← Back to Reviews
in
Day of Wrath, 1943
Absalon (Thorkild Roose) is one of a panel of religious elders in a 16th century Norwegian village. When an elderly woman in the village named Herlofs Marte (Anna Svierkier) is accused of witchcraft, Absalon's much younger wife Anne (Lisbeth Movin) temporarily gives the woman shelter. As Herlofs Marta is tortured and draws closer to her execution, she begs Absalon to spare her life, as he spared the life of Anne's mother years before. Things get complicated as Anne begins to fall in love with Absalon's son, Martin (Preben Lerdorff Rye).
As much a horror film as it is a drama, this film takes an unflinching look at the cruel mechanisms of power in a community or society, as well as the hypocrisy of those who are given the power to speak with the authority of God.
One of the most shocking aspects of the film is the portrayal of the torture that Herlofs Marte endures as part of the religious "investigation." It basically involves dislocating her shoulders with a winch until she begs them to stop, giving a confession that is unconvincing and still laced with sincere denials. The real horror is that the men intend to execute her no matter what. There is no such thing as proving her innocence. They claim to want her soul to be pure, but in the end, they still intend a gruesome, cruel death for her.
Layered underneath the horror of the witch hunt is the story that is revealed about the history of Anne and Absalon's marriage. In bits and pieces we learn just how yucky the whole scenario is. Absalon is a good 45 years older than Anne, and as characters repeatedly say, he married her when she was a child. He spared the life of Anne's mother just so that he could marry her. When Anne asks him if he ever wondered if she loved him or wanted to be married, he bluntly and unapologetically answers that he never wondered or cared how she felt about the whole thing. Anne's attraction to Martin--the great sin---makes a ton of sense. He is actually her age (and the actors playing Anne and Martin were actually born the same year), and able to offer her physical comfort.
Something that I am still mulling over is the implication in the film that Anne may actually be a witch or have powers. We get a few hints through the film that witchcraft may actually be real---further than just the power of suggestion--and to me that does undercut part of the film's message a bit. I really liked a sequence later in the film where Anne interprets a supposedly tragic event as maybe being an act of God. Her conversation partner is slightly horrified, but I think that it really enforces the idea that God's intentions are so often just the reading of each human being and what they want to believe is true.
The stark black and white look of the film--only accentuated by the black and white clothing worn by the main characters--is both gorgeous and foreboding. There is great use of shadow, especially as certain characters will have darkness fall across them when asking or answering certain questions.
A really powerful, intense film.
Day of Wrath, 1943
Absalon (Thorkild Roose) is one of a panel of religious elders in a 16th century Norwegian village. When an elderly woman in the village named Herlofs Marte (Anna Svierkier) is accused of witchcraft, Absalon's much younger wife Anne (Lisbeth Movin) temporarily gives the woman shelter. As Herlofs Marta is tortured and draws closer to her execution, she begs Absalon to spare her life, as he spared the life of Anne's mother years before. Things get complicated as Anne begins to fall in love with Absalon's son, Martin (Preben Lerdorff Rye).
As much a horror film as it is a drama, this film takes an unflinching look at the cruel mechanisms of power in a community or society, as well as the hypocrisy of those who are given the power to speak with the authority of God.
One of the most shocking aspects of the film is the portrayal of the torture that Herlofs Marte endures as part of the religious "investigation." It basically involves dislocating her shoulders with a winch until she begs them to stop, giving a confession that is unconvincing and still laced with sincere denials. The real horror is that the men intend to execute her no matter what. There is no such thing as proving her innocence. They claim to want her soul to be pure, but in the end, they still intend a gruesome, cruel death for her.
Layered underneath the horror of the witch hunt is the story that is revealed about the history of Anne and Absalon's marriage. In bits and pieces we learn just how yucky the whole scenario is. Absalon is a good 45 years older than Anne, and as characters repeatedly say, he married her when she was a child. He spared the life of Anne's mother just so that he could marry her. When Anne asks him if he ever wondered if she loved him or wanted to be married, he bluntly and unapologetically answers that he never wondered or cared how she felt about the whole thing. Anne's attraction to Martin--the great sin---makes a ton of sense. He is actually her age (and the actors playing Anne and Martin were actually born the same year), and able to offer her physical comfort.
Something that I am still mulling over is the implication in the film that Anne may actually be a witch or have powers. We get a few hints through the film that witchcraft may actually be real---further than just the power of suggestion--and to me that does undercut part of the film's message a bit. I really liked a sequence later in the film where Anne interprets a supposedly tragic event as maybe being an act of God. Her conversation partner is slightly horrified, but I think that it really enforces the idea that God's intentions are so often just the reading of each human being and what they want to believe is true.
The stark black and white look of the film--only accentuated by the black and white clothing worn by the main characters--is both gorgeous and foreboding. There is great use of shadow, especially as certain characters will have darkness fall across them when asking or answering certain questions.
A really powerful, intense film.