A Few Of My Favourite Witches – Part I

At the end of September, I was dead set on blogging every day of this precious month. (It goes faster than most others, right?) I had my list of thirty-one post ideas at the ready, but alas, ’twasn’t to be, and here I am, on day twenty-one (sob), finally carving out the time to get some words down about a subject most fitting for this hallowed month. 

I’ve long been thinking of writing about my favourite witches. So, in this blog series, I’ll look into those who made it onto my eclectic list. I’m offering up the first part tonight, zoning in on those witches to whom I’d gladly give up what remains of my youthfulness for a kiss. 

I fancied many a female witch when I was growing up but didn’t, until my mid-twenties, even pause to consider that I could be bisexual. It feels a smidge uncomfortable putting this out here, even in a sacred space I have absolute dominion over. One of the voices in my head (there’s always half a dozen or so in there causing havoc) is insisting I’m an imposter and my feelings aren’t valid. That, of course, I’m not really bi.

That I felt the things I did when a fine lady of the craft crossed my path wasn’t something I really spoke aloud about. I thought I was a vile creature and believed every other woman I may find attractive would think I was disgusting, too. This fear was (mostly) dispelled a few weeks ago when I went to bed with a woman for the first time.

Anyway, here are some of the witches I’ve crushed over. I don’t think you’ll be surprised about any of them. 

Sarah Sanderson 

Hocus Pocus (1993) 

I was seven when Hocus Pocus was released, and as soon as it was available on VHS (about six months after its cinema release…we had to REALLY wait for stuff then, kids), my Nanna added it to her Great Library of Disney movies. 

Videos were expensive in the 90s. I could count on one hand the videos we had at home that weren’t recorded off the TV. But Nanna’s video cabinet was another story. I don’t recall seeing anything recorded off the TV at her house. Only the finest, commercially produced, eye-wateringly priced videotapes made it through her front door. 

I felt like I’d been electrocuted when I first saw the cover of Hocus Pocus, my eyes were immediately drawn to the pointy-boot-wearing hot blonde riding a vacuum cleaner. 

I crushed on at least three of the male characters too, including (like every other pre-teen girl in the 90s did) the boy-turned-cat-turned-ghost Thackery Binx, the blonde dude with all the attitude in the leather jacket and the main guy, THE VIRGIN (as so oft-referenced to in the film) Max.

But it was Sarah (played by Sarah Jessica Parker) with her frothy blonde locks, awe-inspiring cleavage and manic smile who had me truly enamored. I even loved how goddamn ditzy she was. These days, I find her constant bewilderment (mostly) adorable. Whenever Sarah wasn’t on the screen, I wanted her back on it. I recall wanting, so badly, to re-wind, re-wind, re-wind the scene where she’s riding her broomstick, singing the city children to an early grave. To this day it still chills me in the right ways.  

As I scurried through the rabbit warren of Google links, looking for something interesting to share that you might not already know, I discovered that SJP is a descendant of Esther Elwell, a woman who, in the late 1600s in Salem (where else) was accused of being a witch. But the witch craze burnt out a month before her trial was due to begin. 

Also, there’s a thread on Reddit where someone has posted a still from the movie where you can, for split seconds, see Sarah wearing electric purple bloomers in the ‘paved road’ scene. Thanks [deleted], you’re an absolute hero. The world simply NEEDS to have quick access to this most delicious moment of cinema.  

Nancy Downs 

The Craft (1996)

I don’t remember how the VHS of The Craft came to be in my possession (along with The Faculty and Book of Shadows: Blair Witch 2, a film I’ve never been able to make sense of and which I’ll despise forever), but I bonded with that movie on a whole lot of levels, ones I didn’t even fully understand at the time. I adored Nancy, portrayed by the goddess that is Fairuza Balk. Every other character in the film moved in her shadow. Yes, she was a bitch, but oh, what a great bitch! I’d go as far as to say she’s the most iconic witch bitch in cinematic history.  

When I first watched The Craft, I thought American High Schools were the shit. The alternative kids always seemed much more alternative than in dull old England. Around this time, I was taking books on witchcraft from the library and regularly stealing into the ‘witchy shops’ where I’d a sense of belonging among stashes of crystals and boxes of nag champa.  

Nancy’s entire get-up had me hot around the dog collar. Those kohl-rimmed eyes, maroon lips and edgy hair. I wanted her PVC coat and hungered for a mouth like hers that looked like it could swallow souls while she laughed. I may have wanted to kiss it, too. 

Costume designer for The Craft Deborah Everton said in an interview about the lasting impact of the style in the film, “Nancy’s clothes were her armour…” I could and still do feel that to my bones. I feel powerless without my boots. I also identified with her similarly to how writer Angelica Jade Bastien did. Writing for The Vulture about the lasting legacy of The Craft Bastien said, “I fell for Nancy because she mirrored my own adolescent struggles. She was poor, lonely as hell, and paranoid that what friendships she did have would be taken from her by someone more powerful and easier to love.”

The most impactful part of the film for me was when Nancy was levitating, the tips of her pointy-toe boots scraping the floor in the ‘He’s gotta pay’ scene. I can’t fully explain the feelings I’m bulldozed with when I watch this scene. I must pay closer attention to them when I inevitably re-watch it sometime before October’s end. 

I wanted a pinch of what Nancy had. Not the craziness; I had plenty enough of that already. Nor the brash arrogance, aggression and vengefulness. But some of her rebellion and fire. I have yet to see the new Craft film. I’m going to have to. But I predict it’ll go down as well as the sequel to The Blair Witch did, i.e. not very well at all. 

The Witch, Young 

The Witch (2015)

The most fairytale moment of Robert Egger’s folkloric masterpiece is when the youthful version of the Witch of the Wood, played by the beguiling Sarah Stephens, slinks seductively out of her forest hut (which, admittedly, I’d happily move in tomorrow) and towards lust/fear fueled Caleb. I rejoiced in the forest ambience as much as I rejoiced in the vision of the Witch with her milky bosom, come hither eyes and attire I would wear every day in a heartbeat. 

She’s on the screen for the briefest moments, at least as a young woman I’d offer my soul up to. (In all three of the films Eggers has made, the characters I want to get to know have the most minuscule screen time.) But what magick is in that briefest of moments, and how tangled into my psyche it is.