On paper, The Witch’s Sabbath sounds like a promising gem of a film. A coven of four witches must sacrifice 666 souls to their dark lord before the coming of Halloween. In return for their tribute, the witches will retain their immortal lives. In an effort to acquire the sacrifices needed to sate their evil bloodlust, the coven operates a local strip club and subtly lures its patrons to their doom. Did I mention the best part? In order for the ancient evil to consume the souls of the victims, the sacrifices must remain alive while the head is severed from the body.
I know, you’re all thinking what I was when I sat down to view this beauty. “Strippers in Service of Satan” that’s a magic combination, lets get it on! Well you’d be half right. While there is more than enough blood and boobs to keep your average 13-year old glued to the tube. The film as a whole suffers from some truly indescribable bad acting, most of which is perpetrated by Eli James, who embraces his characterization of Seth like some scary-ass outtake from frat boys gone wild. But, lets forget about the acting for a second, after all this isn’t The English Patient. Lets talk about butchery and breasts for just a minute. Like all psychopathic stripper serial killer films these are the three things that should be taken seriously.
Boobs –let’s call it two dozen, frankly I lost count. Virtually everyone in the film whips the sisters out for at least a dance or two. Most notably, scream siren Syn DeVil (Is this the best name ever, or what?) gives us all a proper show by highlighting her generous assets in some wonderfully revealing domination duds. In fact, I’m hard pressed to recall even one scene where DeVil keeps her robe on. Hey, I’m not complaining here, and neither were the victims. Well, they weren’t complaining before she decapitated them. Come to think of it, they weren’t complaining after she decapitated them either. So, that brings us to the blood.
Blood – There are gallons of blood spilt in this film. I mean ridiculous amounts of the old Kayro. I genuinely suspect that all the money the producers saved by hiring frat boy up there was spent acquiring the copious amounts of carnage that we see on the screen. You’ve got heads ripped right off, spinal cords torn out, even a lesson on the dangers of French kissing your would-be killer. In fact, some of the effects are so good that it almost pains me that this film is not better overall. So in the immortal words of AC/DC, if you want blood…you got it.
Now, before you all run off to the local video store and plunk down your begged or borrowed cash to pick up this flick, I would be remiss if I didn’t tell you about the films illustrious cameo. Adult film Godfather Ron Jeremy (if you don’t know who this is, I’ve gotta ask, how old are you?) makes a tragic-comic appearance as a door-to-door bible salesman (Yeah, you read that right). Not only does Ron’s bible salesman scare the hell out of me on a whole moral level I never even knew I had, his character doesn’t even know the correct words to the “Our Father”. Ron also demonstrates true horror film logic by not being sharp enough to get the hell out of the creepy old house when his bible bursts into flames. Needless to say the only head Ron’s getting in this film is the one the witches are serving up to Satan.
There is also a bit of a twist ending, which is hinted at a few times during the (I use this term loosely) plot. Unfortunately, the biggest problem is that after the twist, the film never really explains the foreshadowing. Of course that may just be me. After all, by that time I was almost blind from all the T&A. After the film, I took a cold shower and tried to contemplate the best way to describe the violation that I felt while watching this trashy blood feast. Alas, I’m at a near total loss, so I’ll leave you with that nefarious task and just simply say, The Witch’s Sabbath is a devilishly sordid masterpiece of sin. Whether or not that’s a good thing or bad thing is still up in the air.