Review: WITCHBOARD is a Saucy Cauldron of Wackadoo Witchery

It's nice to see Chuck Russell back in the director's chair, and even more exciting to see him tackle another horror remake. With 1988's The Blob, Russell proved capable of remixing classics with an original hook. Now, 1986's Witchboard probably isn't a "classic" to many—nor is Russell's contemporary update. But Russell's ability to retell an existing story anew is a prominent advantage, as well as an approach that feels bonkers enough to be a cult-beloved midnighter from the '80s or '90s. It's nothing fantastic, and yet the film's lawless storytelling is oddly enticing, warts and all.

Russell and co-writer Greg McKay span centuries and continents in their Witchboard update. Emily (Emily), a former drug addict, and her hipster chef fiancé, Christian (Aaron Dominguez), live in modern-day New Orleans. While foraging for ingredients, Emily stumbles upon a chipped and faded pendulum board from 1600s France. Christina's old flame, Brooke (Melanie Jarnson), teaches Emily how to use the board (which was stolen from a nearby history museum). The more Emily uses the wooden oddity, the stranger her life becomes, including devastating accidents that cost lives. With no idea how to help, Christian turns to affluent Wiccan Alexander Babtiste (Jamie Campbell Bower)—who has his own ideas for the board.

Witchboard is a movie that frequently does too much. The board transcends timelines, tethering Emily and Christian to its original owner, a spiritualist (Antonia Desplat's Naga Soth) who is trying to save herself from becoming a 17th-century witch trial casualty. We bounce back and forth between Emily and Naga, their experiences intertwined, which makes for clunky plot explorations. A screenplay brimming with theological unrest and occult mayhem becomes rudderless, especially in its commentaries on witchcraft and oppressive persecution. Russell directs with indecisiveness, unsure of the film's overall personality beyond a general sense of macabre chaos. A few too many ingredients in the gumbo, you might say—there's no chance for any one element to sing.

That said, Witchboard is an unexpectedly ridiculous supernatural affair. One minute, we're reliving the period-set horrors of barbaric "witch" executions. Next, Christian's restaurant is filled with knife-waving patrons ready to serve bloody violence for dessert. Heaviness and humor clash, while naughtiness adds a sexy distraction. Witchboard is many things: hot and heavy, mournful, meanly graphic, dopey, but most of all, sustainably entertaining. Brooke tosses around pagan lore like a seduction tactic, Maine Coons kitties represent bringers of doom, and there's a gleeful deviance to the way characters are killed off. Russell might not have a firm grasp on tonal continuity, but he's operating with a proud level of having zero fucks to give about it.

Frustratingly, Russell bounces between using nifty practical effects and moderate-at-best digital effects. Witchboard doesn't have a Universal Studios budget, but that doesn't excuse poor greenscreen backdrops. The Pendulum Board prop looks awesome—like a Halloweentown dart board—and there's a gruesome wound sustained in Christian's kitchen, so it's not like SFX or production quality is always forgone. But then you'll watch a man plummet from a tall height, and the background is a blurry mess of pixels, followed by a particularly merciless way to land—which would matter more if the finish blow wasn’t so jankily animated. Whenever the film is gaining steam, ready to punch into a higher gear, something happens that reminds us how Witchboard is nothing more than passable despite the fever-dream highs that occur.

Capable performers lean into the cartoonish tendencies that eventually become the norm. Iseman's playing everything from sinful sexpot to haunted victim, which gives the actress ultimate uninhibited freedoms—a gift that she doesn't waste. Dominguez brings this soap opera cheese as the confused yet supportive romantic, who tries to juice up the drama. Then there's Bower—Vecna himself—as this nepobaby Wiccan with his dreamy goth trio of blonde-haired white witches whom he portrays as this caricature of a Spencer Gifts loyalist. There's a “go with it” vibe that performers seem to embrace, rolling with the punches instead of getting bucked off the bronco.

Witchboard is like the fun drunk uncle at the family function. He's unpredictable, but in a harmless and lovable way. That's Russell's latest, a saucy cauldron of wackadoo witchery that revels in its mess. It's impressive for right and wrong reasons, which is the unfortunate kind of balance that becomes a middling average of peaks and valleys. It's also too long, leaving too much dead air between standout sequences. But when someone tears their face flesh off in a mushroom hallucination, or a severed body part goes flying, the good vibes win out. Don't think too hard about Witchboard—let the madness consume you.

Movie Score: 3/5