Wicker Man Script - Dialogue Transcript

Voila! Finally, the Wicker Man script is here for all you fans of the cult classic movie starring Christopher Lee, Edward Woodward, Britt Elkand, etc..  This script is a transcript that was painstakingly transcribed using the screenplay and/or viewings of Wicker Man. I know, I know, I still need to get the cast names in there and I'll be eternally tweaking it, so if you have any corrections, feel free to drop me a line. You won't hurt my feelings. Honest.

Swing on back to Drew's Script-O-Rama afterwards for more free movie scripts!

Wicker Man Script



- Good evening, Sergeant.

- Evening.



Get your hair cut, Mctaggart.



Ah, now, there's a message, Sergeant.

A message for us all.



However, there is a time

and place for everything.



Get it removed.



Any serious problems while i've been away?



No, Sergeant, nothing serious.



Just the usual.



Rape, sodomy, sacrilege.



You know.



The lord is my shepherd



I'll not want



He makes me down to lie



In pastures green



He leadeth me



The quiet waters by



He leadeth me



The quiet waters by



"I have received of the Lord...



"that which also i delivered unto you.



"And the Lord Jesus, the same night

in which he was betrayed,



"took bread.



"And when He had given thanks,



"He broke it and said,



"take, eat.



"'This is my body,



"'which is broken for you.



"This do in remembrance of me. '



"And after the same manner, He also took

the cup when he had eaten, saying,



"'this cup is the new covenant in my blood.



"'This do you, as oft as you drink it,

in remembrance of me.



"'For as often as you eat this bread...



"'and drink this wine,



"'you do show the Lord's death...



till He comes again. '"



That's for his nibs.



Postmarked Summerisle.



- He's got a bit of skirt over there, I bet.

- What, him?



The only woman he's interested in

is the Virgin Mary.



- I thought he was going steady with Mary Bannorg.

- Steady's the word.



Two years, he hasn't so

much as tickled her fancy.



He's keepin' himself pure

for the wedding day.



Ah, poor old Mary.



I don't know what she sees in him.



When those two are married,



she'll spend more time on her knees

in church than on her back in bed.



All right.



Mornin', all.



- Morning, Hugh.

- Good morning, Sergeant.



Um, there's an anonymous

letter for you, Sergeant.



Read it.



"Dear Sergeant Howie,



"none of us have seen May Morrison's

daughter Rowan since last year.



"She's only    and has been missing...

from her home for many months.



"She couldn't have left

the island by herself.



"She's too young, and her mother

won't say anything about it,



"just to mind

my own business.



"Well, I reckon it's all our business

when a kid disappears,



that's why i'm writing you this letter.



"A child lover.




P.S. I enclose a picture

of Rowan Morrison. "



- Gonna go, Sergeant?

- Aye, aye, of course.



- Have you ever been there?

- Eh, no.



I've tasted the famous apples,

of course, but, uh -



it's odd, isn't it, all that fruit?



Well, the whole

principality is odd.



To start with,

they have no licensing laws.



Singing and dancing

on a Sunday.



Oh, aye, doubtless that would appeal to

a heathen brute like yourself, Mctaggart.



However, this is still, in theory,

a law-abiding christian country,



however unfashionable

that may seem.



Well, I'll call in on this patrol.



Will you call in at Mary's house,

tell her I'll be away overnight.



Oh, I am come



To the north country



Ochon, ochon,






Without a penny



In my purse



To buy a meal



For me



One time I had



A hundred sheep



Ochon, ochon,






Skipping o'er



Yon (that) narrow creek



And growing wool



For me



It was upon a lammas night



When corn rigs

are bonnie



Beneath the moon's

unclouded light



I held a while to Annie



The time went by

with careless heed



Till 'tween

the late and early



With small persuasion

she agreed



To see me

through the barley



Corn rigs and barley rigs and



Corn rigs are bonnie



I'll not forget

that happy night



Among the rigs with Annie



Will you send a dinghy, please?



Did you hear me?

I'd like a dinghy, if you please.



Hello, sir! Have you lost

your bearings?



No, sir, I don't think so.



- This is Summerisle, is it not?

- It is, sir!



Well, I'm right then. Now, would

you send a dinghy, please?



I'm afraid it can't be done, sir!

This is private property!



You can't land here

without written permission!



I, as you can see,

am a police officer.



A complaint has been

registered by a resident



of this island about a missing child.



Now, that makes it a police matter,

private property or not.



Now, will you send a dinghy, please?



Corn rigs and barley rigs



And corn rigs are bonnie



I'll not forget

that happy night



Among the rigs with Annie



Good day to you, sir.

I'm the harbour master.



Sergeant Howie, West Highland police.



A missing child

is always trouble.



Aye, aye, aye,

for everybody.



Perhaps you would be good enough

to explain matters to his lordship.



He's most particular

who lands here.



All in good time.

We, too, have our own particularities.



You know her?

Her name is Rowan Morrison.



No, no, never seen her before.



I don't know the face either.

Do you know her, Kenny?



She doesn't belong to this island.



No, I never saw her before.



No, she doesn't belong here

at all. Johnnie?



No, can't say I know her.



Now, now, what are you saying?

You're saying that she is not from the island.



Aye, that's right.

She's not from here.



Oh, you get Morrisons on Lewis and a

few on Mull. I would try there.






"None of us have seen May Morrison's

daughter Rowan since last year.



She's only    and she's been missing

from her home for many months. "



The mother's name

is May Morrison.



Oh, May! She quite slipped my memory.



Of course we've got May.

She keeps the post office in the high street.



- May Morrison? You're quite sure?

- Quite sure.



Well, thank you

for your help.



That's not May's daughter,




No, she's not May's.



Then who is she?



The sky was blue

the wind was still



The moon was shining clearly



I set her down

with right good will



Among the rigs of barley



I kenned her heart

with all my own



I loved her most sincerely



I kissed her o'er

and o'er again



Among the rigs of barley



- Good afternoon!

- I like your rabbits.



Those are hares, not silly old rabbits.

Lovely march hares.



Can I help you?



- Mrs. Morrison- mrs. May Morrison?

- Yes.



- Sergeant Howie, West Highland police.

- Oh, my!



Did you come over in that aeroplane

that I saw flying round?



- Aye, that's right.

- What, just to see me?



Well, no, not exactly.



I'm making inquiries

about your daughter.



- We understand that she's missing.

- Missing? My daughter?



- Aye. You do have a daughter.

- Yes.



- And that's her?

- Oh, never.



I tell you no.



I think you'd better

come with me.



This is our Myrtle.



She was nine last thursday.



She's not a bit like the girl

in your photograph.



She must be at least

   or    surely.



Myrtle, say hello.



This is Sergeant- oh!

- Howie.



- Oh.

- Hello, Myrtle.



How do you do? Look, mummy, I'm drawing a hare.

- Ah.



Excuse me, Sergeant.






- Here you are. You can fill in the

ears in gray. Oh, sorry.



Thank you, Myrtle.



Myrtle, do you-

do you know Rowan?



Of course I do.



- You do?

- 'Course I do, silly.



- Uh, do you know where she is now?

- In the fields.



She runs and plays there all day.



Does she?

Do you think she'll be coming back for tea?



Tea? Hares don't

have tea, silly.



- Hares?

- She's a hare.



Rowan's a hare.

She has a lovely time.



- Well, tell me-

- Well, now, Sergeant.



You will stay and have

a cup of tea, won't you?



- Oh, well, yes, yes, please.

- Good.



- That's very kind of you.

- Um, not at all.



It must be thirsty work, asking all those questions, eh?

- Ah, aye.



- Hello.

- Good evening. Good evening.



- Good evening.

- Good evening.



Hello again.



- Are you the landlord here?

- Aye.



I'm Alder Macgreagor. And you must be

the policeman from the mainland.



Aye, that's right. Sergeant Howie,

West Highland constabulary.



I'm quite obviously not going

to get back to the mainland tonight



so I wondered if you had a room and

a bite of supper I could have.



- Could you manage that?

- Aye, I think that can be arranged.



My daughter Willow will show you to your room.







This is Sergeant Howie,

a policeman from the mainland,



who will be spending

the night with us.



- This is my daughter, Willow.

- Good evening.



Show the Sergeant

to his room, would you?



Much has been said

of the strumpets of yore



Of wenches and bawdy

house queens by the score



But I sing of a baggage

that we all adore



The landlord's daughter



You'll never love another



Although she's not the kind of girl



To take home to your mother



Her ale, it is lively

and strong to the taste



It is brewed with discretion

never with haste



You can have all you like

if you swear not to waste



The landlord's daughter



And when her name is mentioned



The parts of every

gentleman do stand up



At attention



Now they say of the blossom

in all of the town



That she takes off her garter

and starts on the tug



That dolly who keeps her

ain't horrible now



While I'll take

the landlord's daughter



Oh, nothing can delight so



- As does the part that lies between

- Her left toe



And her right toe



- I'd like my supper now, please.

- It won't be long, Sergeant.



Oh, you don't want to let them worry you.

Why don't you have a wee drink?



No, thank you, not just now.



I think you all ought to know that

I am here on official business.



I am here to investigate the

disappearance of a young girl,



as doubtless, the harbour master

has already told you by now.



There's the girl.

Her name is Rowan Morrison.



Would you pass that among

your customers, please?



Now, if any of you can give me

any idea as to her whereabouts,



I'd be most grateful

if you'd let me know.



No, I'm afraid nobody's seen her, Sergeant.



Thank you. These Harvest

Festival photographs?



Aye. We have one taken at

the end of every summer.



- What happened to last year's?

- Mm, it got broke.



Your supper's ready, Sergeant.



Willow, show the Sergeant

to the dining room.



Thank you.



It's disgusting.



- Thank you.

- What's the matter, aren't you hungry?



Aye, it's just that most

of the food I've had-



the farmhouse soup, the potatoes,

broad beans- all come out of a can.



Broad beans, in their natural state,

aren't usually turquoise,



are they?

- Hmm.



Some things in their natural state

have the most vivid colors.



I just wanted to know why, that's all.



Now, I wonder what you'll be

wanting for afters?



- Hmm, I'll have an apple.

- No apples.



No apples? On Summerisle?



I expect they've all been exported.



You can have peaches and cream,

if you like.



Aye, from a can, I suppose.



All right.



Cheer up. Food isn't

everything in life, you know.



Up, up, up, up!



Up, up, up, up, up, up!



- Where?

You'll find it at the top of the stair on your right.



I put my hand



On her knee



And she says



Do you want to see



I put my hand

- Willow Macgreagor.



On her breast



And she says



Do you want a kiss



Willow Macgreagor, I have the honor

to present to you Ash Buchanan.



Gently, Johnny

- Come up, Ash Buchanan.



Gently, Johnny

my jingaloe



another sacrifice

for Aphrodite, Willow.



You flatter me, your lordship.

Surely you mean,"to aphrodite. "



I make no such distinction.



You are the goddess of love in human form,

and I am merely your humble acolyte.



Enjoy yourself, and him.



Only make sure you are ready,

for tomorrow is tomorrow.



The day of death

and rebirth.






And of a somewhat

more serious offering...



than tonight.



I put my hand



On her thigh



And she says



Do you want to try



I put my hand



On her belly



And she says



Do you want to fill me



Gently, gently



Gently, Johnny



My jingaloe



Gently, gently



Gently, Johnny



My jingaloe



I think I could turn

and live with animals.



They are so placid

and self-contained.



They do not lie awake in the dark

and weep for their sins.



They do not make me sick

discussing their duty to God.



Not one of them kneels to another



or to his own kind that lived thousands of years ago.



Not one of them is... respectable



Gently, gently

- or unhappy



Gently, Johnny



all over the earth.



Gently, Johnny

my jingaloe



Gently, gently



Gently, Johnny



My jingaloe



Good morning,




- Morning.

- Isn't it glorious?



Aye, aye,

it's very nice.



I expect you'll be

going home tonight.



Well, that depends.



- Where's the school, please?

- On the far side of the green.



Thank you.



In the woods

there grew a tree



And a fine, fine tree

was he



And on that tree there was a limb



And on that limb

there was a branch



And on that branch

there was a nest



And in that nest

there was an egg



And in that egg

there was a bird



And from that bird

a feather came



And of that feather was



A bed



And on that bed

there was a girl



And on that girl

there was a man



And from that man

there was a seed



And from that seed

there was a boy



And from that boy

there was a man



And for that man

there was a grave



And from that grave

there grew



A tree



And on that bed

there was a girl



And on that girl

there was a man



And from that man there was a seed,

and from that seed there was a boy



And from that boy

there was a man



And for that man

there was a grave



And from that grave

there grew



A tree



And on that tree there was a limb

and on that limb



There was a branch and on that

branch there was a nest



And in that nest

there was an egg



And in that egg there was a bird,

and from that bird, a feather came



And of that feather was



A bed



Very well, girls. That's enough.

Now it's time to pay attention to me.



Now, uh, Daisy,



will you tell us what it is, please,

that the maypole represents?



Really, Daisy.



- You've been told often enough.

- Miss Rose, I know!



- All right, then, anybody.

- Phallic symbol.



The phallic symbol.

That is correct.



It is the image

of the penis,



which is venerated

in religions such as ours,



as simbolising the generative

force in nature.



Oh, can I help you?



C- could-could I have a word

with you, please, miss?



Certainly. Girls, open your desks

and take out your exercise books.



Miss, you can be quite sure that I shall

report this to the proper authorities.



Everywhere I go on this island,

it seems to me I find degeneracy.



and there is brawling in bars,

there is indecency in public places,



and there is corruption of the young,

and now I see it all stems from here-



it stems from the filth taught

here in this very schoolroom.



I was unaware that the police had

any authority in matters of education.



Aye, aye, well,

we'll see about that.



Girls, could I have

your attention, please?



Now, I am a police officer.



Well, as you can see.



I have come here

from the mainland...



to investigate the disappearance

of a young girl.



I have a photograph here-

excuse me-



which I would like you to pass

around amongst yourselves.



Meanwhile, I'll write her name

over there on the blackboard.



Rowan Morrison.



That's her name.



Now, do any of you recognize either

the name or the photograph?



- No.

- There's your answer, Sergeant.



If she existed, we would know.



- Whose desk is that?

- No one's.



Thank you.



The little old beetle goes round and round,

always the same way, you see,



till he ends up right up tight

to the nail, poor old thing.



"Poor old thing"?



Then why in God's name

do you do it, girl?



I'd like to see the

school register, please.



I'm afraid you'll have to have

Lord Summerisle's authority.



This is a police matter.



I'm afraid you'll have to have

a search warrant or permission



from Lord Summerisle himself.



I'm afraid you'll just have to

bear with me, won't you?



You're liars. You are

despicable little liars.



Rowan Morrison is a schoolmate

of yours, isn't she?



And that is her desk, isn't it?



- Well, isn't it?

- I think you ought to know-



And you are the biggest liar of all.



I warn you,

one more lie out of you,



and I will charge you

with obstruction,



and, believe me, Miss Rose,

that is a promise.



Now, for the last time,



where is Rowan Morrison?



I would like to speak

to you outside, Sergeant.



Girls, get on

with your reading.



It's the Rites and Rituals of May Day,

chapter five. I won't be long.






You don't understand, Sergeant.

Nobody was lying. I told you plainly.



If Rowan Morrison existed,

we would know of her.



You mean,

she doesn't exist?



She's dead?



You would say so.

Oh, come on, come on.



She's either dead,

or she's not dead.



Here, we do not use

the word-



We believe...



that when the human life

is over,



the soul returns

to trees, to air,



to fire, to water,

to animals,



so that Rowan Morrison

has simply returned...



to the life forces

in another form.



Do you mean to say you teach

the children this stuff?



Yes. I told you,

it is what we believe.



They never learn anything

of christianity?



Only as

a comparative religion.



The children find it

far easier to picture...




than resurrection.



Those rotting bodies are a great stumbling

block for the childish imagination.



Why, of course.

And may I ask,



where is the rotting body

of Rowan Morrison?



Right where you'd expect it to be-

in the earth.



You mean,

in the churchyard?



- In a manner of speaking.

- No.



In plain speaking.



The building attached to the

ground in which the body lies...



is no longer used

for christian worship,



so whether it is still

a churchyard is debatable.



But forgive me. I must get back to my girls.

Good morning to you.



"Here lieth Beech Buchanan,



protected by the ejaculation

of serpents. "



- Morning.

- Morning.



I see you plant trees

on most of the graves here.



- Aye, that's right.

- What tree is that?



That's a rowan.



- And who lies there?

- Rowan Morrison.



- How long has she been dead?

- Oh, six or seven months.



They're just a wee bit late

with the headstone.



What on earth's that?

It looks like a piece of skin.



- Why, so it is.

- Well, what is it?



The poor wee lassie's

navel string, of course.



Where else should it be but hung

on her own little tree?



Where does your minister live?









Oh, what a silly girl you are

to make all this fuss.



It's just a little frog.



It'll do that poor

sore throat good.



Now, anyone would think

you didn't want to get better.



Now, in he goes.



And out he comes. There. Now,

that didn't hurt much, did it?



- It tasted horrid.

- Never mind, darling. It's all over now.



Here's your sweet for being a brave girl.

Come on. Which one would you like?



There. He's got your horrid old sore

throat now, hasn't he, poor creature?



Can't you

hear him croaking?



Can I do anything for you, Sergeant?



I doubt it,

seeing you're all raving mad.



Doctor, tell me, did you sign Rowan

Morrison's death certificate?



Uh, Rowan Morrison.

Yes, I did. Why?



Could I see it,




You, of all people, should

know that death certificates



are kept in the public

records office.



Now, if you

will excuse me.






Tell me,

how did Rowan Morrison die?



She was burnt to death,



as my lunch will be

if I continue talking to you.



- Good day.

- Good day.



- I'd like to see your index of deaths, please.

- Do you have authority?



- No, I meant from his lordship.

- I don't need it.



I'm afraid you have to get

permission from Lord Summerisle.



Miss, if you don't cooperate

with me here and now,



you may well find yourself inside a police

cell on the mainland tonight.



Have I made myself

quite clear?






Thank you.




"m," "m," "m," "m. "



"Benjamin and Rachel

Morrison. "



- Rachel and Benjamin- names from the Bible.

- Yes.



They were very old.



But, there's no record

of Rowan Morrison's death,



which means, of course,

there is no death certificate.



- Did you know her?

- Yes, of course.



- Is that her?

- Yes, that's her.



How did she die?



- I don't know.

- I don't know anything about her. Nothing.



Thank you.



Are you mr. Lennox,

the photographer?



Oh, I'm firstly a chemist,

secondly a photographer.



I understand that you take the harvest

festival photographs every year-



the ones I saw

in The Green Man.



Yes, it's rather humdrum work,

I'm afraid.



Do you know what happened

to last year's photograph?



Isn't it with the others?



No, no, it's not. No, apparently it's been

broken or damaged in some way.



- Oh, what a pity.

- Would you have a copy of it?



Oh, no, I don't keep copies.



Mr. Lennox, you were among the people

to whom I showed the photograph



in the Green Man.



Is that the girl?



- It's difficult to say.

- Oh, come on, man!



It was only eight months ago. Surely

you remember if it was that girl or not.



Thank you.



Corn rigs and barley rigs



And corn rigs are bonnie



I'll not forget

that happy night



Among the rigs with Annie



Take the flame inside

you burn and burn below



Fire seed and fire feed

and make the baby grow



Take the flame inside you



Burn and burn belay



Fire seed and fire feed

and make the baby stay



Take the flame inside you

burn and burn belong



Fire seed and fire feed

and make the baby strong



Take the flame inside you

burn and burn belie



Fire seed and fire feed

and make the baby cry



Take the flame inside you

burn and burn begin



Fire seed and fire feed

and make the baby king



- His lordship is expecting you, sir.

- Expecting me?



That's what his lordship told me, sir.

Would you please come this way?



In there, sir.



Good afternoon,

Sergeant Howie.



I trust the sight of the young

people refreshes you.



No, sir,

it does not refresh me.



Oh, I'm sorry.



One should always be open

to the regenerative influences.



- I understand you're looking for a missing girl.

- I've found her.



- Splendid.

- In her grave.



Your lordship is

a justice of the peace.



I need your permission to exhume

her body, have it transported



to the mainland

for a pathologist's report.



You suspect... foul play?



I suspect murder

and conspiracy to murder.



In that case,

you must go ahead.



Your lordship seems

strangely unconcerned.



I'm confident your suspicions

are wrong, Sergeant.



We don't commit murder up here.

We're a deeply religious people.






With ruined churches,

no ministers, no priests...



and children dancing naked.



They do love

their divinity lessons.



But they-they

are-are naked.



Naturally. It's much too dangerous



to jump through the fire

with your clothes on.



What-what religion can-can-can

they possibly be learning...



j- jumping over bonfires?









Literally, as Miss Rose would doubtless

say in her assiduous way,




without sexual union.



Oh, what is all this?



I mean, you-you-you've got

fake-fake-fake biology, fake religion.



Sir, have these children

never heard of Jesus?



Himself the son of a virgin, impregnated,

I believe, by a ghost.



Do sit down, Sergeant.



Shocks are so much better

absorbed with the knees bent.






Now, those children

out there,



they're jumping

through the flames



in the hope that the god of fire

will make them fruitful.



Really, you can hardly

blame them.



After all, what girl would not

prefer the child of a god



to that of some

acne-scarred artisan?



- And you, you encourage them in this?

- Actively.



It's most important that each new

generation born on Summerisle



be made aware that here

the old gods aren't dead.



But what of the true god...



to whose glory churches and

monasteries have been built



on these islands

for generations past?



Now sir, what of him?



He's dead.

He can't complain.



He had his chance, and in the

modern parlance, he blew it.



- What?

- It's very simple.



Let me show you.



In the last century,

the islanders were starving.



Like our neighbors today, they were

scratching a bare subsistence from sheep



and sea.



Then in      my grandfather

bought this barren island



and began to change things.



A distinguished victorian scientist,

agronomist, free thinker.



How formidably benevolent

he seems.



Essentially the face of a man

incredulous of all human good.



You are very cynical,

my lord.



What attracted my

grandfather to the island,



apart from the profuse source

of wiry labor that it promised,



was the unique combination

of volcanic soil



and the warm gulf stream

that surrounded it.



You see, his experiments

had led him to believe



that it was possible to induce

here the successful growth



of certain new strains of fruit

that he had developed.



So, with typical mid-victorian zeal,

he set to work.



The best way of accomplishing

this, so it seemed to him,



was to rouse the people

from their apathy...



by giving them back

their joyous old gods,



and as a result of

this worship,



the barren island would burgeon and

bring forth fruit in great abundance.



What he did, of course, was to develop

new cultivars of hardy fruits



suited to local conditions.



But, of course, to begin with,



they worked for him because

he fed them and clothed them,



but then later when the trees

starting fruiting,



it became

a very different matter,



and the ministers fled the island,

never to return.



What my grandfather

had started out of expediency,



My father continued out of... Love.



He brought me up the same way -



to reverence the music and the drama

and rituals of the old gods.



To love nature and to fear it,



and to rely on it and to

appease it where necessary.



- He brought me up -

- He brought you up to be a pagan!



A heathen, conceivably, but not,

I hope, an unenlightened one.



Lord Summerisle, I am interested

in one thing: the law.



But I must remind you, sir,

that despite everything you've said,



you are the subject of a christian country.



Now, sir, if I may have your permission

to exhume the body of Rowan Morrison.



I was under the impression I'd already given it to you.



Ah, there's your transport.



It's been a great pleasure

meeting a christian copper.



There was a tinker lived of late



Who walked the streets of Rhine.



He bore his pack, upon his back



Watches and plugs did cry



Oh, I have brass within my bag



My hammer's full of metal,



And as to skill I work in clouts



And mend a broken kettle.



A maiden did this tinker meet



And to him boldly say: "Oh, sure



My kettle hath much need



If you will pass my way. "



She took the tinker by the hand



And led him to her door.



Says she "My kettle I will show,



And you can clout it sure.



For patching and plugging is his delight



I found that in Rowan Morrison's grave.



- Little Rowan loved the march hares.

- Hmm.



It's sacrilege.



Only if the ground is consecrated

to the christian belief.



Personally, I think it makes

a very lovely transmutation.



I'm sure Rowan is most happy with it.

Do you not think so, Lord Summerisle?



Miss, I hope you don't think that I can

be made a fool of indefinitely.



Where is Rowan Morrison?



Why, here she is - what

remains of her physically.



Her soul, of course, may even now -



Lord Summerisle, where is Rowan Morrison?



Sergeant Howie, I think that...



you are supposed to be the detective here.



A child is reported missing on your island.



At first I'm told there is no such child.



I- I then - I then find that there is,

in fact, but that she has been killed.



I subsequently discover that

there is no death certificate.



and now I find that there is a grave.



There's no body.



Very perplexing for you.



What do you think could have happened?



I think Rowan Morrison was murdered...



under circumstances of pagan barbarity,



which I can scarcely bring myself to believe...



as taking place in the   th century.



Now, it is my intention tomorrow

to return to the mainland...



and report my suspicions

to the Chief Constable



of the West Highland Constabulary.



And I will demand a full inquiry takes place



into the affairs of this heathen island.



You must, of course, do as you see fit, Sergeant.



Perhaps it's just as well that

you won't be here tomorrow,



to be offended by the sight of our

May Day celebrations here.



Broome, would you kindly

show the Sergeant out?



- This way, sir.

- Good-bye.



Fair maid, says he, your kettle's cracked



the cause is plainly told



There hath so many nails been drove



mine own could not take hold...



There's hardly any produce.



Well, that's it - the crops failed.



And it's Rowan! Rowan and the crops failed!






what does the old religion say about crop failure?



...to reverence the music,

the drama, the rituals of the old gods,



to love nature and to fear it,



to rely upon it and to

appease it when necessary.






Perhaps it's just as well that you won't be here...



to be offended by the sight of our

May Day celebrations tomorrow.



What if she's not dead?



What if Rowan's not dead?






Heigh ho



Who is there



No one but me



My dear









Say how do



The things



I'll give to you



A stroke as gentle



As a feather



I'll catch a rainbow from the sky



And tie the ends






Heigh ho



I am here



Am I not young



And fair









Say how do



The things



I'll show to you



Would you have



A wondrous sight



Mmm hmm-hmm-mmm



The midday Sun



At midnight



Fair maid



White and red



Comb you smooth



And stroke your head



Mmm mmm



Mmm mmm-mmm



How a maid can milk a bull



Mm-hmm, mm-hmm



And every stroke



A bucket full



We carry death out of the village!



We carry death out of the village!



"May Day festivals.



"Primitive man lived and died by his harvest.



"The purpose of his spring ceremonies

was to ensure a plentiful autumn.



"Relics of these fertility dramas

are to be found all over Europe.



"In Great Britain, for example, one can still see...



"harmless versions of them danced

in obscure villages on May Day.



"Their cast includes many alarming characters:



"A man-animal, or hobbyhorse,



"who canters at the head of the

procession charging at the girls;



"A man-woman, the sinister teaser,



"played by the community leader or priest;



"And a man-fool, Punch,



"most complex of all the symbolic figures -



"the privileged simpleton and king for a day.



"Six swordsmen follow these figures...



"and at the climax of the ceremony

lock their swords together...



"In a clear symbol of the Sun.



"In pagan times, however, these dances

were not simply picturesque jigs.



"They were frenzied rites ending in a sacrifice



"by which the dancers hoped desperately

to win over the goddess of the fields.



"In good times, they offered produce

to the gods and slaughtered animals,



"but in bad years, when the harvest had been poor,



"the sacrifice was a human being.



"In some cultures, it would be the king himself.



"In others, the most beloved virgin.



"Very often he or she would be kept hidden

for months preceding the ceremony,



"just as the Sun is hidden

from the Earth in winter.



Rowan's not dead!



"Methods of sacrifice differed.



"Sometimes the victim would

be drowned in the sea...



"or burnt to death in a huge sacrificial bonfire.



Sometimes the six swordsmen

ritually beheaded the virgin. "



Dear God in Heaven, even

these people can't be that mad.



"The chief priest then skinned the child,



"and wearing the still-warmed skin like a mantle,



"led the rejoicing crowds through the streets.



"The priest thus represented the goddess reborn



and guaranteed another

successful harvest next year. "



Good morning, Sergeant!



I need to get to my plane.



Oh, well, on May Day,



I'd better take you out myself.



That's it.



Here, right.



I shall be back shortly with

some more police officers.



Have a good flight then!



Hey, you come back here!



I said, come back here!



What's the matter? Won't she go?



No. Has anyone been here?



Not to my knowledge, Sergeant.



If any of the children had been interfering

with it, I'm sure I would have seen-



I warn you: you're obstructing a police officer.



I am not obstructing you, Sergeant.



You could maybe get old Sam there

to row you to the mainland.



You'd be back in a week.



Well, I'll just have to find Rowan Morrison myself.



- Everything under control, Oak?

- Aye, my lord.



Mr. Macgreagor, I trust we aren't going to



have to let out your costume again this year.



I think I'll manage, my lord, but it does

seem to shrink a little each year.



I know.



My friends, enough now.



We shall all reassemble outside

the town hall at  :   sharp...



and then process through the

village and the countryside,



down to the beach below the stones,



by the route which has

become sacred to our rite.



This year at the procession's end,

as has already been proclaimed,



a holy sacrifice will be offered up jointly to Nuada,



our most sacred god of the Sun,



and to Avellenau, the beloved

goddess of our orchards,



in order that we may furnish

them with renewed power...



to quicken the growth of our crops.



- Hail the Queen of the May!

- Hail the Queen of the May!



Hail the Queen of the May!



Why, Sergeant, I thought you'd gone back.



Mrs. Morrison, I don't know if you know it or not,



But Rowan is not dead.



- They've got her hidden somewhere.

- They?



Now, if you know where she is, I beg you

to tell me now before it's too late.



- Sergeant, I've already told you -

- In the name of God, woman,



what kind of mother are you,



that can stand by and

see your own child slaughtered?



Sergeant, if I were you, I would

go back to the mainland.



Stop interfering in things

that are no concern of yours.



I am going to search every house in

this place during the next few hours.



and if anybody, including you, stands in my way,



they'll be arrested as accomplices to murder.



You'll simply never understand

the true nature of sacrifice.



Heathens! Bloody heathens!






- Take those masks off.

- No.



Take them off!



- What do you think you're doing?

- Searching every house...



for a missing child.



Baa baa black sheep,

Have you any wool



Yes, sir, yes, sir,

Three bags full



I- I'm sorry.



- What's that?

- The life of the fields.



John Barleycorn.



What's in here?



- What's that?

- That's my costume - the salmon of knowledge.



Hello. You're back early.



Where are the other coppers?



There aren't any. The plane wouldn't start.



Give me a glass of whiskey, please.



So he spent his time instead turning

the whole village upside down.



- Just give me a glass of whiskey.

- No wonder he's worn out.



Did you find the girl?



No, well, I can't say I'm very surprised.



I'm going to rest in my bed

for half an hour.



I do not wish to be disturbed.



I'd stay there until tonight, if I was you.



We don't much relish strangers around today.



He's asleep.



I don't like to use it on him, really.



The laird said we're to take no chances, didn't he?



I know, but with the Hand of Glory there's

no telling when you wake.



He might sleep for days.

- All the better.



- Shh!

- We don't want him butting in. Go on, light it up.



That will make you sleep, my pretty Sergeant.



I'm away to change.

We can't do without Punch.



You best get on ahead.



They've given you girls five

minutes start, haven't they?






What's the matter with you, Macgreagor?

Do you call that dancing?



Cut some capers, man. Use your bladder.



Play the fool. That's what you're here for.



I suppose you've been getting

drunk at your own bar.



That's more like it!



Good, good!



Here comes the job, that you chop off your head!



Chop, chop, chop, chop.



Chop, chop, chop, chop.



Everyone must go through, Macgreagor.

It's a game of chance, remember.



It's Holly. Well done.



Now, my friends, to the beach.



O god of the sea,



I offer you this ale as a libation,



that you may bestow upon us

in the year to come



the rich and diverse fruits of your kingdom.



Hail, god of the seas!



Accept our offering!



And now, for our more dreadful sacrifice...



yo those who command the fruit of the Earth.



It's Rowan.



What's the matter, Mr. Macgreagor?



Now, don't be frightened. I'm a police officer.



- I've got to try and get you away.

- Hurry, mister, please.



- I don't like it here. They're coming.

Do you know what they're gonna do?



- They're going to -

- Come on, come on. Hurry, hurry!



We can escape through the cave. I know the way.






That's the way out up there.



Come on. It's through a big tunnel.



We seem to have lost our torch-bearing friends.



I'm sorry.

It was worse than I remembered it.



- Did I do it right?

- You did it beautifully.



Dear little Rowan.



Rowan, darling. Come on, now.



Welcome, fool.



You have come of your own

free will to the appointed place.



The game is over.



Game? What game?



The game of the hunted leading the hunter.



You came here to find Rowan Morrison,



but it is we who have found you

and brought you here



and controlled your every thought

and action since you arrived.



Principally, we persuaded you to think



that Rowan Morrison was

being held as a sacrifice



because our crops failed last year.



I know your crops failed.

I saw the harvest photograph.



Oh, yes. They failed, all right, disastrously so...



for the first time since my grandfather came here.



The blossom came but the fruit

withered and died on the bough.



That must not happen again this year.



It is our most earnest belief that the

best way of preventing this



is to offer to our god of the Sun and

to the goddess of our orchards



the most acceptable sacrifice

that lies in our power.



Animals are fine, but their acceptability is limited.



A little child is even better,

but not nearly as effective



as the right kind of adult.



What do you mean,



"right kind of adult"?



You, Sergeant, are the right kind of adult,



as our painstaking researches have revealed.



You, uniquely, were the one we needed.



A man who would come

here of his own free will.



A man who has come here with the power

of a king by representing the law.



A man who would come here as a virgin.



A man who has come here as a fool.



Get out of my way.



You are the fool, Mr. Howie -



Punch, one of the great fool-victims of history,



for you have accepted the role of king for a day,



and who but a fool would do that?



But you will be revered and anointed as a king.



You will undergo death and rebirth -



resurrection, if you like.



The rebirth, sadly, will not be yours,



but that of our crops.



I am a christian,



and as a christian, I hope for resurrection.



And even if you kill me now,



it is I who will live again,



not your damned apples.






Close and fast



No matter what you do,



you can't change the fact



that I believe in the life eternal,



as promised to us by our lord, Jesus Christ.



I believe in the life eternal



as promised to us by our lord, Jesus Christ.



That is good.



For believing what you do,



we confer upon you

a rare gift these days -



a martyr's death.



You will not only have life eternal,



but you will sit with

the saints among the elect.






It is time to keep your appointment

with The Wicker Man.



Now, wait!



Now, all of you, just wait and listen to me.



And you can wrap it up any way you like.



You are about to commit murder.



Can you not see? There is no Sun god.



There is no goddess of the fields.



Your crops failed because your strains failed.



Fruit is not meant to be grown on these islands.

It's against nature.



Don't you see that killing me is not

going to bring back your apples?



Summerisle, you know it won't.

Go on, man. Tell them. Tell them it won't.



I know it will.



Well, don't you understand that

if your crops fail this year,



next year you're going to have to

have another blood sacrifice?



And next year, no one less than the

king of Summerisle himself will do.



If the crops fail, Summerisle,



next year your people

will kill you on May Day.



They will not fail.



The sacrifice of the willing king,



like virgin fool, will be accepted.



But don't you see I'll be missed?



- They'll come looking for me.

- There will be no traces. Bring him up, Oak.



- Go on.

- No!



Think! Just think what you're doing!



Think what you're doing! Think!



In the name of God, think what you're doing!



Oh, God! Oh, Jesus Christ!



Oh, my God! Christ!



No, no, dear God!

No, Christ!



No, no!



Mighty god of the Sun,

bountiful goddess of our orchards,



accept our sacrifice and make our blossoms fruit.



Mighty god of the Sun,



bountiful goddess of our orchards...

- Hear ye the words of the lord!



...accept our sacrifice and make our blossoms fruit.



Awake, ye heathens, and hold!



It is the Lord who hath laid waste your orchards!



It is he who hath made them bare!

- Reverence the sacrifice.



Hold, ye husbandmen,



because the harvest of

your field hath perished



and the vine is dried up



and the apple tree languisheth!



Even all the trees of the field are withered



because the truth is withered away



from the sons of men.



Desire shall fail



and ye shall all die






Summer is a-comin' in



Loudly sing cuckoo



Grows the seed and blows the mead



And springs the wood anew



Sing cuckoo



Ewe bleats harshly after lamb



Cows after calves make moo



The lord's my shepherd



I'll not want



He takes me down



to lie



in pastures -



Oh, God.



Grows the seed and blows the mead



And springs the wood anew



- Sing cuckoo

- Oh, God.



I humbly entreat you for the soul

of this, thy servant, Neil Howie...



who will today depart from this world.



Do not deliver me into the enemy's hands...



or put me out of mind forever.



Let me not undergo the real pains of hell,

dear God, because I die unshriven



- Cuckoo, cuckoo

- and establish me



in that bliss



which knows no ending,



- Cuckoo

- through Christ,



our lord.



Grows the seed and blows the mead



Failure! Failure!



Sing cuckoo



Ewe bleats harshly after lamb



Cows after calves make moo



Bullock stamps and deer champs



Now shrilly sing cuckoo



Cuckoo, cuckoo



Wild bird are you



Be never still, cuckoo

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