Hooking into a world where metal’s loudest rituals meet dismantled expectations, Hex follows three Norwegian women who grab guitars before they can walk and turn a male-dominated scene on its head. Their weapon? Face paint, fearless energy, and a stubborn vow to unleash power they’ve been told isn’t welcome. The result is a documentary that isn’t just about a band rising to fame; it’s a study in breaking norms, reclaiming identity, and redefining what it means to be a witch in the 21st century.
In context, Hex arrives at a moment when the global metal landscape is still wrestling with gendered doors and historical stereotypes. Witch Club Satan—the trio of Nikoline, Victoria, and Johanna—embarked on a journey that starts with uncertainty and ends with a loud, uncompromising statement: you don’t need permission to reshape the genre you love. Director and cinematographer Maja Holand crafts a film that blends the raw immediacy of the band’s onstage ferocity with intimate portraits of their personal quests for power, voice, and belonging.
What makes this project feel especially daring is not just the music, but the sense that Hex is a meditation on transformation. The film uses a courtroom-inspired frame to mirror the social scrutiny women in an audacious art form face today, while also revisiting the long, grim history of witch trials. Holand’s approach invites viewers to witness both the performance and the personal trials—how these women learn to play, how they interpret power, and how they navigate a world that often misreads their intention as rebellion.
Key ideas and reflections
- A band’s origin story as a springboard for a broader inquiry. Hex isn’t just about three women learning to play heavy riffs; it’s about how a shared hunger to break through numbness becomes a lens on gender, art, and courage. What’s striking is how the documentary foregrounds their personal journeys alongside the group’s ascent, suggesting that individual rebirth is inseparable from collective disruption. Personally, I find that balance refreshing: the music becomes the soundtrack to inner evolution, not a standalone spectacle.
- The witch as a cultural category, not a costume. Holand redefines “witch” as an emblem of power, authenticity, and the willingness to feel deeply and publicly. This reframing matters because it challenges shallow caricatures and invites a larger conversation about how society labels and polices women who refuse to conform. What makes this particularly interesting is how the film situates witchiness within real-world shifts—audience expectations, social media backlash, and the stubborn inertia of tradition.
- Historical echoes meet contemporary noise. The cinema-goer is treated to a creative juxtaposition: a modern witch trial staged to unpack present-day accusations and judgments. This device does more than entertain; it provides a structured way to critique the way we police art and gender today. In my view, the courtroom scenes become a mirror for ongoing debates about censorship, accountability, and the meaning of artistic legitimacy.
- Feminist framing without dogma. Witch Club Satan self-identifies as a feminist project, and Holand doesn’t shy away from that lens. The film becomes a conversation about how feminism can coexist with aggressive art forms and how female-led bands push back against a male-centric narrative without sacrificing musical seriousness. What’s compelling here is the invitation to consider feminism as a dynamic, evolving practice rather than a fixed label.
- Craft and collaboration at the heart of documentary storytelling. The production—produced by Mari Nilsen Neira and edited with the help of Holand and Hilde Bjørnstad—places the band’s music front and center while allowing the filmmakers’ choices to illuminate the larger themes. The decision to let the music speak, to let personal arcs unfold, and to use a dreamlike yet grounded visual language underscores a conviction: great documentary can feel as immersive as a concert and as thoughtful as a memoir.
How Hex fits into the festival circuit
The film is positioned for international audiences, debuting at Thessaloniki Documentary Festival before moving to CPH:DOX in Copenhagen. This trajectory signals a broad curiosity about boundary-pushing music narratives and the human stories behind them. It’s not just a story about a troupe of performers; it’s a case study in how subcultures respond to scrutiny, how fans rally around new idols, and how art becomes a form of resistance.
Beyond the screen: the future of the filmmakers and the band
Holand’s personal journey—becoming a mother, facing professional uncertainty, and then diving into a project that demanded both vulnerability and audacity—adds another layer of resonance. Her reflections on balancing directing with cinematography, and her openness about stepping back to explore shorter formats, offer a practical roadmap for artists who juggle creative ambition with life’s competing demands. For Witch Club Satan, Hex isn’t a one-and-done spotlight; it’s a narrative springboard that could propel live performances, music videos, and future documentary explorations.
What makes Hex worth watching
- It invites viewers into a space where music is a vehicle for self-definition and collective empowerment.
- It uses a clever structural conceit to address complexity—how society judges women; how feminists navigate a male-dominated space; and how historical narratives shape present realities.
- It blends intimate, character-driven storytelling with the visceral energy of black metal, delivering both emotional depth and sonic intensity.
Takeaway
What Hex demonstrates is powerful: when artistry meets courage, gendered expectations can be challenged in ways that feel inevitable, not engineered. The film isn’t merely a chronicle of a rising band; it’s a meditation on what it means to reclaim space, to be seen, and to let your true self roar. If you’re curious about how a subculture negotiates power, authority, and authenticity, Hex offers a thought-provoking blueprint—one that lingers long after the last chord fades.
