Some of the most bizarre viewing experiences I’ve had for this blog involve sanitized versions of exploitation movies—every so often, the only copy I can find of a grindhouse relic is an edit prepared for home video or television. For example, cursory research suggests that in its fullest form, Night of the Witches abounds with ladies cavorting topless, but the version I watched draws the line at bikinis and periodically makes such abrupt transitions that it’s clear something salacious was excised. Based on what remains of the picture, I’m confident that unaltered prints of Night of the Witches are nearly as bewildering as their neutered counterparts. A queasy mix of comedy, horror, and smut, the movie toggles between three storylines that eventually converge, with a surprising number of interpretive-dance interludes along the way. If you’re hungry for an inept no-budget freakout centering an astrology cult, then Night of the Witches is the movie for you.
The picture begins with fake preacher Ezra (Keith Larsen) conning a young couple on a beach—he persuades the young man to go fishing, talks the young woman into sex, and steals their car. It should be mentioned that Ezra speaks only English and the couple speaks only Spanish, so good luck identifying how his BS surmounts a language barrier. In other words, abandon all hope of logic, ye who enter Night of the Witches. Presumably Larsen, who also cowrote and directed the picture—he’s pseudonymously credited as “Keith Erik Burt”—imagined this piece as some kind of sexy farce, but instead it’s a sleazy mess.
Anyway, while Erza is conning his way across the countryside, a businessman hires boat captain Frank (Ron Taft) for passage to an island populated by witches because the businessman’s partner disappeared there. Need it be mentioned that Frank’s actual job is selling real estate for skeevy entrepreneur Gruper (John Jones), who somehow owns a chain of islands? Or that Gruper hangs out in his office wearing a Hawaiian shirt and sunglasses, with go-go dancers grinding nearby? Naturally, Frank keeps a pair of go-go dancers on his boat, as well. Getting back to the “story,” after the businessman meets his partner’s fate, Frank becomes romantically involved with perky blonde witch Athena (Randy Stafford). At some point the preacher arrives and tries to scam the witches out of cash. None of this makes any sense, as if that matters.
A lanky workaday actor with a John Phillip Law vibe, Larsen has no idea what he’s doing behind the camera, so the movie bounces between tones as it lumbers from one incoherent scene to the next. That said, Night of the Witches has a bit of so-bad-it’s-good novelty, especially during those interpretive-dance scenes; Larsen fills the screen with women in cheap costumes performing stiff choreography to the accompaniment of hippie-era rock music. (Don’t get your hopes up for awesome needle drops, though; the tunes have a grubby sort of flair, but they’re bespoke and generic.) It’s impossible to admire Night of the Witches, but at the same time it’s hard to completely dislike a psychotronic flick featuring this line: “Now do you see why we couldn’t invite you to the levitation?”
The picture begins with fake preacher Ezra (Keith Larsen) conning a young couple on a beach—he persuades the young man to go fishing, talks the young woman into sex, and steals their car. It should be mentioned that Ezra speaks only English and the couple speaks only Spanish, so good luck identifying how his BS surmounts a language barrier. In other words, abandon all hope of logic, ye who enter Night of the Witches. Presumably Larsen, who also cowrote and directed the picture—he’s pseudonymously credited as “Keith Erik Burt”—imagined this piece as some kind of sexy farce, but instead it’s a sleazy mess.
Anyway, while Erza is conning his way across the countryside, a businessman hires boat captain Frank (Ron Taft) for passage to an island populated by witches because the businessman’s partner disappeared there. Need it be mentioned that Frank’s actual job is selling real estate for skeevy entrepreneur Gruper (John Jones), who somehow owns a chain of islands? Or that Gruper hangs out in his office wearing a Hawaiian shirt and sunglasses, with go-go dancers grinding nearby? Naturally, Frank keeps a pair of go-go dancers on his boat, as well. Getting back to the “story,” after the businessman meets his partner’s fate, Frank becomes romantically involved with perky blonde witch Athena (Randy Stafford). At some point the preacher arrives and tries to scam the witches out of cash. None of this makes any sense, as if that matters.
A lanky workaday actor with a John Phillip Law vibe, Larsen has no idea what he’s doing behind the camera, so the movie bounces between tones as it lumbers from one incoherent scene to the next. That said, Night of the Witches has a bit of so-bad-it’s-good novelty, especially during those interpretive-dance scenes; Larsen fills the screen with women in cheap costumes performing stiff choreography to the accompaniment of hippie-era rock music. (Don’t get your hopes up for awesome needle drops, though; the tunes have a grubby sort of flair, but they’re bespoke and generic.) It’s impossible to admire Night of the Witches, but at the same time it’s hard to completely dislike a psychotronic flick featuring this line: “Now do you see why we couldn’t invite you to the levitation?”
Night of the Witches: FREAKY
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