D2D entry #56: Simon, King of the Witches (1971, Bruce Kessler)
(Featured in Dusk to Dawn #1 & 42nd Street #4.)
“Don’t touch me - I’m a religious object!”
I often wonder why I spend so much time watching terrible movies. Then I see a film like this and get my answer. Simon, King of the Witches was advertised as a typicial, trippy early-’70s horror film with boobs and death galore, all at the hands of a powerful Manson-esque warlock. (Think The Deathmaster with spells instead of fangs.) Given the hard-sell by its distributor, it bombed and sank without a trace, which is understandable considering it’s not really a horror movie at all - instead, it’s a odd, thoughtful and often quite funny character study/time-capsule snapshot.
One of the things that appeals to me about genre films is their ability to deal with social issues via metaphor. Whether covertly or openly, there are things that gain potency when expressed through the filter of the downmarket (probably the whole idea of getting away with something enhances the message). Simon is rather far on the obvious end of the spectrum - Simon’s magical machinations are clearly linked with the burgeoning gay-pride movement, both metaphorically (Simon professes to be “openly” a witch) and plotwise, as the first half of the film sees him being manipulated by Hercules, a queen with some political pull, into eliminating a politician whose actions are held in disfavor. This striving for greater political power is reflected by Simon’s desire to ascend into the realms of the gods, and the fallout from this (both threads culminate in a murder) holds some currency as a caution about using certain means as tools for advancement. (Note that this film was released only two years after the Stonewall riots.)
Beyond that, though, Simon’s witchcraft is linking explicitly with gay hustling; Simon proclaims about his craft, “I work for money!” and befriends Turk, a quiet blonde kid he meets at the film’s outset while sitting out a night in jail for vagrancy. It’s never stated outright what Turk is in for, but it’s strongly implied that, even though he likes girls and has Simon prepare a love potion to ensnare a particular female he likes, Turk isn’t above using his androgynous good looks to go gay-for-pay, and his moony attachment to Simon screams of an unrequited same-sex crush.
But there’s more than that - Kessler ties together paganism, the gay subculture, the waning hippie movement, free love, hedonism and swinging sexuality into a big nexus of outsiderdom, yet the ties are starting to fray. The drugs, sex and corruption are wearing down the idealism and good intentions behind all of this; essentially, this is a film that charts the entire progress of the consciousness-raising of the ’60s, eventual downward spiral included. Simon makes his first attempt at gathering enough energy (via sex magick) to storm the gates of the heavens yet gets thwarted by his own lust for his partner, a sweet young dropout named Linda. If that’s not a big honkin’ metaphor for human nature getting in the way of loftier intentions, then I’m Abe Lincoln.
Lest I make this sound like a bummer trip, I should also note that all this is done with a fairly light touch, with the tone set by Andrew Prine in what should have been a star-making performance. His portrayal of Simon is unexpectedly low-key, considering that the opportunities for histrionics in this role are myriad. Prine has a charisma and a bemused rakishness that serves the character well - he’s the genuine article and knows it, yet he remains fairly grounded about his station in life (he does, after all, live in a storm drain, and conjuring is just a way to keep food in his stomach while he waits to leave this plane). There are points where he lets his cool facade slip, most entertainingly at a gathering of female witches who seem to regard witchery as an excuse to naked, but his default mode seems to be ironic detachment, slightly weary and slightly snickering. He’s the kind of guy who can make the proclamation, “A platform, properly stationed with regard to the magnetic poles, from which to launch forth my evil missile! With lumber by Wyman Brothers,” sound both appropriately grandiose and unaccountably funny (it’s the sardonic, offhand delivery of the last line that does it). As he goes, so does the film; Simon the spriest and most enjoyable film you’ll ever see about the counterculture eating itself.
Weirdness Dept.: After the relative cultural success of Milk - not to mention the rest of Gus’s gay-friendly oeuvre - it strikes a strangely appropriate note that Hercules’s last name is apparently Van Sant.
The misleading trailer:
