Been Thinkin' About...Black Phillip

In the bleak conclusion of Robert Eggers' film, “The Witch,” the big black billy goat fatally gores the ever-angry Puritan father. The goat then transforms into the devil, seducing teenage daughter Thomasin and leading her into the forest to become a witch. I don't feel bad about spoiling the ending. The film was released a decade ago. It's a weird conclusion to a weird film, but I tend to seek out weird films, particularly in the folk horror genre.

Folk horror holds a special place for me, in large part because darker Ozarks lore is undeniably folk horror. A rural setting, isolation, themes of superstition, folk religion, all this speaks into that unsettling, back-of-the-mind space that intimidates but also seduces, leading more than a few people out into the rough and rugged wilds, looking for haints and booger cats or the devil himself as the sun sets over a black winter’s ridge.

Devils Backbone, Devil's Promenade, Devil’s Well, Devil's Den — it is clear the early European settlers in the Ozarks held a preoccupation with the darkness as well, lending to that strange sense of place and otherness these mountains hold. The coming of modern evangelical faith did not dispel the quest. Tales abound of recent locations, houses with Satanic symbols, strange solar designs in the forest, and abandoned places, dark places where the hair on the back of your neck prickles against unseen eyes. 

That said, separating the "horror" from the "folk" should come more easily to some than it often does. Evil does indeed lurk. Danger is real. But in the absence of experience, care, or simply putting in the time required, mob mentality takes root. More than one witch hunt has been initiated with insufficient reason, especially without strong, stern, dissenting voices of authority. "No" is the most powerful word in our language. In the wrong light, anyone can look suspicious. Let he who is without sin cast the first stone.

Which brings me back to Black Phillip. That goat's real name was Charlie and he was a big boy, glorious back-swept horns, flowing hair, a proud and endowed billy goat if there ever was one. The director and crew apparently hated him and according to one report the goat injured British actor Ralph Ineson. Goats are strong. Billy goats are capricious and territorial. That said, they are but rarely malicious. I would know. I raised goats for years. The more troublesome billy goats were especially fun to play with.

In Eggers' decidedly gray film, the protagonist family — Puritan settlers — slowly devolve into madness as one family member after another disappears. Most of the family’s time is spent either mumbling or shrieking, all with thick rural English accents. I found myself hoping for subtitles. Most of the time, I had no idea what anyone was saying. Much of the film's true horror, however, hinges upon the growing dread created by the ominous presence of Black Phillip, who lives in the family’s barnyard. Unfortunately for me, I have lived in other barnyards for too long and understand goat language much better than the accents of East Anglia. Charlie the Goat was not ominous but rather a sweet boy, usually staring at his fellow actors with droll familiarity. It pains me to admit, but Black Phillip was the only character I actually liked and was rooting for him by the end. I try not to dwell on the symbolism.

Hollywood tells us that rural peasants are overtly superstitious, easy to panic. Reality tells a different story. Those who work the land, who put in their time to care and watch the world around them? Those are people who are often not blinded by panic. If you care enough to scoop manure for years, the simple barnyard act of service changes you, takes you down a notch, keeps you from reading the artifice and instead, helps you watch for the real. But those actions of service, of care, of humility, may also elevate, a reminder that fancy clothes and expensive zip code does not a better person make.

It is in the barnyard that one can find personal sacrifice of the best kind, the sacrifice that may leave your ego broken but your spirit bright. I miss the barnyard, I really do. But I've put those lessons to good use these long years since founding StateoftheOzarks, looking beyond the pastiche of our culture, finding our ethics, our true north, even if — and especially when — those ethics refuse to conform.