The Wicker Man and I came into the world the same year: 1973. Therefore, I spent my early years marinating in this decade of questionable aesthetics. It is possible that my baby pictures would have been as cute as baby pictures are wont to be, if they were not defaced with the clothing of the day, which without exception aped the hues of long-dead plant life. It is possible that children today watch educational videos which do not scorch the visual as well as intellectual sensibilities of their viewers, as did those produced in that miserable decade. It is possible that something good happened some time during the 1970s, but you would not know it looking at the documentary evidence available from that time.

To summarize, I believe that I have taken enough 70s-era punishment. Which is (one of the reasons) why we had to turn off The Wicker Man long before we got to the exciting part. (Was there an exciting part? I would not believe it were you to swear it on a stack of the scripture of your choice).

There are many grounds upon which I might object to an orgy scene in a film; but in no case other than The Wicker Man are the chief grounds of my objection the sheer tedium of it.

In the normal course of things, I might well object to an interminable bawdy song sung by a group of men whose ages average approximately 80 and who are dressed in the very worst and most hideous of garb that I recall from my early years. And normally I would eschew the adjective “gay,” due both to its vulgarity and its implied disrespect to homosexual persons. However, in The Wicker Man, I can think of no other adjective which could possibly call to mind a fraction of the nature of the little dance that these elderly men do while singing the above-mentioned interminable bawdy tune. Gay porn would be less gay than that little dance.

Although nude females have little interest for me anyway, I might have to acknowledge the skill of a filmmaker who was able to create a skillful nude scene, which evoked either sexuality, or threat, or sadness, or anything, anything at all really. Instead, the scene of the naked girl dancing gave me the impression of how, perhaps, a husband might feel, who had long become inured to his wife’s physical attractions and simply wishes she would hurry up and get dressed, as we are going to be late for the game. Seriously: put on a bathrobe and go get your shower, already, before I have to drive my daughter to her freshman year in college.

There is no doubt some truly talented folk musicians out there. None of them had anything to do with the creation of The Wicker Man’s soundtrack, however. Thankfully, I have mostly blocked out all memory of the musical monstrosities of this movie, but just the lingering impression makes me want to drown out the sound by banging my head against a wall.

Boring, stupid, a visual blight, horribly acted, painfully dull…I hated this movie. Hated it.