Lifestyle

Witches Are Having a Cultural Moment. Maryland Is Taking Up Their Cause.

Published

1 year ago

March 19, 2025

Witches Are Having a Cultural Moment. Maryland Is Taking Up Their Cause.

It was February 1698, and disease was sweeping through Leonardtown, a small village in southern Maryland. Locals knew whom to blame: They set fire to the hut of Moll Dyer, a single woman living alone on the edge of town who had been deemed a witch.

She escaped the enraged citizens, only to die in the frozen wilderness. Her body was found clinging to a rock, on which her knees and hands supposedly left impressions.

Ms. Dyer, arguably, inspired one of the most famous fictional witches in American pop culture: the one at the center of the 1999 horror film “The Blair Witch Project.” Although the film never explicitly mentioned Ms. Dyer’s fate, it is widely believed to have been based on her story. Ingeniously marketed as found footage, the hit film also endowed Maryland with a haunted reputation.

Ms. Dyer is one of seven people who were tried and convicted of witchcraft in Maryland in the 17th and 18th centuries. Only one was executed: Rebecca Fowler, a widow who was hanged in 1685 after a servant accused her of witchcraft. But all had their reputations sullied for centuries.

Now, the Maryland delegate Heather A. Bagnall, who represents a patch of the state north of Annapolis, has introduced a resolution in the general assembly to exonerate them all. The proposed resolution, which had an initial committee hearing on March 10, has been criticized as out of step with Marylanders’ priorities, but Ms. Bagnall bristled at any suggestion that the measure was frivolous. In an interview, she said she was partly motivated by the demise of Roe v. Wade, which was struck down by the Supreme Court in 2022, and by the anti-abortion measures passed in states like Texas.

“I’ve got a real appetite for it, and the more I talk about it, the more people realize, ‘No, this is serious,’” Ms. Bagnall said. “This is not just like a flight of fancy. It’s relevant today.”

She compared the campaigns against witches to those against transgender rights and racial diversity initiatives, which have recently come under sustained assault.

At the initial hearing last week, Ms. Bagnall was joined by witch exoneration advocates, including an Episcopalian priest. Afterward, her staff was thrilled but unsure of just when the measure might come up for a full vote. It could be months, even years.

Daniel Myrick, who co-directed “The Blair Witch Project,” said he supported her effort. “We are a flawed nation, and were born out of doing some incredibly cruel things,” he said in an interview. Better “symbolic” reckoning, as he put it, than none at all — and better late than never.

“It’s a social justice issue,” said Elizabeth Pugliese-Shaw, a family law attorney in the Washington, D.C., suburbs. “These people should never have been accused.” She became interested in witch exoneration after learning that other states had done so: In 2022, Massachusetts cleared Elizabeth Johnson Jr., whose conviction was the last to remain standing from the notorious Salem Witch Trials. Connecticut followed with its own witch exonerations in 2023.

Perhaps most notably, Scotland apologized for its witchcraft trials that led to the torture and execution of thousands of women from the 16th to the 18th centuries. “Anyone who didn’t fit the mold of what people expected would be targeted,” said Marlisa Ross, who recently staged a play about the victims of the Scottish witch hunt in Glasgow. Much like Ms. Bagnall, Dr. Ross said she saw a parallel between the witchcraft panic and the rising social animosities today. “It was a way to make everybody have a common enemy,” she said.

In the Puritan colonies of New England, witchcraft was a catchall accusation leveled against women for a variety of reasons: lack of a husband, personality quirks, an interest in herbal medicine or childbirth.

“The accusations are usually against outsiders within the community,” said Daniel T. Howlett, who is completing his doctoral studies in religion and disability in the American colonies at George Mason University in Virginia. Mr. Howlett is related to Mary Bradbury, who was convicted of witchcraft in the Salem trials. “Being a witch meant that you’d signed a covenant with the devil in most European traditions,” he said.

Often, women were simply convenient scapegoats. Beth M. Caruso, who led the exoneration effort in Connecticut, has written three novels about the state’s witch trials. Her interest was piqued after she learned of the plight of Alse Young, believed to be the first woman hanged for witchcraft in the American colonies in 1647. Much like Ms. Dyer, Ms. Young was blamed for a disease outbreak. “Where she lived was right next door to a cluster of child deaths,” Ms. Caruso said. “So then it made total sense as to why she was accused.”

The current cultural moment may be particularly auspicious. Witches have been enjoying something of a revival, and not only because of “Wicked,” the hit musical film starring Ariana Grande and Cynthia Erivo. The “witchtok” hashtag on TikTok has millions of posts, as users flock to witchcraft’s moody aesthetic, as well as to its emphasis on alternative healing and nature-centered spirituality.

“Part of the draw for us to witchcraft is the acceptance and celebration of our personal identities, bodies, bodily autonomy, a love of our planet and, in many cases, healing from past religious traumas,” Devin Hunter, who runs the website Modern Witch, wrote in an email. “For example, many of us are women, members of the LGBTQIA+ community, and are members of other underserved communities. Like us, those convicted and tried for witchcraft were often vulnerable people living on the fringes of society.”

(In some countries and regions, women continue to be prosecuted for witchcraft.)

Today, the legend of Moll Dyer still permeates Leonardtown, a tidy waterside enclave where a horse-drawn carriage might pass a hip cocktail lounge. The rock, the one where Ms. Dyer supposedly met her end, is covered by glass — touching it is said to enrage Ms. Dyer’s spirit and bring bad luck. A cat cafe on the town’s main strip is called “Meow Dyer,” an apparent reference to the accused witch’s name. Since 2021, a weekend in late February has been devoted to celebrating Ms. Dyer’s memory. This year, the events included “paranormal investigations,” axe throwing and a cocktail contest.

Historical markers on the road to Leonardtown proclaim Maryland’s legacy as a haven of religious tolerance. Nevertheless, when England passed an anti-witchcraft act in 1604, the state adopted it. But Ms. Bagnall is not bothered by the fact that centuries have passed since the injustices were committed under that law. “It’s never the wrong time to do the right thing,” she said.

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Lifestyle

Sunday Puzzle: Vowel Renewals

Published

8 hours ago

March 29, 2026

Press Room

Sunday Puzzle

NPR

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NPR

On air challenge

I’m going to give you some seven-letter words. For each one, change one consonant to a vowel to spell a new word.
Ex. CONCEPT –> CONCEIT

1. REVENGE

2. TRACTOR

3. PLASTIC

4. CAPTION

5. SCUFFLE

6. POMPOMS

7. MOBSTER

8. LINKAGE

9. TEMPERS

Last week’s challenge

Last week’s challenge came from Joseph Young, of St. Cloud, Minn. Name an animal. The first five letters of its name spell a place where you may find it. The last four letters of this animal will name another animal — but one that would ordinarily not be found in this place. What animals are these?

Challenge answer

Stallion —> Stall, Lion

This week’s challenge

This week’s challenge comes from Peter Gordon, of Great Neck, N.Y. Name some tools used by shoemakers. After this word place part of a shoe. The result will be the subject of a famous painting. What is it?

If you know the answer to the challenge, submit it below by Thursday, April 2 at 3 p.m. ET. Listeners whose answers are selected win a chance to play the on-air puzzle.

Lifestyle

L.A. summons the spirit of glam-surrealist artist Steven Arnold

Published

9 hours ago

March 29, 2026

Press Room

L.A. summons the spirit of glam-surrealist artist Steven Arnold

The sun, played by Love Bailey, and the moon, played by Logan Wolfe.

He has been described as a magician and “being of light.” As Salvador Dalí’s kindred spirit and protégé. As the Andy Warhol of the West Coast. The artist Steven Arnold ought to be a household name. The exhibition “Cocktails in Heaven” at Del Vaz Projects in Santa Monica, which opened this week with a party co-hosted by Karen Hillenburg and Christine Messineo of Frieze, is a hopeful step in this direction.

On Monday night, the gallery transformed into a replica of Arnold’s legendary home and studio in Los Angeles, known as Zanzabar, which has been compared to Warhol’s Factory for the luminaries it attracted (Timothy Leary, Debbie Harry, Ellen Burstyn) and the creative synergy it inspired. Throughout the ’80s and into the early ’90s, Zanzabar was host to queer gatherings and parties, as well as surrealist photoshoots with exquisite paper-cut set designs that Arnold entirely made from hand. “My house is a temple for me. It’s a religious space, it’s where the creativity happens,” he says in the 2019 documentary made on him, “Heavenly Bodies.” Arnold died at the age of 51 in 1994, from AIDS-related complications, and left behind a mind-bending body of work that is now housed by ONE Archives at the USC Libraries.

Steven Arnold "Cocktails in Heaven" exhibition at Del Vaz Projects.

At Del Vaz, characters from Arnold’s ethereal photographs and films came to life in performances directed by artist Tyler Matthew Oyer: At the door, two French waiters, dressed in Mozart wigs and original coats hand-painted by Arnold, checked off guest names from an 8-foot scroll. Inside, performers dressed as the sun and moon — their mostly nude bodies spray-painted gold and silver — languorously laid over a banquet table abundant with crudités, conjuring a scene from Arnold’s most famous film, “Luminous Procuress,” which was projected on the wall. In the courtyard, a bodybuilder posed as a live version of Michelangelo’s “David” sculpture. It was an ode to the joyous, maximalist world that Arnold meticulously and affectionately built in both life and art — because for him there was no distinction, art was life.

Steven Arnold, "Angel of Night," 1982, featuring model Juan Fernandez.

Steven Arnold, "Intersection of Dreams," 1985

Every detail of the party came from something found in Arnold’s archive. The artistic director of the exhibition, Orrin Whalen, planted a few of Arnold’s actual belongings in the warm room where his photographs and drawings hung: his ornate metal bracelet rested on a seashell, and replicas of his red leopard print business cards fanned open on the front table. “Cocktails in Heaven” is also the title of Arnold’s unpublished memoir and became the source material for the party’s chef, Gerardo Gonzalez, who scanned for passages where the artist mentioned his favorite foods — mainly hors d’oeuvres and copious glasses of Vermouth.

Guests on Monday included fashion and art world luminaries, including artists Ron Athey and Joey Terrill, designer Zana Bayne, former Hammer Museum director Ann Philbin, and jewelry designer Sophie Buhai, who mingled under the dangling grapevines and in a tent where upside-down paper umbrellas suspended from the ceiling. The dress code was “Complete Fantasy Conglomerata Divina Magnificata,” and the crowd did their part wearing feathered hats, leopard-print tops, golden sequinned dresses and polka-dotted face paint. It was only fitting to pay homage to Arnold this way, a fashion icon in his own right who was once voted the best dressed man of Los Angeles by L.A. Weekly.

The evening signaled that this is not the type of show that will deaden an artist behind glass vitrines. “We can summon artists’ spirits through gatherings,” says Jay Ezra Nayssan, founding director and chief curator of Del Vaz Projects, which is also Nayssan’s home. “This opening is an aspect of a project that should be equally important as the exhibition itself … Queer culture is carried not only through scholarship but through laughter, perfume, embrace and touch, through dinners and concerts — and whatever forms are waiting to be invented.”

Waseem Salahi, left, and Elisa Wouk Almino, Editor in chief of Image Magazine.

Actor Charlie Besso, left, and director Luke Gilford.

Lifestyle

‘The Comeback’ is back. That’s something to Cherish

Published

20 hours ago

March 29, 2026

Press Room

‘The Comeback’ is back. That’s something to Cherish

Lisa Kudrow as Valerie Cherish in The Comeback.

Erin Simkin/HBO

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Consider Valerie Cherish, the perennially desperate-to-be-seen, desperate-to-be-loved Hollywood C-lister played by Lisa Kudrow. Valerie, bless her, reenters our collective lives once every decade, like the census.

And like the census, her return always assumes the form of an appraisal, a ruthless and clear-eyed taking of stock. In The Comeback‘s original 2005 season, Valerie donned a cupcake costume and pratfalled her way through the rise of reality television, starring in both a corny sitcom and its making-of documentary. In 2014, a second season found Valerie headlining a prestige HBO series about that sitcom, auguring the fusillade of high-end, self-satisfied streaming dramedies that were about to pummel an unsuspecting populace into submission.

In this third season, she’s still out here hustling. Sure, she’s got an Emmy under her belt, and she’s been booked and busy, but there are signs of trouble — she and her husband (Damian Young) have downsized from their Brentwood mansion to a West Hollywood apartment. Her publicist-turned-manager (Dan Bucatinsky) seems even more checked out than baseline. She’s hired a social media consultant (Ella Stiller) and has even started (ominous chord, shudder) … a podcast.

As we meet her, she’s older, wiser but still essentially Valerie: Blithely optimistic, hungrily opportunistic. She’s still desperate for attention — but the precise nature of the attention she’s craving these days has subtly but significantly shifted. It’s no longer enough for Valerie to be seen; now, she wants — expects, demands, even — to be heard.

She remains ridiculous, thank God. And Kudrow once again imbues her with the physicality that has come to define Valerie’s essential self: She’s still going through life nodding like a bobblehead, still punctuating just about every sentence with a “right?” or a “yeah?” or a “y’know?,” because it’s a learned response. If the world refuses to affirm her in any way — and somehow it continues to find endlessly novel ways to do just that — then she’ll just affirm her own darn self, yeah? Right?

But something happens in the first episode of the new season that efficiently signals how much has changed for Valerie. The setup is classic The Comeback: She’s agreed to star as Roxie in Chicago on Broadway (after receiving assurances that her choreo will be the “dumbed down, Real Housewives version”). Rehearsal isn’t going great — her director and fellow dancers are mean, catty and dismissive (apart from one gay guy, whose words of praise Valerie seeks out like a homing missile — which checks out).

What happens next is quietly remarkable, given the Valerie Cherish we’ve come to love/cringe-in-sympathy-with over The Comeback‘s previous seasons. She doesn’t chirpily ignore their insults and blithely soldier on. She doesn’t try to excuse and minimize their bad behavior so she can take advantage of the opportunity they’re affording her. No, she calls them out, and she quits. (More accurately: She finds a ready, contractually viable excuse to quit — same difference, I’d argue.)

This isn’t the Valerie we used to know. When an opportunity to star in an AI-written sitcom arises, she doesn’t knock over furniture to lunge at the chance, as she would have before. She refuses (at first), she seeks assurances that actual writers will be involved (they will, sort of), and she steps up as the show’s executive producer as soon as it becomes clear she’s the only one involved who cares about the cast, the crew and the quality of the show itself.

There remain plenty of opportunities for Kudrow to make us laugh at Valerie, but as the season progresses, we find ourselves rooting for her more than ever. That’s because Kudrow has altered Valerie’s fuel mixture a bit. She’s always been acutely self-aware, she’s always known when she’s being disrespected, but the Valerie of seasons one and two was perfectly content to swallow other people’s low opinions of her if it meant she got some time in the spotlight.

Now, that self-awareness is matched to something besides her default, pathologically sunny perseverance; it’s married to defiance, and to action.

She stands her ground against a costume designer (Benito Skinner) who sees her as camp and nothing more (yet another of The Comeback‘s knowing digs at its rabid gay fanbase). She agrees to play nice with a network executive (Andrew Scott) until she, very publicly, doesn’t. And when her dour husband starts flailing on his own reality show, Valerie draws on her vast reserves of experience on both sides of the camera to show him how it’s done.

But a self-actualized Valerie affects the show’s comedic chemistry, and there are times when the season can’t quite manage to sustain its satiric bite. On two occasions, the show’s pitched disdain for Hollywood phoniness and hollow ambition falters, and something akin to sincerity peeks out from behind the mask. In one, a beloved real-life Hollywood comedy legend delivers a short monologue to Valerie about why AI can never replace real comedy writers, because comedy needs broken people. In another, a cast member from The Comeback‘s first season returns simply to assure Valerie that she is a good person, a wonderful person, and that she is in no way in the wrong.

On both occasions, seasoned viewers will be patiently but eagerly awaiting the turn, the rug-pull, the reveal that such abject, wet-eyed earnestness will of course get swatted down, because this is The Comeback. But the turn never comes, the rug remains firmly in place and we are left to grapple with the knowledge that we’ve just been exposed to the creators’ true intent, delivered with a gravid plainness, without anything even resembling the gimlet-eyed take we’ve come to, well … cherish.

But you know what? Fine. Who knows if Valerie will return in ten years’ time to once again Cassandra us all about the state of the entertainment industry? Who knows, in point of fact, if there’ll be an entertainment industry for her to return to? I forgave those moments of uncharacteristic ingenuousness because I managed to convince myself they felt valedictory, triumphant — a few discordant bars within Valerie Cherish’s swan song.

Which, as viewers of The Comeback’s definitive, beloved, iconic Season 1 finale will remember, is “I Will Survive.” Because it could never be anything else. Y’know?

This piece also appeared in NPR’s Pop Culture Happy Hour newsletter. Sign up for the newsletter so you don’t miss the next one, plus get weekly recommendations about what’s making us happy.

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