St John Karp

Ramblings of an Ornamental Hermit

“Witchouse” (1999)

Witchouse title.

Am I the only one that’s bothered by the fact that the title is missing an H? How are you supposed to pronounce this? Wit-chouse? Witch-ouse? Witcho-use? Buuut because this is another David DeCoteau movie you know the dodgy title is going to be the least of our worries. According to Parker this is DeCoteau’s in-between period, early on enough that he had a bit of cash to spend on his movies but before he embarked upon the low-budget man-candy extravaganzas that are the 1313 films.

So what can we expect from this in-between Witcho-use? Great special effects? More plotting? Better dialogue?

Some guy gets stabbed in the dick.

Or just some guy getting stabbed in the dick? I’m not misreading that, right? She’s clearly stabbing down, and then he’s clutching his nether regions. I think DeCoteau’s understanding of anatomy is about on par with Tommy Wiseau’s. And they both have pseudo French names. Are they really the same person? Has anyone ever seen them in the same room together?

Tonight's victims.

Truly this one’s a bit dire. I mean look at this line-up of expendable young people. All pretty, and not one of them gets a decent line of dialogue. At least, not one that they can deliver with any conviction. The only character worth her salt is this sassy punk girl who talks like Mae West with a stroke. “Let’s jus’ say tha’ big plastic paaaarat skelton in the haaaallway isn’ from Walmrrrt either. Whadontcha cummup an’ see me sometaaaahm.”

The Singing Ringing Tree.
The Singing Ringing Tree (1957), one of the more unfortunate movies we’ve watched.

Parker: The Singing Ringing Tree was better than this, right?

Me: That’s like asking me to pick my favorite turd. I don’t want to pick a favorite, I just want to flush them both.

Parker: Pick the more colorful one.

Me: They’re turds, Parker, they’re both brown.

The witch.

Oh yeah, and I guess there’s a witch too. I could tell you the plot of this movie. But could I make you care? Not really.

The Skinny

The jock gets possessed.
The jock character gets possessed by a travelling fart. Not making this up — literally an errant fart wafts into his bed at night and possesses him. Amazing.

“It’s been real. It’s been fun. But it ain’t been real fun, you know?”

Oh yes, we know. All the misery of a really shabby DeCoteau film with none of the man candy. Yeah, the men in the film are pretty, but you’re going to have to take off a lot of clothes to compensate for how dire the rest of this is. When I look back on DeCoteau’s other pictures I realize just how good A Talking Cat!?! is compared to the rest. Is it possible it’s his masterpiece?