The Wicker Man Page #6

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


that you may bestow upon us

in the year to come

the rich and diverse fruits of your kingdom.

Hail, god of the seas!

Accept our offering!

And now, for our more dreadful sacrifice...

yo those who command the fruit of the Earth.

It's Rowan.

What's the matter, Mr. Macgreagor?

Now, don't be frightened. I'm a police officer.

- I've got to try and get you away.

- Hurry, mister, please.

- I don't like it here. They're coming.

Do you know what they're gonna do?

- They're going to -

- Come on, come on. Hurry, hurry!

We can escape through the cave. I know the way.

Quickly.

That's the way out up there.

Come on. It's through a big tunnel.

We seem to have lost our torch-bearing friends.

I'm sorry.

It was worse than I remembered it.

- Did I do it right?

- You did it beautifully.

Dear little Rowan.

Rowan, darling. Come on, now.

Welcome, fool.

You have come of your own

free will to the appointed place.

The game is over.

Game? What game?

The game of the hunted leading the hunter.

You came here to find Rowan Morrison,

but it is we who have found you

and brought you here

and controlled your every thought

and action since you arrived.

Principally, we persuaded you to think

that Rowan Morrison was

being held as a sacrifice

because our crops failed last year.

I know your crops failed.

I saw the harvest photograph.

Oh, yes. They failed, all right, disastrously so...

for the first time since my grandfather came here.

The blossom came but the fruit

withered and died on the bough.

That must not happen again this year.

It is our most earnest belief that the

best way of preventing this

is to offer to our god of the Sun and

to the goddess of our orchards

the most acceptable sacrifice

that lies in our power.

Animals are fine, but their acceptability is limited.

A little child is even better,

but not nearly as effective

as the right kind of adult.

What do you mean,

"right kind of adult"?

You, Sergeant, are the right kind of adult,

as our painstaking researches have revealed.

You, uniquely, were the one we needed.

A man who would come

here of his own free will.

A man who has come here with the power

of a king by representing the law.

A man who would come here as a virgin.

A man who has come here as a fool.

Get out of my way.

You are the fool, Mr. Howie -

Punch, one of the great fool-victims of history,

for you have accepted the role of king for a day,

and who but a fool would do that?

But you will be revered and anointed as a king.

You will undergo death and rebirth -

resurrection, if you like.

The rebirth, sadly, will not be yours,

but that of our crops.

I am a christian,

and as a christian, I hope for resurrection.

And even if you kill me now,

it is I who will live again,

not your damned apples.

Sleep

Close and fast

No matter what you do,

you can't change the fact

that I believe in the life eternal,

as promised to us by our lord, Jesus Christ.

I believe in the life eternal

as promised to us by our lord, Jesus Christ.

That is good.

For believing what you do,

we confer upon you

a rare gift these days -

a martyr's death.

You will not only have life eternal,

but you will sit with

the saints among the elect.

Come.

It is time to keep your appointment

with The Wicker Man.

Now, wait!

Now, all of you, just wait and listen to me.

And you can wrap it up any way you like.

You are about to commit murder.

Can you not see? There is no Sun god.

There is no goddess of the fields.

Your crops failed because your strains failed.

Fruit is not meant to be grown on these islands.

It's against nature.

Don't you see that killing me is not

going to bring back your apples?

Summerisle, you know it won't.

Go on, man. Tell them. Tell them it won't.

I know it will.

Well, don't you understand that

if your crops fail this year,

next year you're going to have to

have another blood sacrifice?

And next year, no one less than the

king of Summerisle himself will do.

If the crops fail, Summerisle,

next year your people

will kill you on May Day.

They will not fail.

The sacrifice of the willing king,

like virgin fool, will be accepted.

But don't you see I'll be missed?

- They'll come looking for me.

- There will be no traces. Bring him up, Oak.

- Go on.

- No!

Think! Just think what you're doing!

Think what you're doing! Think!

In the name of God, think what you're doing!

Oh, God! Oh, Jesus Christ!

Oh, my God! Christ!

No, no, dear God!

No, Christ!

No, no!

Mighty god of the Sun,

bountiful goddess of our orchards,

accept our sacrifice and make our blossoms fruit.

Mighty god of the Sun,

bountiful goddess of our orchards...

- Hear ye the words of the lord!

...accept our sacrifice and make our blossoms fruit.

Awake, ye heathens, and hold!

It is the Lord who hath laid waste your orchards!

It is he who hath made them bare!

- Reverence the sacrifice.

Hold, ye husbandmen,

because the harvest of

your field hath perished

and the vine is dried up

and the apple tree languisheth!

Even all the trees of the field are withered

because the truth is withered away

from the sons of men.

Desire shall fail

and ye shall all die

accursed!

Summer is a-comin' in

Loudly sing cuckoo

Grows the seed and blows the mead

And springs the wood anew

Sing cuckoo

Ewe bleats harshly after lamb

Cows after calves make moo

The lord's my shepherd

I'll not want

He takes me down

to lie

in pastures -

Oh, God.

Grows the seed and blows the mead

And springs the wood anew

- Sing cuckoo

- Oh, God.

I humbly entreat you for the soul

of this, thy servant, Neil Howie...

who will today depart from this world.

Do not deliver me into the enemy's hands...

or put me out of mind forever.

Let me not undergo the real pains of hell,

dear God, because I die unshriven

- Cuckoo, cuckoo

- and establish me

in that bliss

which knows no ending,

- Cuckoo

- through Christ,

our lord.

Grows the seed and blows the mead

Failure! Failure!

Sing cuckoo

Ewe bleats harshly after lamb

Cows after calves make moo

Bullock stamps and deer champs

Now shrilly sing cuckoo

Cuckoo, cuckoo

Wild bird are you

Be never still, cuckoo

from the original Close Caption file

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Anthony Shaffer

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Submitted on August 05, 2018

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