A massive pair of quotation marks dangle either end of The Love Witch. It’s as if whole thing’s been written in vibrant italics. It speaks in the style of those camp horror films of the late sixties, and early seventies. The question is why? I’m going to suggest distance. It creates a distance that initiates a dialogue. Contemporary ideas of love and female sexuality are unpicked like the stitching on a pair of knickers. Allowing the garment to be slowly pulled apart, and the bare arse exposed. We’re left with the feeling that the power dynamics between men and women are unchanged. Toxic expectations, desires, and behaviours poison the well. Passion is a killer. In the end it’s worth it for the surprising charm of something that looks this good.