Whitch

There’s something to be said about authenticity—especially when it comes to spirituality. Some people wear it like a second skin, while others treat it like a costume. That’s precisely the point of this wickedly funny horror-comedy from director Hoku Uchiyama premiering at SXSW.

Witch, Please.

After reading Wicked to her daughter Sage (Nora Harriet) as a bedtime story, Aura (Alicia Blasingame) is jolted from the comforts of Elphaba’s gravity-defying tale when an unexpected visitor (Rosemary Hochschild) crashes in with a real-life lesson in witchcraft. Nestled among the eclectic witchy home decor, this strange older woman—decidedly sans green skin (which we know because she’s completely naked)—calmly cradles a rabbit and asks if the confused mother is “ready for the ritual.”

But why does this eerie intruder act like she knows Aura? And what’s with the rabbit? Is this some kind of unhinged coven welcoming committee or did Granny just forget laundry day? What begins as a bizarre breaking and entering quickly spirals into a full-blown, blood-soaked nightmare – one that has Aura shielding Sage’s eyes from a very different kind of bedtime story.

The answer to what’s really going on is both horrifying and hysterical, flipping horror tropes on their head and turning this five-minute fever dream into a bold comedy. A wickedly clever satire, the film skewers those who treat spirituality as nothing more than a passing trend — reminding us all that some rituals should probably come with clearer instructions orm at the very least, Google Maps.

A Commanding Presence

From the moment Aura discovers the intruder in her living room, the older woman seizes control of the screen. Her calm yet chilling presence, paired with an unshakable confidence in the ritual, creates an unsettling contrast between a fan of witches and the actual real deal. The woman, who we later learned is named Gladys, is demanding—like a banshee mid-scream—delivering her lines with an eerie sense of familiarity and urgency. It’s as if she and Aura have shared lifetimes together. Leaning into the shock factor, Hochschild fully commits to the moment, embracing both the gore and nudity required to convey the woman’s fanatical devotion to whatever this beast is she is trying to summon. The unexpected rawness of her performance and her quick comedic timing, amplifies the absurdity of this story.

Balancing Horror and Comedy

Thanks to Uchiyama’s direction, the film wastes no time in establishing an unsettling atmosphere. The opening scene lulls the audience into a false sense of security, setting up a cozy, familiar moment between mother and child only to shatter that comfort with a perfectly timed jolt. With precision, the film yanks viewers into Aura’s spiraling reality, delivering a sharp and unexpected scare that immediately shifts the tone.

The cinematography masterfully mirrors Aura’s growing panic. Dark, shadowy shots stretch the corners of the living room into eerie, endless spaces, where it almost feels like a portal to Hell could rip open at any moment. The careful framing turns even the smallest details—flickering moonlight, the blood-soaked carpet, the unreadable expression of the intruder—into ominous signs of the chaos to come.

Uchiyama’s pacing is equally meticulous; taking his time to build the tension to a climax and then pressing his foot on the gas – full speed ahead towards its laugh-out-loud resolution. From the elderly woman’s unsettling surprise, her sudden and unapologetic disrobing and her grotesque, ritualistic actions, each moment escalates the dread until the comedic twist lands with perfect precision. It’s this expert balance between horror and humor that makes the film such a fun watch. The audience is left shocked, entertained and by the end laughing through their lingering unease, hoping for more.

A Wicked Short Worth Seeing

Whitch, cleverly critiques the modern obsession with aestheticized spirituality. The intruder, completely absorbed in her self-styled role as a powerful witch, follows her Bluetooth instructions with blind devotion. Even soaked in blood, her so-called mysticism is more performative than authentic. Likewise, Aura’s “Witch, Please…” welcome mat and her pagan trinkets scattered throughout the home, speak to the commercialization of religion and all of its alternatives. This final revelation is as hilarious as it is thought-provoking, highlighting the film’s sharp commentary on spirituality as a passing trend rather than a deeply held belief. This Midnight Short entry at SXSW is a wickedly-fun horror-comedy—not one for the kids, but an absolute treat for adult fans who enjoy their scares served with a side of laughs. If you love horror films that make you squirm before they make you smile, this one is a must-watch.