HBO Max is offering an unusual take on Roald Dahl’s The Witches.
Transplanting a Dahl tale from his native England to Alabama, is akin to suddenly insisting that James Bond hails from California. The disconnect is jarring, and the absence of Dahl’s distinctly British tone is keenly felt.
That said, if an international order of witches wishes to eradicate all the world’s children, it certainly makes sense that such enchanters would travel. Ergo, why not the rural Alabama town of Demopolis? Indeed, location isn’t an issue in director Robert Zemeckis’ handling of Dahl’s creepy-crawly fantasy; the major problem is the script’s reliance on sight gags and special effects, over plot logic, continuity and plain ol’ common sense.
While her mouse-ified grandson and two similarly majicked mice companions watch
hopefully, Grandma (Octavia Spencer) carefully blends the ingredients for a
counter-spell designed to return them to human form.
I’m frankly surprised. The writing chores are handled by Zemeckis, Guillermo del Toro — who certainly understands well-plotted fantasy structure — and Kenya Barris. The latter, best known for television work such as America’s Top Model and Black-ish, may be the reason this film too frequently sinks into sitcom-style slapstick, rather than attempting to emulate Dahl’s mordant British wit.
The story is told via flashback, and introduced during what appears to be a classroom slide show by an off-camera presenter (Chris Rock’s always distinctive voice and cadence). We then slide back to 1967 …
… where our young protagonist (Jahzir Bruno) has come to live with his Grandma (Octavia Spencer), following the tragic death of his parents. When the boy — never given a name — reports an unsettling encounter with an oddly dressed woman, Grandma springs into action, and takes them on a “vacation” to the seaside Grand Orleans Imperial Island Hotel.
Turns out Grandma has dealt with witches before, and cautions her grandson about what to watch for. Witches always wear gloves, even when it’s hot outside; their nostrils are larger than most; they wear wigs to hide their bald heads; they don’t have any toes; and — the ookiest detail — their elongated mouths can stretch to their ears.
Alas, Grandma and her young companion have abandoned the frying pan, only to wind up in the fire. The hotel also is hosting a gathering of the Royal Society for the Prevention of Cruelty to Children … whose exclusively female members actually are all witches, led by the Grand High Witch (Anne Hathaway).
She has called this meeting in order to demonstrate her just-perfected potion, which she tests on the unsuspecting Bruno Jenkins (Codie Lei Eastick), a hotel guest along with his overly indulgent parents (Charles Edwards and Morgana Robinson). As introduced, Bruno is an obnoxious, gluttonous brat apparently inspired by Augustus Gloop, from Charlie and the Chocolate Factory.
How strange, then, that — once transformed into a mouse — Bruno suddenly becomes kind, sympathetic and heroic (if still constantly hungry). That’s just sloppy writing.
Our young hero, having witnessed this magical makeover, becomes the second victim; he and his new rodent companion race back to Grandma, where — being able to talk — they’re able to apprise her of the situation. So: Can one feisty senior citizen and two little mice successfully tackle the Grand High Witch and her 50 (!) glamorous witch companions?
Oops, make that three little mice. In this film’s most glaring, out-of-left-field revelation, it turns out that our young hero’s apparently ordinary pet white mouse, Daisy, also can talk (in Kristin Chenoweth’s equally distinctive voice), having been witchified at some previous point in time.
Uh-huh.
Spencer tries hard, but she can’t keep up with her character’s shifts in tone and behavior. She’s warmly persuasive as a tough but doting grandmother — “the kind that wouldn’t hesitate to give a spanking if you deserved it, or a big ol’ hug if you needed it” — but less convincing as a witch hunter. (One wonders when, where and how she developed such skills.)
Hathaway, on the other hand, is wonderfully over-the-top as the Grand High Witch; her baroque flourishes, Shakespearean eloquence, sinister glances and predatory smiles are effectively creepy. And it’s quite chilling, each time the latter do indeed stretch bloodily from ear to ear.
None of the other witches makes an impression. They’re all ciphers, aside from costume; one seems Irish, one French, one Spanish, and one Italian. The rest are nameless and faceless. Bruno’s parents have more personality, and that’s not saying much.
Stanley Tucci is completely wasted in his supporting performance, as the fussy, fastidious hotel manager. We keep expecting him to do something significant — anything — but it never happens.
Similarly, despite the Grand High Witch’s repeated reference to how she and her entourage all hate garlic — a hammered-upon detail that Seems Significant — this also never amounts to anything.
And why, pray tell, does the Grand High Witch suddenly lose faith in her black cat familiar?
The best work comes from Visual Effects Supervisor Keven Baillie, who does marvelous things with those witch mouths, and their toe-less feet, and claw-like hands extending from arms able to stretch hideously long distances. The mice also are brought to life quite convincingly.
But that’s scarcely enough on which to hang your attention. At best, Zemeckis’ film is colorful, fast-paced and reasonably entertaining … but also quite flawed. Folks seeking a film version of Dahl’s book will find director Nicolas Roeg’s 1990 adaptation far more satisfying.
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