‘You’re not even interesting enough to make me sick...’
Sometimes a pitch is so delicious that it feels almost impossible for it not to work. Jack Nicholson as the devil summoned by Cher, Susan Sarandon and Michelle Pfeiffer? Where do I sign? Jack is sporting a ponytail, you say? I mean, it’s a home run, isn’t it?
As I’ve already explained the plot, we might as well dive into the analysis. It seems a backhanded compliment to claim that Jack Nicholson was born to play the devil but Jack Nicholson was born to play the devil. And he has the time of his life here. His constant diatribes about women and sex are a joy to behold, culminating in a chaotic monologue in a church at the film’s shop-stopping conclusion. Indeed, Nicholson channels his inner Jack Torrance during the film’s more shouty moments and to see one of Hollywood’s most magnetic actors really hamming it up is worth the admission fee alone.
George Miller (of Mad Max fame) directs the hell out of Witches of Eastwick, creating a lived-in and authentic feel for the eponymous town of Eastwick and he keeps the action moving along at a speed of knots as you would expect of a man who brought the world Mad Max: Fury Road (and weirdly, Happy Feet). The three female leads do a great job in crafting each character to make them unique with Cher and Sarandon both hilarious and Pfeiffer as the most sympathetic character. For a film released in 1987, even the special effects hold up (a huge Jack Nicholson ripping through a building at the end notwithstanding) and the result is a film that is wildly entertaining, genuinely funny and occasionally even frightening. And I’ve not even mentioned Richard Jenkins’ wonderful turn as a long-suffering husband. Lovely stuff.