But in some ways that might spoil the fun. With the remastered ‘medium’ version about to see British release for the first time, The Wicker Man teeters on the borders of the mainstream perhaps elevation to the canon of cinematic greatness waits just around the corner. You can buy the soundtrack – an essential purchase – or the Hollywood remake featuring Nicolas Cage in a bear suit, which is possibly not so essential.

Now, four decades since release, reappraised, scrutinised, analysed, deconstructed and obsessed over, it is the subject of painstakingly researched books and worthy academic treatises, and it features on the media studies ‘A’ level syllabus. The flames of fascination were fanned once more. They were supposed to be showing the ‘long’ version for the very ﬁrst time but instead they showed the ‘medium’. And it was a 1988 BBC screening, with which Alex Cox launched his cult cinema series Moviedrome, that finally brought The Wicker Man home. It became the textbook ‘cult’ movie, with word of its charms spread from fan to fan, in an analogue age, via whispered rumour and fanzines, back when your only chance of catching a forgotten film was if it turned up on telly late one night. Those in the know still argue over the running times and respective merits of the ‘short’, ‘medium’ and ‘long’ Wicker Man. Cut into more versions than anyone can keep track of, the ﬁlm has a production history that’s shrouded in mystery and confusion. Its cause was taken up by a passionate band of fiercely dedicated aﬁcionados, initially in the USA, then back in Blighty, all proudly wielding its undeserved neglect like a banner. A legend grew around The Wicker Man, one perhaps more complex than the ingenious narrative at its heart. It wouldn’t have been surprising if – like many other difficult-to-label British features that litter that awkward decade – it had quietly faded into obscurity but it didn’t.

Robin hardy the wicker man