Paganism is on the rise. It all started with “The Wicker Man”

WHEN KING CHARLES III put a picture of a Green Man on the invitations to his coronation in May, there was much discussion of what the leafy-faced symbol might signify. Was Britain’s new monarch hinting that he was a pagan? Or was he referring to the Green Man Inn in “The Wicker Man”, a classic British film which was released 50 years ago, in December 1973?

Most royal-watchers agreed that His Majesty is probably just a lover of the great outdoors and had not succumbed to Wicker-mania. (The Green Man is not so much a pagan symbol as one of rebirth more generally.) But the film is so influential that the theory cannot be discounted altogether.

Along with two other British cult favourites, “Witchfinder General” (1968) and “The Blood on Satan’s Claw” (1971), “The Wicker Man” defined the genre of “folk horror”: stories which find something eerie, menacing yet alluringly licentious in remote villages, wild landscapes and ancient heathen rites. Recent films such as “Enys Men”, “Men”, “Midsommar” and “The Witch” have revived the genre. A British sitcom, “The Change”, concluded with the annual Eel Festival in the Forest of Dean.

“The Wicker Man” follows a policeman, Sergeant Howie (Edward Woodward), who travels to a Hebridean island to investigate reports of a missing girl. The islanders are courteous enough, but their evasions and denials bamboozle the buttoned-up sergeant. The one thing that is clear to him is that the locals have abandoned Christianity and now worship “the old gods”, under the tutelage of a jovial aristocrat, Lord Summerisle (Christopher Lee). As Sergeant Howie is a devout Christian, this state of affairs troubles him almost as much as the girl’s disappearance.

Despite its folk-horror label, “The Wicker Man” defies easy categorisation. It is not scary until it reaches its shocking climax; the early scenes have so many jokes that the film seems like a fish-out-of-water comedy. It has enough songs to qualify as a musical.

More than anything, “The Wicker Man” is an affectionate, detailed picture of an idyllic neo-pagan community. Rather than conducting occult rituals in the dead of night, the cheerful islanders practise their faith in broad daylight, whether they’re treating a girl’s sore throat by popping a live toad in her mouth or dancing naked around a bonfire. (“It’s much too dangerous to jump through the fire with your clothes on,” reasons Lord Summerisle.)

It is this breezy respect for the islanders’ beliefs that makes “The Wicker Man” seem so resonant today. Neo-paganism has been a hot topic lately, and not just because of King Charles. In the census of 2021, 74,000 people identified as pagan—up by 17,000 since 2011. For the first time ever, less than half of the citizens of England and Wales described themselves as Christian.

Sergeant Howie would be appalled, but as the world becomes ever more frenetic and technological, and the fight against climate change becomes ever more desperate, there is a nostalgic appeal to traditions which are embedded in nature, the countryside and the changing of the seasons. On one level, “The Wicker Man” may have been intended as a warning against indulging in arcane and prurient superstitions, but today it comes across as an advert for them: a welcoming beginner’s guide. If viewers can overlook a certain human sacrifice, they may well feel that frolicking around a scenic island with Lord Summerisle is a lot more attractive than heading back to the mainland with stuffy Sergeant Howie. ■