This poor movie can't make up its mind whether it's a history lesson, a romance, a scary movie, or a nudie cutie, and it ends up being none of them. Thankfully, I didn't waste money on this flick (unless you count opportunity cost, and I suppose I should).
In blatant padding to fill out an hour, we're subjected to repeated details of a Bosch depiction of hell, while a narrator---Gary Owens, no less!---maunders on about witches. (Wish I knew who the narrator was of the single line following Owens's speech--he's familiar too.) Our history lesson ends and our geography lesson begins when the ostensible hero of the film haplessly runs out of gas outside of Luckenbach, Texas, whose roots we learn about ad nauseam. I nearly ran away when the German-singing tots appeared, but I hung in there to watch a possible love interest develop with the hotel owner's daughter. The appearance of a black peignoir set was promising . . . but no.
The witch of the film's title wants (and gets) her own romance (well, okay, lust-fest) with the hero, but though the camera lingers long on the naked witch swimming, so does the little soft-focus bubble over all her naughty bits. For the nudie-cutie enthusiasts out there, she does cavort later in the aforementioned sheer peignoir, but with the sudden and unexplained appearance of white underpants, and you have to suffer through something like liturgical dance as well. (And just where did the music in that cave come from, anyway?) The movie has about as many walking scenes as "The Beast of Yucca Flats." The voice-over narration seems unending, but maybe that's okay, because the German accents are atrocious, as is most of the dialogue. The acting is . . . well, let's just say the annoying children are given a run for their money by the rest of the cast.
And while one does give a bit of credit to the film for its sympathy for victims of witch trials, both literal and figurative, the end makes me want to slap the hero. The "naked witch" comes back to life after centuries of death, exerts mind control, and kills a few folks, and yet he wants to know "Was she really a witch?" Well, DUH.
In blatant padding to fill out an hour, we're subjected to repeated details of a Bosch depiction of hell, while a narrator---Gary Owens, no less!---maunders on about witches. (Wish I knew who the narrator was of the single line following Owens's speech--he's familiar too.) Our history lesson ends and our geography lesson begins when the ostensible hero of the film haplessly runs out of gas outside of Luckenbach, Texas, whose roots we learn about ad nauseam. I nearly ran away when the German-singing tots appeared, but I hung in there to watch a possible love interest develop with the hotel owner's daughter. The appearance of a black peignoir set was promising . . . but no.
The witch of the film's title wants (and gets) her own romance (well, okay, lust-fest) with the hero, but though the camera lingers long on the naked witch swimming, so does the little soft-focus bubble over all her naughty bits. For the nudie-cutie enthusiasts out there, she does cavort later in the aforementioned sheer peignoir, but with the sudden and unexplained appearance of white underpants, and you have to suffer through something like liturgical dance as well. (And just where did the music in that cave come from, anyway?) The movie has about as many walking scenes as "The Beast of Yucca Flats." The voice-over narration seems unending, but maybe that's okay, because the German accents are atrocious, as is most of the dialogue. The acting is . . . well, let's just say the annoying children are given a run for their money by the rest of the cast.
And while one does give a bit of credit to the film for its sympathy for victims of witch trials, both literal and figurative, the end makes me want to slap the hero. The "naked witch" comes back to life after centuries of death, exerts mind control, and kills a few folks, and yet he wants to know "Was she really a witch?" Well, DUH.