This year marks ten years since The Witch was released. I was 17 when it was released in 2016, and I watched it for the first time. I remember the surprise I felt as the film unfolded, expecting a horror film, and yet, what unfolded stirred something else inside of me. I found myself lingering on the question that Anya Taylor-Joy’s Thomasin is ultimately asked, “Wouldst thou like to live deliciously?” To me, it was never an offer of damnation, but of freedom. My seventeen-year-old self longed to be asked that same question, so I could respond with a resounding yes.
In the years since the film’s release, it has become increasingly apparent to me that, beneath the film’s folklore and dread, Robert Eggers has crafted one of the quintessential coming-of-age stories about girlhood.
This may come as a surprise to some, particularly male viewers. After all, the film’s thesis is essentially, “What if an evil witch haunted your family?” The Witch tells the story of a Puritan family undone by isolation and religious extremism. It centers on Thomasin, a teenage girl, whose father’s (Ralph Ineson) religious pride leads her and her mother, Katherine (Kate Dickie), younger brother Caleb (Harvey Scrimshaw), twin siblings Mercy (Ellie Grainger) and Jonas (Lucas Dawson), and infant Samuel (Axtun and Athan Dube), into exile in 1630s New England.
Once alone on the edge of a foreboding forest, the family suffers the first of several great losses as the infant child suddenly vanishes under Thomasin’s watch. Though Thomasin’s father, William, insists a wolf is the culprit, a sense of dread looms.
Amongst this turmoil, the film strategically emphasizes that Thomasin is in the midst of growing into her body. Caleb shoots furtive glances at her, and she and her father share an awkward moment of undressing. These moments sexualize Thomasin. And, in combination with her proximity to the disappearance of the infant, she becomes the perfect outlet for her family to shift their own feelings of grief, anger, insecurity, and unholy thoughts onto her.
It begins with her mother, whose grief and insecurity twist into suspicion, as she comes to see Thomasin as a rival rather than a daughter. In one explosive moment, Katherine even calls Thomasin a “proud slut,” falsely alleging she attempted to seduce her brother and father.
Her twin siblings follow, gleefully parroting about the “witch of the woods.” They are the first to speak of a witch’s presence, claiming to have seen her. During Caleb’s apparent possession and exorcism, they behave erratically. All evidence would suggest they are truly the ones in cahoots with the devil. And yet, when Thomasin jests to them that she is the witch of the woods in order to end their pestering, the label clings to her like the truth. While they have the pass of being children, she no longer does.
Her father, desperate to maintain authority, locks Thomasin away with the twins.
Historically, and specifically in this setting, the term “witch” focused on female sexuality in an effort to maintain patriarchal control. Many of the targets of witch hunts were young women coming into their bodies, much like Thomasin. These young women were hunted to enforce gender roles and sexual modesty. Women’s bodies were seen as threats. Female autonomy was a sin. Thomasin is vilified not for what she has done, but for what she represents in her growing body.
In this way, the film reflects a familiar reality that women are often made to carry the projections of those around them. The desires of men, the insecurities of other women, the control of fathers — all of it settles onto the girl who is simply growing up.
By the time the family’s goat Black Phillip (Daniel Malik) finally speaks, Thomasin has been blamed for sins she did not commit, sexualized for desires that were not hers, and punished for a pride that belonged to her father.
As Black Phillip reveals himself to be Satan, the moment is tense, and yet, I remember feeling almost relieved. When he asks her, “Wouldst thou like to live deliciously?” Thomasin is finally offered something she has not had — freedom to exist without punishment, agency over herself and her body, and acceptance for who she is.
She looks more mature, as she lets her hair down and strips from her dress that had marked her as the dutiful daughter. Blood covers her body as if to symbolize a menstrual cycle, and becomes a reclamation of her sexuality and autonomy.
Thomasin joins the other witches in the wood, rising into the air and laughing. As I watched, I did not feel dread for her decision, I felt catharsis.
Watching The Witch in 2026, now that I have come of age, felt different. In the ten years since I first saw the film, I have faced the realities of being a woman – to be looked at, to be dismissed, to be underestimated. And, like Thomasin, I’ve had to find myself and choose for myself. At 17, I longed for the moment I could answer yes. At 27, I realize I finally have.
Retrospective Courtesy of Kam Ryan
Feature Image Credit to A24 and Universal Pictures