs.

"They were frenzied rites ending in a sacrifice

"by which the dancers hoped desperately

to win over the goddess of the fields.

"In good times, they offered produce

to the gods and slaughtered animals,

"but in bad years, when the harvest had been poor,

"the sacrifice was a human being.

"In some cultures, it would be the king himself.

"In others, the most beloved virgin.

"Very often he or she would be kept hidden

for months preceding the ceremony,

"just as the Sun is hidden

from the Earth in winter.

Rowan's not dead!

"Methods of sacrifice differed.

"Sometimes the victim would

be drowned in the sea...

"or burnt to death in a huge sacrificial bonfire.

Sometimes the six swordsmen

ritually beheaded the virgin. "

Dear God in Heaven, even

these people can't be that mad.

"The chief priest then skinned the child,

"and wearing the still-warmed skin like a mantle,

"led the rejoicing crowds through the streets.

"The priest thus represented the goddess reborn

and guaranteed another

successful harvest next year. "

Good morning, Sergeant!

I need to get to my plane.

Oh, well, on May Day,

I'd better take you out myself.

That's it.

Here, right.

I shall be back shortly with

some more police officers.

Have a good flight then!

Hey, you come back here!

I said, come back here!

What's the matter? Won't she go?

No. Has anyone been here?

Not to my knowledge, Sergeant.

If any of the children had been interfering

with it, I'm sure I would have seen-

I warn you:
you're obstructing a police officer.

I am not obstructing you, Sergeant.

You could maybe get old Sam there

to row you to the mainland.

You'd be back in a week.

Well, I'll just have to find Rowan Morrison myself.

- Everything under control, Oak?

- Aye, my lord.

Mr. Macgreagor, I trust we aren't going to

have to let out your costume again this year.

I think I'll manage, my lord, but it does

seem to shrink a little each year.

I know.

My friends, enough now.

We shall all reassemble outside

the town hall at 3:00 sharp...

and then process through the

village and the countryside,

down to the beach below the stones,

by the route which has

become sacred to our rite.

This year at the procession's end,

as has already been proclaimed,

a holy sacrifice will be offered up jointly to Nuada,

our most sacred god of the Sun,

and to Avellenau, the beloved

goddess of our orchards,

in order that we may furnish

them with renewed power...

to quicken the growth of our crops.

- Hail the Queen of the May!

- Hail the Queen of the May!

Hail the Queen of the May!

Why, Sergeant, I thought you'd gone back.

Mrs. Morrison, I don't know if you know it or not,

But Rowan is not dead.

- They've got her hidden somewhere.

- They?

Now, if you know where she is, I beg you

to tell me now before it's too late.

- Sergeant, I've already told you -

- In the name of God, woman,

what kind of mother are you,

that can stand by and

see your own child slaughtered?

Sergeant, if I were you, I would

go back to the mainland.

Stop interfering in things

that are no concern of yours.

I am going to search every house in

this place during the next few hours.

and if anybody, including you, stands in my way,

they'll be arrested as accomplices to murder.

You'll simply never understand

the true nature of sacrifice.

Heathens! Bloody heathens!

Yes?

- Take those masks off.

- No.

Take them off!

- What do you think you're doing?

- Searching every house...

for a missing child.

Baa baa black sheep,

Have you any wool

Yes, sir, yes, sir,

Three bags full

I- I'm sorry.

- What's that?

- The life of the fields.

John Barleycorn.

What's in here?

- What's that?

- That's my costume - the salmon of knowledge.

Hello. You're back early.

Where are the other coppers?

There aren't any. The plane wouldn't start.

Give me a glass of whiskey, please.

So he spent his time instead turning

the whole village upside down.

- Just give me a glass of whiskey.

- No wonder he's worn out.

Did you find the girl?

No, well, I can't say I'm very surprised.

I'm going to rest in my bed

for half an hour.

I do not wish to be disturbed.

I'd stay there until tonight, if I was you.

We don't much relish strangers around today.

He's asleep.

I don't like to use it on him, really.

The laird said we're to take no chances, didn't he?

I know, but with the Hand of Glory there's

no telling when you wake.

He might sleep for days.

- All the better.

- Shh!

- We don't want him butting in. Go on, light it up.

That will make you sleep, my pretty Sergeant.

I'm away to change.

We can't do without Punch.

You best get on ahead.

They've given you girls five

minutes start, haven't they?

Good-bye.

What's the matter with you, Macgreagor?

Do you call that dancing?

Cut some capers, man. Use your bladder.

Play the fool. That's what you're here for.

I suppose you've been getting

drunk at your own bar.

That's more like it!

Good, good!

Here comes the job, that you chop off your head!

Chop, chop, chop, chop.

Chop, chop, chop, chop.

Everyone must go through, Macgreagor.

It's a game of chance, remember.

It's Holly. Well done.

Now, my friends, to the beach.

O god of the sea,

I offer you this ale as a libation,

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Anthony Shaffer

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Submitted on August 05, 2018

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