Welcome to Hoopeston, Illinois, a heartland town that is a shadow of what it was. The iron factories and canning industries have closed down. The town’s sweet corn, once its chief and most famous staple, is barely grown. Most of the downtown area has shut down, with the stores going out of business as bigger chains have opened nearby—though, as one townsperson points out, the drive-through liquor store always has a line of people waiting to cash their checks and buy their alcohol. Thomas Bender’s documentary, Hoopeston, dives headfirst into the clash between this small, conservative town on the decline and its newest residents, a Wiccan school of the Correllian faith from Chicago.

This is not a Hollywood documentary, slicked up and seamlessly put together. The documentary is a mix of steady shots and interviews recorded by the filmmaker, and home video shot by the school’s CEO, Ed Hubbard. The music, a haunting array of flutes and organs that wouldn’t feel out of place in a movie like Candyman, lends a somber tone to the tale of a dying town. The completely unrehearsed feel to the interviews, though, can be somewhat frustrating. When phones ring and customers start coming in, throwing off people’s trains of thought and jumbling what’s being said, the viewer isn’t always sure what’s happening.

Though the film examines the relationship between the world’s first Witch School and the town, the heart of the film is Hoopeston itself. After learning about the town’s decline, it’s easy to understand why its people reminisce on the glory days of childhood, when there were stores and prosperity and jobs. But, as things grow worse, it seems that the people cling more stubbornly to a past that can never come again rather than look for ways to secure its future. It’s a cycle of poverty and despair that seems to have one conclusion: the town’s eventual death.

The largest chunk of interviews with the locals focuses on the town motel and restaurant owner, Jason Matthews, a twenty-three-year-old who had been driven out of town when he was younger for, as he said, not fitting in. He doesn’t say many good things about the town and finds it much easier to relate to the Wiccans that have set up shop. As for himself, he doesn’t believe in any religion. It’s interesting that the most sympathetic, knowledgeable and incisive voice we hear from the town comes from a fellow outsider.

It would seem that the town needs fresh faces, but a small group of radical Christians stop the Wiccans’ first attempts to move in. It’s only after the rest of the town steps in that a first tentative shop is set up. Yet, we learn through the various interviews with both sides that if the people tolerate the Witch School, they don’t like it. They’re very conservative, very Christian—in fact, Hoopeston was known as the “Holy City” in its early days because it had a church for every Christian denomination in existence. Their values are so strict that even today, local ministers will refuse to marry someone who has had a child outside of marriage. So why were the Correllians invited back? Did the townspeople want to show they were decent folk? Had they reached a point in desperation that they realized they needed to embrace change in order to survive? Unfortunately these questions aren’t addressed. Perhaps in this microcosm of larger culture wars, what we see is that an inability to adapt can only lead to destruction. Even Hoopeston acknowledges this, to a point, in grudgingly allowing the Witch School to set up shop.

Much of the second half of the documentary is taken up exploring the Wiccan faith. For those familiar with Wicca, if not necessarily the Correllian tradition, this can be a bit redundant. At the same time, it is understandable as, hopefully, there will be plenty of viewers not familiar with Pagan traditions. Still, we are offered tantalizing glimpses. There’s Cathy, a lifelong Hoopeston resident who makes the mini spells. When asked what drew her there, she replies simply: the job. Then there’s Mike, whose mother calls repeatedly to keep track of him while the director of the film tries to record an interview. Are they pagan? Do they just work at the school? How do their families feel—is that why Mike’s mother keeps pestering his whereabouts? We don’t know. From the briefest of economic standpoints, though, one of the only other business owners we meet runs the local “Beads N Botanicals” shop. She too is an outsider, having moved from Virginia Beach to Hoopeston following the Witch School’s wholesale account.

From the Wiccan viewpoint, the filmmaker speaks almost exclusively to Ed Hubbard and the Rev. Don Lewis-Highcorrell, Chancelor and First Priest of the Correllian faith. Both men have obviously been spokespeople for years. They’re comfortable and eager to talk and answer any questions that have been asked. They also prove a great foil to one another, as Ed’s passion and excitement is tempered by the Reverend’s calm and ultra-professionalism. As Don calmly points out, they didn’t bring Paganism to Hoopeston. There were pagans long before their arrival, people living in hiding— and he points out that such phenomena isn’t limited to small conservative towns. The entire nation is full of pagans afraid to admit, even to loved ones, what they believe.

In small ways, the film attempts to combat this fear. One thing it stresses is the Wiccans’ openness and the fact that they’re just people following their religion. At the end of the Lustration Ritual, the camera cuts out for a few brief words then returns to witness Rev. Don thanking the person who brought in the food. Cutting back just for that moment is a clear attempt to convey the humanity in these people who are no different from anyone else. What could be more benign than cookies? Clear parallels are drawn between the townsfolk’s proclamations and devotion to their faith and the Wiccans’. Whereas the Wiccans very much understand this similarity, most locals seem to see nothing but differences.

While it may have been interesting to see different themes examined further, it would truly take several films to fully scrutinize everything such a situation has to offer. As perhaps a fitting coda—to be found only on the school’s website—the school has left Hoopeston and moved to the town of Rossville. No word on the website as to why, but it happened very recently. Whether this is what the townspeople truly wanted, it seems like just one more blow against hope for Hoopeston’s future.

A student of all things spiritual and devotee of all things artistic, Curtis is a recent transplant into the wilds of New Jersey. He currently works for an entertainment magazine, engrossing him in the many aspects of media.

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