UK, 1 hour 30 mins, Directed by Rupert Russell
Did you know the real-life 1945 witchcraft killing of Charles Walton was the terrifying event that inspired the classic shocker The Wicker Man? From filmmaker Rupert Russell comes an incredible documentary looking into the dark heart of Britain and finding a country in a deep and frightening identity crisis – with an almost national descent into madness reflected in the strand of cinema it produces. A brave, new exploration of how events within society can become mirrors of the times they occur in, this unsettling true-crime interrogation probes into the eerie, enigmatic cultural undercurrents that shaped the 1970s folk horror genre.
How are the Teletubbies and The Wicker Man linked? That’s a question I never thought I’d ask and definitely never thought I’d get an answer to! But brilliant new documentary, The Last Sacrifice, gave me a new favourite fun fact.
I love documentaries, especially when they talk about iconic horror movies. Throw in some occult mystery, true crime and incredible visuals and I’m absolutely sold. Director Rupert Russell has created a fascinating and gripping film about a part of British history and film history, that I had no idea about. We are such a strange little island, with (often) bizarre customs and I definitely want to learn more about the history of the occult in Britain.
I really appreciate how this documentary isn’t just static interviews. The opening vintage TV spot is both delightful and creepy. A mix of real, historical footage and film clips support the interviews and narration and the use of black and red, throughout, is just beautiful. The interviews are really interesting and are impressively lit and staged. It is exquisitely edited and features a fantastic original score from Mike Lindsay of the British folktronica band Tunng. This documentary is just so STYLISH. Can you tell I loved it?
I can’t recommend this documentary more. If you love The Wicker Man, true crime, folk horror, or are just interested in weird British history, I think you’ll really enjoy this film. I don’t have any information on a release date, as this was the UK premiere, but I’ll be definitely keeping my eyes peeled as I’m hoping for a physical release. I’ll keep you posted!
Director Rupert Russell and Clout PR have kindly shared this exclusive interview where Rupert reflects on the making of The Last Sacrifice. Thank you, Greg and Rupert!
Your film is having its UK premiere at this year’s FrightFest Glasgow event. Excited or what?
Indeed, suitably close to Summerisle, the fictional island in The Wicker Man.
What initially drew you to the project?
Embarrassingly, I had only watched The Wicker Man for the first time in 2022. I did not see it as a horror film. To me, it was a documentary of what living in Britain was like over the past several years. The madness of Summerisle was indistinguishable from the madness of the British Isles. That climatic scene on the mountaintop, where Srgt. Howie pleads for his life, begging them to see that ‘killing me won’t save your apples’, only to be met by the collective shrug his Lordship gives, ‘I know it will’, for me has been an almost daily experience.
I was telling a close friend all this when he stopped me and said, ‘well, you know there was a real murder this was all based on?’
It’s centered around the unsolved murder of Charles Walton in 1945, giving the documentary the feel of a true-crime investigation.
What is the background to the case?
Charles Walton was a 74-year-old farm labourer who, on Valentine Day, 1945, was discovered in a field in the Cotswolds with a pitchfork in his face and a bellhook buried in his throat. The scene was so grizzly that the Warwickshire police called Scotland Yard requesting help, and they sent none other than Britain’s most famous detective: Robert Fabian of the Yard. When he arrived, he described the murder as a ‘slaughterhouse horror’. But despite his own investigation, and years and years of further attempts by the local police, no one was ever charged with the crime.
What fascinated you about the case?
The fascination for me wasn’t who did it, but who do we believe did it, and why? Mysteries are mirrors, they are reflections of ourselves. In the case of an unsolved murder, we project our paranoid fears and fantasies onto the face of the imagined killer. The theories that griped Britain were, therefore, really theories about the British themselves. And the theories that emerged contained many novel features we hadn’t seen before in fact or fiction. In particular, the theory that the source of danger was not the perennial outsider – the Nosferatu figure invading the city walls – but rather the otherwise ‘normal’ insider. The enemy within.
The rural setting and superstitious fears surrounding Walton’s death mirror the isolation and community rituals in films like The Wicker Man. How did these parallels shape your storytelling?
The parallels between fact and fiction was what excited me creatively about the film. I began the project by watching documentaries made of real witches in the 1960s, filled with a Mondo-esque mixture of exploitation and theatrics. On talking to real witches, some of whom appeared in the films, I discovered that despite the ‘hype’ they were in fact accurate portrayals of what was happening at the time. And, on the face of it, more outrageous and shocking than the Hammer and Tigon witchcraft films at the time. This spoke to the heat of the story, how fact and fantasy had become intertwined and often indistinguishable.
Furthermore, the conspiracies around the Walton murder informed the tropes of the folk horror films that were made at the time, and we now just take them for granted as the staple beats of the genre. But these did not come from the imaginations of screenwriters, but rather policeman and sleuth academics trying to make sense of a bizarre ‘ritual’ murder in rural Britain.
The role of the tabloid media seemed to play a big part in fueling the public’s fascination with ritual sacrifice and the occult in post-war Britain. Do you think this impeded the murder investigation?
No. There was a delayed reaction, mostly spurned on by the chief inspector of the case, Robert Fabian of the Yard, whose memories, after he retired, brought the occult aspects to the public’s attention. In his 1945 police report, Fabian is quite explicit that the hinderance to the investigation were the local villagers themselves. He complained about their ‘secretive’ nature and refusal to fully cooperate with the police investigation. Fabian was convened that in a town of less than 500 people, the killer’s identity would have been widely known. Nobody seemed to care that there might be a demented killer terrorising the vulnerable. Unless, of course, they knew who the murderer was – and why the murder was committed.
What do you think is the enduring legacy of the Charles Walton murder, both in real-life folklore and its continuing influence on the horror film genre?
The folk horror movies of the late ‘60s and early ‘70s are the result of a collision of cultural forces. They’re an incoherent mishmash of all sorts of weird and wonderful things that were happening in Britain at the time. Authors, screenwriters and director joined the dots between the Walton murder, the rise of Wicca, the counterculture, the hippie movement, women’s liberation, the sexual revolution, class war and so much more. They all kind of swirled together in a technicolor vortex around the figure of the witch. This figure became a kind of organising metaphor for all that was being torn up and a warning of the new world that might be around the corner.
How would you compare the British folk horror films of the ‘60s and early ‘70s to the American ones that came later?
The British films all feature a member of the new professional class – a teacher, doctor, or policeman – who goes to a strange English village. They’re the victim of a conspiracy between the peasantry and an aristocrat who commands their loyalty through pagan gods or voodoo magic. They are paranoid tales of a reactionary counter-revolution, where Atlee’s new social democracy will be rolled back to a feudal time.
In contrast, the American films are about going somewhere foreign and are led by naive tourists, such as An American Werewolf in London or Midsommar. They encounter not a class conflict, but a cult: an ideology taken to a dangerous extreme. When you consider that the Americas are the place we dumped our own religious nutters in the 17th and 18th centuries, their fears may well be quite rational.
What is your favourite folk horror movie?
I was ignorant of the genre when I started making the film and it was a true joy to take a compressed crash course. My favourites would be Panda’s Fen, The Plague of the Zombies, Twins of Evil, and Demons of the Mind.
Finally, what’s next for you?
I have two fiction horror films that are in development, and another film archive doc.
Follow Rupert on Instagram, for updates on his next releases!
Sam Munster 