The Exorcist (William Friedkin, 1973)

Scary movie?
 
(Warning: plot of this and Rosemary's Baby discussed in explicit detail).

When The Exorcist-- that sensational horror flick about a girl possessed by a demon-- first screened in the early '70s it was touted as the most frightening film ever made; for almost thirty years that reputation has held-- has, if anything, grown.

Now the picture comes to us digitally spiffed up and cleansed and with an extra 16 minutes added, but don't be fooled-- this is not strictly speaking 'the director's cut.' William Peter Blatty who wrote both novel and screenplay and produced once made up a wishlist of scenes he regrets were cut, and every one of them is back (the doctor's exam, the talk between the two priests, the ending). Whether the director (William Friedkin) truly approves is a matter of speculation*; whether the additions actually improve the movie-- well that's what we're here to talk about.

* (In a grotesque interview on the making of The Director's Cut Friedkin sits opposite Blatty and attempts to outline his objections tactfully--which Blatty brushes aside-- then fawns over the writer-producer, calling him a greater artist than Poe, Kafka, etc.)

Right off I disliked the digital; coming to a point that I dislike practically any digital effect-- they're a form of cheating, of pushbutton magic. The imposition of demonic faces on some of the quieter scenes is distracting and so is the low near-subsonic tone you hear some points (to add I suppose an 'ominous atmosphere'). The scenes worked fine without them; seeing and hearing the additions mostly remind you that the picture has just been 'new' and 'improved.'

Early on we see a restored sequence of Regan (Linda Blair) being given a medical exam. Blatty in an interview says this was meant to establish that Regan has psychological problems ("it's just as the doctor says-- it's nerves") but all it actually establishes is just how green Blair was at that time. When she snarls at staff her delivery is more wooden than startling, as if she were saying words she didn't understand (which may be the case-- Blair was fourteen and this was the '70s).

Then there's the spider-walk, a combination of stunt double and wirework, which is startling to look at but ill-timed. One of the few things Friedkin does right in The Exorcist is the sneaky escalation of occurrences-- from unexplained sounds to odd details (the Ouija piece flinging itself from one hand to the other) to increasingly disturbing behavior (pissing on a carpet, using profanity). Having this 'spider-walk' sequence inserted after a family friend's death but before Regan's violent deflowering disturbs that escalation and frankly violates the movie's realistic tone, even if the effects team did manage to digitally erase the wires from the stuntwoman's body.

Two later additions aren't so bad. Father Karras (Jason Miller) listening to the unpossessed Regan is actually moving-- the priest wants to get to know the actual girl, and you realize this was his only chance to do so. Then there's an exchange between Karras and Father Merrin (Max Von Sydow) in which Karras essentially asks "Why?" and Merrin replies "to make us despair." Bald expository theology perhaps but the actors deliver their lines with such weary understatement (the word "despair" rolls elegantly off Von Sydow's tongue) that it's a lovely moment.

The ending has been knocked by critics for turning a moody atmospheric conclusion into a sentimental lovefest, with Detective Kinderman (Lee J. Cobb) taking Father Dyer (Father William O'Malley) to the pictures. Here's what I think: first, the new ending adds symmetry (Kinderman talks movies to Karras, now he's talking movies to Dyer) and closure (Kinderman moves on from Karras to find a friend in Dyer). Second, people tend to forget that Blatty began as a comic writer--he helped write the screenplays of A Shot in the Dark and Gunn, based on Blake Edward's witty TV series. The best dialogue in The Exorcist is comic dialogue:

"There's an alien pubic hair in my gin. Never seen it before, have you?"

"I've got tickets to The Crest."
"What's showing?"
"Othello."
"Who's in it?"
"Othello-- Grouch Marx."
"I've seen it."

If Blatty wants to end a horror movie with a parody straight out of Casablanca, with Kinderman as Humphrey Bogart and Dyer as Claude Rains, he's perfectly within his rights to do so and acting according to his nature. Personally I find Kinderman and Dyer's gentle banter more amusing than the original ending's quiet portentousness.

Third and final point: after all is said and done, The Exorcist isn't exactly the great horror classic it's all pumped up to be, certainly not one that can't stand a little revision and I'll tell you why: it isn't evil enough.

Think about it: who does all the really nasty stuff, the girl? No, the demon inside (which absolves the girl). What do we know about the demon? Not much save he has the voice of Mercedes McCambridge (the gloriously butch gang leader in Touch of Evil) and sounds like a real raconteur (Is why I wanted more talk between Karras and Pazuzu; besides revealing more of his motivations and being evidence of those 'massive psychological attacks' Blatty keeps hinting at, the demon might turn out to be an accomplished standup).

Back to the topic-- Von Sydow warns of despair, but the characters don't demonstrate the emotion much; after all they've been at this for only three days. Blatty notes that real exorcisms last for months and admits he kept his short so it wouldn't strain attention spans. If Blatty had been less considerate to attention spans (the artist's bane!), and truer to his artist's instincts (the audience's bane!) maybe we would have seen something--  either mother or  priest putting Regan out of her misery, or the mother killing Kinderman, to keep him from arresting Regan. Maybe Father Karras and the mother could have an affair. Who knows?

And despair-- isn't that a common enough sin (just waking up in the morning is enough to induce a bad case)? I keep thinking if Regan was an alcohol or drug addict that for one reason or another the mother couldn't hand over to a rehab clinic, the results would have been the same-- the bedpans, the nasal drip, the vomiting, even the tying down and manipulative conversation ("you could loosen the straps son…"-- how like an alcoholic to talk his way out of his restraints!). This is less a horror pic than it is a comic withdrawal pic.

By way of comparison, think of Rosemary's Baby, where powerful men and women conspire to bring about the birth of Satan's son. Conscious evil, an entire department store catalogue of it-- from greed to cynicism to envy to sheer unadulterated malice-- all there. The film takes its time to develop-- roughly nine months-- and during those months you see Rosemary's spirit crumpling as the darkness closes in; in the end the single authentic act of love in the film-- totally in accord with Rosemary's nature-- is the single most evil act in the film.

Stephen King of all people once gave an excellent definition of the different kinds of horror: the finest is the thrill at the base of your spine (the haunting image, the unsettling detail); the lowest the grossout (spattered blood, yanked intestines). If you want the finest you want Rosemary's Baby; if you want gross-out you want The Exorcist.

(First published in Businessworld, 10/27/00)

(Reprinted as part of my book Critic After Dark, in a section on Catholic films)