Season of the Witch

Middle Ages movies usually fall into one of two camps: the "historically accurate mud-bath" where everyone dies of a splinter, or the "heavy metal album cover come to life" where knights do backflips. Season of the Witch chooses the latter, then doubles down by adding Nicolas Cage’s gloriously questionable hair extensions and Ron Perlman’s indestructible chin into the mix. It arrived in early 2011, just months before Game of Thrones would redefine the fantasy landscape forever, making this film feel like the final, frantic gasp of the "sword and sorcery" B-movie before things got all prestige and political.

I watched this recently while nursing a lukewarm bowl of leftover chili that was slightly too spicy, which strangely mirrored the film’s own digestive issues—it’s a movie that starts as a gritty war drama and ends as a supernatural monster mash, and it doesn't always sit right. But for those of us who appreciate the specific brand of "Cage-ian" commitment, there’s an undeniable charm to this clunky, plague-ridden road trip.

The Last Great Crusader Bromance

The film opens with a montage of the Crusades that feels like it was edited by someone who had just discovered the "slow-mo" button on a Sony Vegas trial. We see Behman (Nicolas Cage) and Felson (Ron Perlman) hacking their way through various deserts until they realize that maybe—just maybe—killing people in the name of God is a bit of a bummer. They desert the army, head back to Europe, and find it looking like a goth kid’s diary: grey, raining, and covered in boils.

The core of the movie isn't the plot, but the chemistry between Cage and Perlman. They play these characters like a pair of weary cops who are three days from retirement, exchanging dry banter while surrounded by the literal apocalypse. Nicolas Cage (who did Con Air and The Rock with this same level of intensity) brings a somber, soulful weight to Behman, while Ron Perlman (Hellboy) is essentially there to punch things and look skeptical. Their relationship is the only thing that feels "real" in a world that eventually dissolves into digital chaos. Watching them together, you get the sense they actually enjoyed each other's company on those freezing Austrian sets, which makes the clunky, exposition-heavy dialogue much easier to swallow.

CGI Wolves and the Pre-Thrones Aesthetic

Directed by Dominic Sena, who previously gave us the high-octane sheen of Gone in 60 Seconds, the film struggles with its visual identity. On one hand, you have beautiful, sweeping shots of the Alps and actual medieval ruins that give the film a tactile, physical weight. On the other hand, we have the CGI. Oh, the CGI.

There is a sequence involving "demon-possessed" wolves that look like they escaped from a 2005 screensaver. In the era of the "CGI Revolution" (1990-2014), we saw filmmakers grappling with what was possible vs. what was affordable. Season of the Witch often lands in the "uncanny valley" of digital effects. When the action is practical—like the harrowing sequence where a rickety carriage crosses a collapsing bridge—the tension is palpable. You can feel the wood splintering and the weight of the horses. But the moment the film leans into its supernatural elements, the budget starts to show its seams.

The sound design, however, is surprisingly beefy. Every sword clank and mace crush sounds like it’s breaking an actual bone. The score by Atli Örvarsson does a lot of heavy lifting too, providing a choral, gothic backdrop that tries to convince us we’re watching something much more epic than a Dungeons & Dragons campaign gone horribly wrong.

The Legend of the "Three-Year Delay"

Part of the reason Season of the Witch feels a bit disjointed is its chaotic production history. It was actually filmed in 2008 but sat on a shelf for nearly three years. This was the era of the "DVD Culture" peak, where studios often tinkered with films based on test screenings until the original vision was a bit blurred.

Here are a few nuggets of trivia that explain the madness:

Christopher Lee appears as Cardinal D’Ambroise, but he’s hidden under so much "plague makeup" that he looks like a melting candle. It’s a tragedy to cover up that iconic face, but his voice still rumbles like a tectonic plate. Nicolas Cage reportedly took the role because he wanted to live out his childhood dream of being a knight—specifically, he was obsessed with the idea of being a "spiritual warrior." The film features an early performance by Stephen Graham (Snatch, Boardwalk Empire) as a shifty conman, and he’s predictably the most interesting person on screen until he meets a grisly end. The "Witch" herself is played by a young actress who would later become a household name: Claire Foy. She’s remarkably creepy here, pivoting between "innocent girl" and "hell-spawn" with a flick of her eyes. * The script actually sat on Hollywood's "Black List" (the best unproduced scripts) for years before finally being made, which explains why the first two acts feel so much more grounded and clever than the wild, monster-filled finale.

In the end, Season of the Witch is a fascinating relic of its time. It’s a movie that wants to be a serious meditation on faith and the horrors of the Black Death, but it’s also a movie where Ron Perlman headbutts a demon. It’s too silly to be a classic, but it’s too well-acted by its leads to be a total disaster. If you go in expecting a high-fantasy masterpiece, you’ll be disappointed, but if you treat it as a spooky, atmospheric "buddy knight" movie to watch on a rainy Sunday, you might find yourself having a surprisingly good time. It’s a bit of a mess, but it’s a sincere, gritty, and weirdly watchable mess.