Lokis: A Manuscript of Professor Wittembach (1970)

Lokis: A Manuscript of Professor Wittembach is yet another Polish horror film, but unlike the previous one I looked at, the middling Wilczyna, I found this movie to be quite solid and far more entertaining than I initially expected. For dedicated fans of folk horror, this film has it all: local color, music and dancing, superstitions and legends, a real bear being paraded around as part of a bear-themed local ceremony, naked bathing maidens splashing one another in a wading pool, and my favorite: a little cackling witch, who warmed my heart in one of the best scenes in the film. It's all very cozy material.

Returning to the Polish connection real quick: one reason this film succeeds where Wilczyna failed is that it's not immediately clear what the story is leading up to, whereas the first scene in Wilcyzna, not to mention its English title The She-Wolf, spoils everything that is going to happen barring only the specific circumstances of the ending, all in the span of about five minutes. Lokis... by contrast displays tremendous restraint and trusts its viewers to follow along without falling asleep or getting bored in a way that actually makes it easier to engage with, at least for me. Yes, there are a few scenes of exposition, and yes, if you're even half-paying attention you'll probably have some idea of what's coming, even when the film becomes especially coy, but all complaints are easy to contend with when the fact remains: it gripped me until it was over, and even on reflection, it's quite handsome and agreeably constructed, despite its unexciting premise and languid pace.

While this is far from the deepest narrative I've ever come across, it still gives you enough to chew on for ninety or so minutes to satisfy. Yes, Lokis... is thematically pleasing, and instead of casting a judging eye on the carnal nature and desires of womenfolk, it instead accuses the whole of humanity, gender aside, of being inherently beastly creatures that are forever in danger of lapsing into evil and depravity. And its characters work well within those themes. Our lead is a religious man and amateur ethnographer, meek and mild but pleasant enough. Throughout the film, it slowly becomes clear that he's got a hypocritical streak in him, and that he isn't willing to address his primal side, foolishly believing himself free from such temptations despite subtle behavior that suggests otherwise. The Count and his mother, though, are the ones that steal the show. The mother is locked up in the highest tower and routinely tortured in bizarre ways, while her son goes sneaking around at night and catching obscure animals for his 'collection.' They are both constant sources of mystery and tension as the story goes on, and I loved the familiar structure of the visitor coming to visit this bizarre family and horrible things happening that send him fleeing right back out again. The ideas explored here aren't exactly groundbreaking, but then again, they don't have to be when they're executed so well. I especially loved its subtlety, and the way it plays its supernatural aspects so coy. It made me engage with the film in a way that feels far more literary than this sort of genre fare generally does.

But that's not even the best part. This film looks and sounds gorgeous. The lavish costumes and sets, the creative cinematography, and a killer period-appropriate soundtrack add up to an impeccable presentation, which is probably worth watching the film for alone. As soon as the opening credits begin rolling over a reflected image in a pair of glasses, I knew I was in good hands. And the film did not disappoint. This will absolutely be too slow and perhaps even too 'dry' for some, but I appreciated its serious treatment of a silly subject and relatively speaking, I think they spun it into genuine gold.