PyewacketGrief drives the weak-willed into darkness. Pyewacket is a psychological horror movie about a high school girl named Leah (Nicole Muñoz), who has thrown herself into the occult following the death of her father. Her mother (Laurie Holden) also grieves fiercely, turning to drink and despair, and the relationship between the two is increasingly strained. When Leah's mother opts to move away from their family home in an attempt to start anew, Leah begins to feel that her mother has become more of an enemy than a friend. After a fierce argument, Leah turns to her amateur spellbook and conducts a ritual. The purpose: to conjure a demon named "Pyewacket" to kill her mother.
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Made in the latter half of the 2010s--in what I believe was something of a renaissance of horror movies, including another family grief/trauma turned supernatural terror masterpiece, Hereditary--Pyewacket is an intriguing entry into the genre. While not perfect, it usually embraces a level of naturalism that is rarely found in low-budget horror movies. Leah and her pals at school are all trying a bit too hard to be edgy, "goth" kids, even attending a book signing that concerns witchcraft by a guy who one of them describes as "looking like my dad". Their try-too-hard attitude may elicit groans from some, but consider that this is often true for teenagers struggling to find their identity; they stumble along the way. It is suggested that Leah turned to paganism after her father died as a means of coping, but the film also suggests that in her sorrow, this made her susceptible to embrace something dark and inherently malevolent. Pyewacket draws in spirit from the so-called "Satanic panic" of the Eighties, viewing the dark arts as something that should not be played with, much less by a young woman who cannot reconcile her rage. Even the aforementioned author, Rowan Dove (James McGowan), warns Leah twice about the dangers of black magic. But as any parent can tell you, warning some teens is tantamount to daring them to try it anyway. Written and directed by Adam MacDonald, Pyewacket explores grief in a compelling way, where the demonic horror becomes an incidental yet inexorable side effect of the breakdown of the family. It's easy to identify with Leah and her angst from the start because of the way that her mother is depicted, alternately tyrannical and doting. It's easy to rush to judgment, but as one of Leah's friends named Janice (Chloe Rose) comments, some people are just as screwed up as adults as kids are. It's a rare moment of wisdom passing from the collective lips of these teens, but it encapsulates all of what makes Pyewacket a wise yet tragic tale.
Many details really sell Leah's state of mind in Pyewacket, from her room's decor to the heavy metal music she listens to as she peruses her "occult primer"--even the scornful look she gives a student who bumps into her in the hallway at school. There are questions that audiences will likely ask, such as how she came into possession of the grimoire in the first place or why, but the act of speculating on this helps support how authentic of a character she is, because she has a past that doesn't require copious exposition. Her friends may be flip and phony--especially in the clothes they wear or how they style their hair--but consider what it was like growing up without feeling like you belonged, but with need to feel like you--and more importantly, your feelings--matter. This is one of the great divides between kids and their parents. Most parents love their kids, but forget the struggles they are going through in the face of their own newfound responsibilities. That message is clear with Leah's mother. She longs for those simpler days when they could go out together and go to craft stores on the weekend, and where she didn't have to worry about her daughter driving off...and away from her, hence why she keeps her from getting her license. Leah isn't poor; it's clear that she and her mother are financially secure, but Pyewacket reminds us that the pain of growing up and losing a loved one doesn't change based on your wealth. On the other hand, the movie does carry a subtle level of cynicism about entitlement, as the idea that acting out--like wearing a pentagram ring--is something that comes a little easier for the privileged. Yet Leah's pain is real, and it feels like she's lost both of her parents. How many kids have been so mad at feeling misunderstood that they've said or done stuff that they regret? That's what makes Leah's crisis so effective. She plays with fire and commits to a ritual really just to purge from her heart the suffering of feeling ignored or of being taken for granted. But she does something that she can't truly take back, and it ends up ruining everything. There's accountability on both sides, but this is a cautionary message, making Pyewacket a surprisingly moral horror movie. In essence, Leah's dabbling in Satanism is just a surrogate for any other form of rebellious escape, from drugs to sex to violence. It's a little surprising as well that Leah has a ceremonial dagger at all, so her mother's concern is understandable when after Leah has conducted her secret ritual--which involved her cutting her arm--it looks a lot like self-harm. Most people who do self-harm do so because it seems to give them a sense of control or stability, so it wouldn't be an unreasonable conclusion for her mother to reach about her. As it stands, both of them are adrift in their own emotions, struggling to bridge that gulf of misunderstanding that has grown between them. This is prime real estate for the forces of darkness to exploit, adding yet another intriguing dimension to Pyewacket.
Recommended for: Fans of a surprisingly sympathetic and emotionally astute horror movie that nevertheless still manages to deliver on the terror as the story progresses by way of strong characterization and anxiety-inducing cinematography. Pyewacket may occasionally show some lack of polish as a small-budget movie--and commit that increasingly common cardinal sin of showing text messages superimposed on the screen, which immediately shatters the audience's immersion--but it's heart is often in the right place and isn't afraid to explore just how dangerous it can be to tempt darkness and some of the more unsavory aspects of alternative society without appropriate caution.
Many details really sell Leah's state of mind in Pyewacket, from her room's decor to the heavy metal music she listens to as she peruses her "occult primer"--even the scornful look she gives a student who bumps into her in the hallway at school. There are questions that audiences will likely ask, such as how she came into possession of the grimoire in the first place or why, but the act of speculating on this helps support how authentic of a character she is, because she has a past that doesn't require copious exposition. Her friends may be flip and phony--especially in the clothes they wear or how they style their hair--but consider what it was like growing up without feeling like you belonged, but with need to feel like you--and more importantly, your feelings--matter. This is one of the great divides between kids and their parents. Most parents love their kids, but forget the struggles they are going through in the face of their own newfound responsibilities. That message is clear with Leah's mother. She longs for those simpler days when they could go out together and go to craft stores on the weekend, and where she didn't have to worry about her daughter driving off...and away from her, hence why she keeps her from getting her license. Leah isn't poor; it's clear that she and her mother are financially secure, but Pyewacket reminds us that the pain of growing up and losing a loved one doesn't change based on your wealth. On the other hand, the movie does carry a subtle level of cynicism about entitlement, as the idea that acting out--like wearing a pentagram ring--is something that comes a little easier for the privileged. Yet Leah's pain is real, and it feels like she's lost both of her parents. How many kids have been so mad at feeling misunderstood that they've said or done stuff that they regret? That's what makes Leah's crisis so effective. She plays with fire and commits to a ritual really just to purge from her heart the suffering of feeling ignored or of being taken for granted. But she does something that she can't truly take back, and it ends up ruining everything. There's accountability on both sides, but this is a cautionary message, making Pyewacket a surprisingly moral horror movie. In essence, Leah's dabbling in Satanism is just a surrogate for any other form of rebellious escape, from drugs to sex to violence. It's a little surprising as well that Leah has a ceremonial dagger at all, so her mother's concern is understandable when after Leah has conducted her secret ritual--which involved her cutting her arm--it looks a lot like self-harm. Most people who do self-harm do so because it seems to give them a sense of control or stability, so it wouldn't be an unreasonable conclusion for her mother to reach about her. As it stands, both of them are adrift in their own emotions, struggling to bridge that gulf of misunderstanding that has grown between them. This is prime real estate for the forces of darkness to exploit, adding yet another intriguing dimension to Pyewacket.
Recommended for: Fans of a surprisingly sympathetic and emotionally astute horror movie that nevertheless still manages to deliver on the terror as the story progresses by way of strong characterization and anxiety-inducing cinematography. Pyewacket may occasionally show some lack of polish as a small-budget movie--and commit that increasingly common cardinal sin of showing text messages superimposed on the screen, which immediately shatters the audience's immersion--but it's heart is often in the right place and isn't afraid to explore just how dangerous it can be to tempt darkness and some of the more unsavory aspects of alternative society without appropriate caution.