A Darkly Revolutionary Blend of Documentary, Horror, and the Grotesque.
Long before cinema had truly embraced the horror genre as we know it, Häxan burst onto the scene in 1922, blurring the lines between documentary, horror, and surreal nightmare. Directed by Danish filmmaker Benjamin Christensen, this silent film stands as one of the most revolutionary and bizarre productions in the early days of cinema. It’s a film that didn’t just push boundaries – it bulldozed right through them, laying the foundation for what would become a genre steeped in moral panic, grotesque imagery, and social critique.
On paper, Häxan is ostensibly a documentary about the history of witchcraft. Inspired by the 15th-century treatise Malleus Maleficarum, Christensen set out to explore the superstitions, hysteria, and religious fervour that led to centuries of witch hunts across Europe. But Häxan is no dry academic exercise. Christensen’s approach is anything but conventional, blending educational intent with dramatized, almost hallucinatory reenactments that dive deep into the grotesque, erotic, and macabre.
What begins as a scholarly exploration of the witch trials quickly transforms into something much darker. Christensen pulls no punches in depicting the wild accusations of witchcraft, showing women seduced by the devil, flying through the air on broomsticks, and engaging in demonic rituals. The film becomes an exercise in showing how myth and fear fester in the minds of the superstitious and powerful – and how easily moral panic spirals into violence and oppression.
To understand Häxan’s importance, you have to remember where cinema was in 1922. Silent films were still evolving, and horror was not yet a fully realized genre. Häxan helped shape the language of horror by leaning heavily on unsettling, nightmarish imagery. The practical effects – for their time – were groundbreaking. Christensen used stop-motion animation, double exposures, and innovative makeup effects to bring the supernatural to life, long before CGI or elaborate creature designs were even a glimmer on the horizon.
The film’s depictions of demons, witches, and grotesque torture methods may seem quaint or over-the-top by modern standards, but in the early 1920s, this was truly shocking material. The devil, played by Christensen himself, is an iconic image of silent horror, with his horned figure leaping onto the screen in vivid, surreal tableaux. This merging of educational intent with horror aesthetics created a film that was as much about atmosphere and sensory overload as it was about imparting knowledge.
In this way, Häxan feels less like a historical study and more like a fever dream – a visual nightmare where the line between reality and fantasy becomes blurred. It’s a technique that would go on to influence generations of horror filmmakers, from the German expressionists to surrealist directors like Luis Buñuel and the body horror of directors like David Cronenberg. Häxan was doing in 1922 what we now take for granted in horror – immersing the audience in grotesque, disturbing imagery to provoke an emotional, visceral reaction.
One of the reasons Häxan remains so fascinating nearly a century later is its willingness to critique the systems that perpetuated the witch hunts. While Christensen’s depictions of witches and demons are lurid and exaggerated, the real horror of the film lies in its depiction of institutional violence – how religious and political authorities used fear to control and manipulate people. The film suggests that the witch hunts were less about rooting out evil and more about enforcing patriarchal power and social conformity.
Christensen even draws a parallel between the medieval witch hunts and the medical treatment of so-called “hysterical” women in the early 20th century. By the film’s final chapter, he directly links the persecution of witches to contemporary issues, making Häxan not just a historical film but a social commentary on the ways women’s bodies and behaviours were policed in the name of morality and order. For a film made in 1922, this level of feminist critique was astonishingly ahead of its time.
Häxan was not a huge commercial success upon its release, but its influence on the horror genre and beyond is undeniable. It laid the groundwork for a cinematic language that would become essential to horror – the use of shocking, taboo imagery to confront societal fears and superstitions. Its blend of documentary and drama, fact and fiction, created a format that would later be adopted by films like The Blair Witch Project (1999) and countless other found-footage horror films.
Moreover, Häxan’s surrealist tone and grotesque visual style paved the way for filmmakers who would push the boundaries of what cinema could show and say. Its unflinching portrayal of dark, forbidden subjects helped to normalize horror as a genre capable of handling serious, provocative themes. The film was rediscovered in later decades, especially during the 1960s and 70s when audiences began to appreciate its avant-garde nature and bold experimentation. Today, it’s often regarded as one of the earliest and most influential horror films – a foundational piece that demonstrated horror’s power to unsettle, provoke, and question.
Häxan stands as a bold, daring piece of early cinema – a film that didn’t just toe the line of what was acceptable but gleefully crossed it, leaving a lasting imprint on the horror genre. Benjamin Christensen’s blending of documentary and horror was unprecedented at the time, and his use of unsettling, surreal imagery helped shape the aesthetics of horror for decades to come. Its legacy endures, both as a pioneering film of early horror and as a groundbreaking critique of the systems that perpetuated fear and persecution.
While it might not provide the jump scares modern audiences expect, Häxan remains an essential watch for anyone interested in the roots of cinematic horror – a strange, unsettling journey into the darkest corners of history and imagination.
