Evil has excellent admin. Trials, torture and executions unfold in stark black and white, and somewhere in the shadows a man is making sure the paperwork's in order.
It opens with a monk whispering about female wickedness over shots of naked women bathing, a whiff of titillation that curdles fast. The bigwigs soon discover that God's will matches their grudges with uncanny precision. The inquisitor Boblig smells money and gets to work.
The Stalinist show-trial allegory is clear. What got under my skin was the misogyny: men turning private prejudice into grounds for torture. A dissenting priest gives me someone to root for, and the slide into hysteria is horribly well handled. The women's faces had me thinking of Dreyer's The Passion of Joan of Arc. Those faces stay with me.
Some stretches get dry, and sitting through a trial occasionally becomes one. Still, Witchhammer makes most folk horror look like a village fete. The paperwork is immaculate. I may need a lie-down.