The love witch car is a distinctive automobile that is often associated with the character of the love witch. It plays a prominent role in the film of the same name, directed by Anna Biller. The car is a vintage red Mustang convertible, which adds to the allure and mystique of the love witch character. The love witch car represents power, control, and independence. It is a symbol of the love witch's free-spirited nature and her ability to manipulate men with her beauty and charm. The car is frequently seen in the film as the love witch drives around town, seducing and enchanting her unsuspecting victims.

Enamoured with ‘The Love Witch’

If you’re able to overlook the background modern cars, the stickers on the soles of Elaine’s black boots, and Trish’s mobile phone, ‘The Love Witch’ (2016) could easily be mistaken for a psychedelic, Italian giallo horror, or tantalising technicolour melodrama of the 1950s and 60s, to which it pays otherwise flawless homage.

Written, directed, composed, designed, and shot on 35mm film by Anna Biller, with cinematographer M. David Mullen, ‘The Love Witch’ is a feminist fantasy horror-comedy decorated with layer upon layer of vivid, visual icing sugar.

The sugar-coated Love Witch: ‘The Love Witch’ | © Oscilloscope Laboratories

The mise-en-scène is delectable. If ‘The Love Witch’ were food, it would be any of the various indulgent cakes that the camera lingers upon throughout its two-hour run time. The acting is humorously and purposely wooden, permeated with unnatural exchanges, overtly, luxuriously sexualised scenes, and drawn out drags of cigarette after cigarette.

The story is that of Elaine, a young, widowed witch whose outfit matches her luggage matches her car. We meet her whilst driving toward a new chapter in life; her internal monologue narrated with the exaggerated elongations of a contemporary Californian. She arrives at none other than Bair-Stokes House; if you like Victorian Gothic architecture and frequent any image sharing site, chances are you’ve drooled over this 1888 Queen Anne beauty before.

It’s all so exceptionally ‘grammable’. #witchaesthetic.

Trish, the interior decorator to Elaine’s new home, is introduced as the opening sequence segues into the narrative. Hers is the kind of face that smiles wholly, with eyes that narrow in search of the good in others. She seems sincerely interested in Elaine’s well-being, but a judgmental ignorance surfaces in the brief, deliberate moment that she reacts to her new friend’s former occupation. Is this non-verbal prejudice highlighted as justification for her future misfortune? Which is less feminist: to judge a woman for her actions, or to punish her opinions?

Positioned in opposition to the conservative English Trish, Elaine is seductive and immediately accepted as the liberated, independent heroine of the film. Trish is the kind of woman who takes her tea black, on its own. Elaine lives deliciously. Surely she who has her cake, and eats slice after sumptuous slice of it, is our hero?

But the thing is, Elaine is obsessed, not empowered. As encompassed by the eponymous title of her story, her main defining characteristics are her mission for love and her practice of witchcraft. She has, on one hand, physical, sexual, magickal power over men, but remains undeniably governed by an unquenchable desire for their reciprocated love. She wants men to love women with the same consuming emotion that she believes women have for men. She seeks this by enchanting a string of suitors, creating nothing but destruction, whilst revealing the weakness of her craft. Each love interest is overwhelmed by affection – the melodramatic masculine version of a Gothic heroine’s swoon – to the point of death. The dominance within the sexual power struggle has undeniably shifted, and in her favour, but is still the crux of the narrative.

We come to understand Elaine not as a one-dimensional powerhouse of feminist revenge against the male chauvinism of film history, but as a female villain in the significantly central role. Although Elaine may dispel the cliché that attractive witches are good and ugly ones are evil, the issue remains, however, that she’s not a villain that I can champion. Not least because her actions are anti-feminist, but because she isn’t evil enough. Despite inhabiting a pastiche world, she possesses the worryingly recognisable qualities of real, yet remorseless, misguided young women. But actually, this may very well be the success of ‘The Love Witch’…

Between decadent scenes of pagan practice, and seductive stripping, Trish continually pops up as a reminder of reality. Her presence helps to position the film within its wider, political context, and avoid the viewer being charmed into ignorance. Though painfully traditional in contrast to Elaine, we come to realise that she is no less a feminist, and in fact more aware than our enticing protagonist. Surprisingly, she is the character that grows the most during the course of Elaine’s story.

Joining the Love Witch in widowhood, Trish finally indulges: violently jabbing her dessert with a fork. The result is the single most haunting and provocative still of the entire film. Trish has her ‘Single White Female’ moment, and learns that a woman can indeed possess both morals and lingerie. She has her cake and eats it too.

Observations of a feminist: ‘The Love Witch’ | © Oscilloscope Laboratories

Through exposition, ‘The Love Witch’ offers itself as a valuable resource on modern principles of witchcraft. Members of Elaine’s coven, male witch Gahan and High Priestess Barbara, also offer direct insight into the very purpose of the film. With a burlesque dancer performing on stage behind them, they break the fourth wall to educate Elaine and their audience simultaneously. They discuss the vilification of woman as ‘witch’ due to male fear of female sexuality and emotion. Close-ups of the beguiling dancer reveal her joy, her consent, and her empowerment, which is starkly juxtaposed against the problematic self-fetishisation of Elaine. Elaine is driven by misguided indoctrination and harmful, fantasy ideals, though her intentions are pure. And this is why she fails, as a Love Witch, and a villain, but succeeds in embodying an important message.
That consent is essential, regardless of gender.
That there are differences between the sexes, but equality is attainable.
That a woman can have power, and sensitivity, and beauty, concurrently.

Ultimately, whether you succumb, wide-eyed to the allure of Elaine, or continue to question the complex role of ‘woman’ days after viewing, I defy you to argue that this is not an artful labour of love and cinematic witchcraft.

You can buy or rent ‘The Love Witch’ through the official website, here.
For optimum viewing pleasure, enjoy with the most sumptuous cake you can conjure, and share your thoughts in the comments below!

May is the Season of the Witch at Generally Gothic. Keep reading with an Interview with a Witch, Witch Watch: Top Ten film recommendations, and A Walk Through Salem.

REVIEW- The Love Witch: On witchcraft, technicolor and female sexuality

The Love Witch is one of the most beautiful films I have ever watched, mainly due to director Anna Biller’s decision to shoot it on 35mm film. Her dedication to paying homage to 60’s and 70’s Technicolor movies is evident through the gorgeous costumes and sets that Biller made herself. The sumptuous colours of Elaine’s apartment and her colourful makeup seem give it an otherworldly and decadent feel – which is built on perfectly by the plot and deliberately campy dialogue.

The main character Elaine (Samantha Robinson) craves love, so much so that she will kill for it. Whether this is intentional or not is left ambiguous – is Elaine a well-meaning if clumsy witch who hasn’t quite gained control over her powers? Or is she a calculating killer whose appealing personality and mystical aura is a carefully created façade used to lure her victims to her? On the surface the plot seems a bit thin; modern day witch uses magic to get men to love her – but what makes it stand out is the feminist ideology that is seamlessly woven into the story. Elaine questions the role of female sexuality in modern society and the politics involved in male and female desire throughout the film and at times almost self-interrogates over why she is so obsessed with being loved by men and how she ended up feeling like she does.

At select points in the film, a character will use a mobile phone or drive off in a modern car, which juxtaposes every other aspect of the film really well – and gives The Love Witch a unique aesthetic of retro combined with modernity. The deliberate use of slightly clunky acting and over the top dialogue really drives home how at its core The Love Witch is an ode to the decadence of 1970s Hollywood.

With a running time of two hours it could have been a bit shorter if I was being nit-picky but it is such a visual feast that it could have been six hours and I wouldn’t have minded in the slightest.

Megan is a 20 year old drop out from Cambridge. She is starting her second attempt at university this year and is hoping to avoid disaster this time around. Most of her time is spent either reading or binge-playing video games. Don’t talk to her about End of Watch or Night Flight as she still hasn’t emotionally recovered from them, and probably never will. Her favourite films are Drive, The Handmaiden, Ghost World and Mad Max: Fury Road.

In Bloom: A Yonic Reading of The Love Witch

Film history overflows with phallocentric imagery, in an industry often governed by the male gaze. But the tide is turning - and has been vividly since Anna Biller’s campy, mystical yonic drama The Love Witch. Eve Froude explores the specific imagery of female anatomy in all its forms. In a discussion on her 2016 film The Love Witch, filmmaker Anna Biller wrote that she thinks of her work as “a horror movie designed to scare men, in the sense that men are the victims and they are not empowered”. The Japanese-American director goes on to state that the film will scare men because of its refusal to stifle girlishness. “[I]t contains scenes of women talking together obsessively about love, in rarefied female environments. I think of lace curtains and dollies and tea accessories, for example, as scaring men.” Biller has a long history as a filmmaker. Her first short film, Three Examples of Myself as Queen, a film in which Biller starred, produced, wrote, edited, and acted as costume designer for, was first screened in 1994. Three Examples, a highly stylised feminist Arabian Nights musical involving a coquettish woman’s self-liberation (described by Biller as “ Sandra Dee meets Madonna ”), channels the same themes as explored 20 years later in The Love Witch: a study of sexual pleasure, sovereignty, and a challenge to the classical ’60s sexpolitation genre. It is often easy to point out obvious sexual imagery in film history – phallic symbolism is everywhere, from guns to knives to the erect chest-buster creatures in Ridley Scott’s Alien. Yet it’s harder to define the phallic’s sexual counterpart: the yonic, or to use the language of The Love Witch, the woman’s “earthly body, the spiritual essence, the womb”. The yonic is the vulvic embedded symbol; caves, blooming flowers, a bloody heart, shells and the rippling sea, ripe fruits, the folds of fabric, or even iconography of the Virgin Mary, hands outstretched and welcoming. As Tilde Fredholm states , the cinematic yonic “fill[s] the screen; we receive them in their muteness; they make an impression”. Upon countless re-watches of Biller’s film, it is impossible to ignore the yonic emblems within her work, and how through the privileging of vulvic imagery, The Love Witch fights against patriarchal structures of the sexualised female body. The Love Witch calls out the symbols of sexual imagery, documenting their usage from the perspective of the murderous and lovesick protagonist Elaine (Samantha Robinson) as well as through the film’s props. As Laura Mulvey understands phallic figurations to “demonstrate the way the unconscious of patriarchal society has structured film form”, Biller redirects the viewer’s gaze toward the sexual nexus of horror and tragedy; the filmmaker’s ability to inspire fear of female sexuality.

The Love Witch begins with Elaine driving in her car, the film title appearing directly over her eye as the penetrating score of violins and soft drum beats play. From this, it is immediately clear that this is a film about vision. For the most part, Robinson’s eyes are brushed sky blue, with bold, sweeping eyeliner. Elaine is never shown without her striking make-up, or in anything less than detailed costuming. Elaine’s first outfit, a blood-red mini dress that matches her car, shoes, lips, and suitcases, embodies and engulfs her like an open wound come to life. Elaine-as-wound bleeds into every scene of the film, ultimately into every character. She is the sexual being, the ultimate fantasy, the made-up woman, the love witch. And she’ll love you to death. Aesthetics play a key role in the search for yonic symbolism and vulvic milieu, fusing with the mise-en-scène to create a setting enamoured with sexuality. Biller wrote that when collaborating with Robinson to construct the costuming for Elaine (Biller was costume designer and producer on The Love Witch, as well as director and writer), that it was like “a little girl playing dress up. [Robinson] was both inside of herself and outside looking at herself, as most women are who have created an image of femininity for the world”. I am reminded of John Berger , “Women watch themselves being looked at”. Of Margaret Atwood’s The Robber Bride declaring, “You are a woman with a man inside watching a woman. You are your own voyeur”. Or more recently, Eliza Scanlen of Sharp Objects declaring “You just let [boys] do stuff to you. When you let them do it to you, you’re really doing it to them”. What is the acceptance of heterosexuality on screen, if not the embrace of this voyeurism, of constructed femininity? Yet Biller contests this. The Love Witch revels in its campiness, of its over-indulgence in love and heterosexual passions. An early scene between Elaine and Trish (Laura Waddell) has the two women arguing about male attention over tea and cake, which neither of them consume. “What do men want?” asks Trish. Elaine replies, “To give them total freedom in whatever they wanna do or be”. The setting itself is a uterine homage – the women’s only tearoom with its blush pink walls, salmon chairs, clothing and accessories the colour of blood and pepto-bismol – the tearoom, the setting of consumption, revels in girlishness and pink claustrophobia. Elaine speaks of giving men their “fantasy”, and through this Biller confronts the labour of female performance, of desire as something to give. In Biller’s own words, “The Love Witch is about love, and is thus a tragedy”.

In another scene, after a one-night stand resulting in death, Biller demonstrates just how much Elaine is willing to give away. After she gives her lover, Wayne (Jeffrey Vincent Parise) “the rainbow” – that is, her body and sexual gratification – Elaine first cooks breakfast for him, deals her tarot deck, and finds him dead in bed. Robinson’s character then urinates into a jar, removes her bloody tampon and places it, alongside sprigs of rosemary, inside and over the shallow grave in which Elaine has dug. Food, magic, death, bodily expulsion, dirt. This is the performed grieving woman on screen, the labour of her lover’s burial rites. During this ritual of death, Elaine’s voiceover laments over the loss of her cat. The cat has classic connotations and connections to the feminine, stereotypically depicted as the female witch’s familiar, an animal of protection. Having lost this familiar, alongside her “rainbow” (Elaine lines all her clothes with rainbow fabric, and during the burial turns her dress inside out and gives it to the grave), and thereby her sex, Elaine is now lacking because she has nothing left to give away. If, as stated by Trish, Elaine is “brainwashed by the patriarchy, [her] self-worth wrapped up in pleasing a man”, and this man is now dead, who is Elaine now? Biller demonstrates this violent cycle of self-worth in conjunction to man, the next scene shows Robinson in the bath, a homemade baptism in which her character can be born anew, reconfigure her femininity in terms of yielding to male desire.

If Elaine cannot exist without male attention, what happens when that attention disappears? Elaine simply continues. Biller refuses to reduce women to merely their connection to men. In fact, every character within the film exists only in relation to Elaine, regardless of her need for love, disproving Trish’s claims. When her final lover must die, Elaine stabs his chest, she sits, alone, victorious and blood-soaked. The witch will not burn. Throughout the film, her character is shown tenderly painting an image of a woman holding a heart, a male body lying next to her, open, wounded and bloody, a warning of what is to come. This heart is the ultimate yonic symbol, pulsing and red, and this final scene of the film presents a hybridised version of Elaine-as-painting, as an object of female passion and labour. When there is no more room for accommodating phallocentrism, Biller suggests that one must embody the yonic. Eve (@evefroude) is a writer currently based in Cardiff. She writes primarily on female trauma, ghosts, and the ocean. In September, she will begin her MA in Film & Literature at the University of York. Our ANNA BILLER t-shirt is available to purchase here. Proceeds go towards paying our writers and supporting female-led film projects.

The car is frequently seen in the film as the love witch drives around town, seducing and enchanting her unsuspecting victims. In addition to its symbolic significance, the love witch car is also visually striking. The vibrant red color and classic design make it a standout in any scene.

It adds to the overall aesthetic of the film, which pays homage to 1960s and 1970s exploitation films. Furthermore, the love witch car serves as a powerful tool for the love witch. It allows her to travel freely and pursue her desires without any constraints. The convertible top also plays a prominent role in some of the film's more sensual moments, providing a setting for the love witch's seductive encounters. Overall, the love witch car is a key element in the film's narrative and visual style. It represents the love witch's femininity, power, and independence, while also adding to the overall aesthetic and atmosphere of the film..

Reviews for "Love Witch Car Confessions: The Allure of Witchy Transportation"

1. John - 2 stars:

I had high hopes for "The Love Witch Car", but unfortunately I was left sorely disappointed. The plot was convoluted and hard to follow, and the characters were one-dimensional and uninteresting. The dialogue felt forced and unnatural, making it difficult to connect with the story. The film seemed to prioritize style over substance, with its excessive use of bright colors and aesthetically pleasing shots. Overall, I found "The Love Witch Car" to be a pretentious and underwhelming film.

2. Sarah - 1 star:

"The Love Witch Car" was an absolute waste of time. The story lacked any depth or coherence, jumping from one random scene to another without any purpose. The acting was atrocious, with wooden performances and over-the-top expressions that felt cringe-worthy. The so-called "love witch car" itself was nothing more than a poorly constructed prop that added no value to the film. I couldn't wait for it to be over and I would not recommend it to anyone.

3. Michael - 2.5 stars:

I can appreciate the effort put into creating a unique visual style in "The Love Witch Car", but unfortunately, that was the only redeeming quality of the film. The pacing was slow and meandering, making it difficult to stay engaged. The characters lacked depth and development, making it hard to invest in their stories. Additionally, the attempts at humor fell flat and felt forced. While the cinematography and set design were standout elements, they weren't enough to salvage the overall mediocrity of "The Love Witch Car".

Love Spells and Gas Pedals: The World of Love Witch Cars