The first shots of Peter Weir’s Witness show an Amish community from over the tops of long grass, the camera’s point of view suggesting that of an inquisitive child. Even when the camera eventually moves closer to the Amish people at the center of the film, it maintains a certain emotional distance to them in order to convey their status as outsiders to the wider world all around them. That world immediately collides with their anachronistic existence in stark ways, with one farmer’s horse and buggy causing a traffic jam of cars behind him on a Pennsylvania road, and the idyllic countryside where the Amish reside gradually morphing into exurban sprawl of fast food chains and gas stations.
That culture clash becomes the bedrock for a thriller that kicks into motion when eight-year-old Samuel (Lukas Haas), the child of a recently widowed Amish woman, Rachel (Kelly McGillis), witnesses the murder of an undercover police officer in Philadelphia while the mother and son are on a rare trip outside their community. The killer turns out to be another police officer, Lieutenant James McFee (Danny Glover), thus revealing to John Book (Harrison Ford), the detective investigating the murder, a wide web of police corruption. Wounded by McFee and frantic to protect Samuel and Rachel, John takes them back to their community outside Lancaster and hides out among them to lie low from his crooked colleagues.
It would have been easy to mine this culture clash for comedy, but outside of a moment when John quotes a TV commercial out of context and looks exasperated as he stares at a bewildered Rachel and her father-in-law, Eli (Jan Rubeš), the filmmakers generally avoid this approach. Mainly, Witness takes serious stock of the gap in experience and attitude between John and his caretakers to see what shared essence can be found between them. Swiftly put to work around the village, from milking cows to raising barns, John never complains with city-slicker softness about the tasks at hand, merely setting to them as best he can and learning from the others. When John thanks someone for handing him a tool or a glass of lemonade, he sounds like he really means it. The Amish, in turn, take a shine to his work ethic and humility.
Soon, though, the common ground that the characters find only further emphasizes the sharp divisions between them, particularly when it comes to violence of any kind. Rachel, who’s unaccustomed to seeing guns, regards John’s service revolver as if it were a monster out of a horror film, paling at the sight of it and insisting that she be allowed to hide the weapon from her young son. By contrast, John is so used to violence that, in the throes of a delirium caused by his injury, he incoherently mutters promises of revenge.
Later, when out with the Amish and they’re harassed by locals, John ignores his companions’ plea for pacifism and knocks out one of the bullies. Most films would play the moment for cathartic victory, but the camera lingers on the now-humbled man as he cradles his shattered nose and mewls in pain before cutting back to John rapidly cooling from rage to embarrassment at what he’s done. This revulsion toward physical retaliation, however justified, factors into the climax, which features a tense chase and shootout but ultimately ends with a sudden burst of moral clarity that leaves the villains more abased than a quick death might have given them.
The influence of the Amish on John, and the subtle ways he brings some of them out of their cloistered shells, is most fully explored in the muted, doomed romance that develops between Rachel and him. McGillis plays Rachel with the guileless openness of someone raised in an environment that discourages duplicity and gossip, yet all of her feelings for John play out in the increasing disquiet and anguish that crosses her face. For his part, Ford gives the most sensitive and tender performance of his career, turning his usual laconic sarcasm toward a silent yearning that sits forever on the cusp of John’s lips. The one time Rachel and John outwardly express their feelings only deepens their mutual despair at the impossibility of exploring them further, and the film’s mournful, parting coda compounds the lack of triumph in its thriller resolution.
Image/Sound
Witness’s Vermeer-inspired cinematography looks warm and naturalistic on Arrow Video’s 4K disc, which blows past Paramount’s atrocious 2005 DVD. The image here consistently boasts even grain distribution, subtle color gradation, and deeper textures. Black levels in the many unlit scenes of life around the non-electrified Amish settlement show no cases of crushing, while the golden, sunlit exteriors glow like they never have before on home video. The disc comes with three audio tracks: the original theatrical stereo, an old “home video mix” track that’s been folded down into 2.0 Dolby, and a 5.1 surround remix. All tracks are clear and feature no overlap between sound elements. If anything, the updated 5.1 mix reveals a bit too much separation in the spare natural sound effects and the ethereal twinkle of Maurice Jarre’s score.
Extras
This release is jam-packed with an illuminating roster of new and archival supplements. Australian film historian Jarret Gahan contributes a commentary track that covers the development of Witness beginning at the script level and the major foothold it gave Peter Weir in Hollywood, as well as the ways the filmmaker molded the project into a display of his long-running thematic interests. An interview with cinematographer John Searle dives into the painterly techniques used to achieve the film’s look, and journalist Staci Layne Wilson provides a video essay that studies the actors’ understated performances. Older extras include a full-length documentary on the making of Witness, an interview with Weir, and a scene included in the film’s TV edit. A booklet comes with a series of essays by critics Dennis Capicik, Martyn Conterio, John Harrison, and Amanda Reyes that tackle the film’s myriad attributes.
Overall
Peter Weir’s complex, ruminative Witness receives a gorgeous transfer and stellar assortment of extras courtesy of Arrow Video.
Since 2001, we've brought you uncompromising, candid takes on the world of film, music, television, video games, theater, and more. Independently owned and operated publications like Slant have been hit hard in recent years, but we’re committed to keeping our content free and accessible—meaning no paywalls or fees.
If you like what we do, please consider subscribing to our Patreon or making a donation.
