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The Exorcist
The Exorcist is a difficult film to review, because it is a take-it-or-leave-it type of experience. Like Gibson’s The Passion of the Christ or Pasolini’s Salò, it is a film of unparalleled brutality—an experience so unrelentingly focused on its agenda that it works flawlessly for what it is, and viewers will know whether they want to see it or not without any critic’s urging. On that note, whereas Gibson strived to make a highly devout film and Pasolini aimed for satire, The Exorcist’s only motivation is to literally scare the hell out of you. It succeeds. Wow, does it succeed. Director William Frieidkin and writer William Peter Blatty’s approach is very simple: They build up completely likable, very human characters, and they devote ample screen time developing them so that we know and appreciate them. We see their flaws and problems, but we also understand that they are making the most out of their lives. We really, honestly like these people, who include a divorced famous actress (Ellen Burstyn), her hyperactive daughter (Linda Blair), an alcoholic film director (Jack MacGowran), a bumbling detective (Lee J. Cobb), and a troubled priest (Jason Miller) with an ailing mother (Vasiliki Maliaros). These are not characters who wear their required roles on their sleeves (i.e. Fearless Priest, Atheist Mother, Innocent Victim). They are actually quite charming and realistic: They dote on their daughters, laugh at dirty jokes, play the piano, and hold parties. They also cry themselves to sleep, experience serious doubts about faith, swear into the phone at their ex-husbands, and steal cookies from the cookie jar. By the time bad things start happening, we feel like part of the family, and we don’t want anything wrong to occur to this delightful community. But wrong things do happen, and when they do, it grates on our nerves and our sympathy. As the title implies, this is a film about a demonic possession. Part of me wants to keep the identity of the Devil’s victim a secret, but by now, The Exorcist has become so ingrained in pop-culture that it would be naive of me to assume that no one knows. It is the little girl who is possessed, in a slow process that takes at least the entire middle act of the film. Lesser directors would have skipped straight to the possession and placed it immediately in full throttle, but Friedkin wants us to feel the agony of these characters as the devil’s attacks slowly build. He wants us to understand the terror and confusion of this wonderful little girl who does not understand what is happening to her. He wants us to experience the trauma and misery that the mother feels as she watches helplessly. He wants us to be wracked with doubt as the priest makes crucial decisions about his mother’s health and as his own crumbing faith plagues him—a doubt that is only enhanced when the demon finally takes over the girl completely. Once this hopeless desperation begins within the characters, the film kicks into high-gear and never lets up. Essentially, The Exorcist is about the experience of watching extremely likable people slipping into depression and going mad, and we feel that what is happening to these characters is wrong and unfair. It is unpleasant, but it is also a powerful example of character-driven filmmaking. When the possession finally takes center stage and the little girl becomes a vehicle for an evil, cackling demon (voiced by Mercedes McCambridge), Friedkin still avoids the conventions of a typical shock show. We have taken the same terrified journey that the characters have traveled, and to watch this innocent child become infested with such an evil, malicious entity brings us absolute terror in a way no sickening, slimy monster or malevolent ghost ever could. Our appreciation for innocence is being attacked—our very love of good. This is not the normal horror that we find in sudden shark attacks or zombies hungrily surrounding a farmhouse; Friedkin’s film is a series of moments in which the characters question their senses and their sanity. Our horror is in the compassion that we feel for them and the helplessness to do anything but watch their misery. When the mother finally screams, “That thing in there is not my daughter,” we nod in absolute agreement as our faces twitch in agony. I hope that I am not making The Exorcist sound more depressing and less horrifying. Here is a film that is one hundred percent pure terror. What I am arguing is that this is not horror that generates suspense or makes us scream in alarm. It is the horror found in being trapped in a completely helpless situation, in which characters are lost in the dark and cannot find their way out. This total desperation and sense of fear never lets up for most of the film, and as this child finds herself falling more and more under the spell of the evil spirit, we scream, “Why!” Personally, I found the moment in which the girl is being helplessly thrown around on her bed like a rag doll more terrifying that any of the moments in which the demon has full possession of her body. Why? Because we see her fear, and we see the terror in her mother’s eyes as she watches her daughter’s abuse, completely powerless to help. When the exorcist of the title, played by Max von Sydow (who else?), finally makes his appearance, we long for a cinematic showdown with this demon, so that it can finally receive the justice that it deserves for bringing such despair to these peoples’ lives. Yet even here, Friedkin avoids conventions and shows the intimate, personal struggle of the priests as they attempt to rescue this little girl. Yes, there are special effects. Yes, there are neat filmmaking tricks. But these scenes are not cinematic in nature. They are the completion of the characters’ journeys, and they lead to the choices that the characters all must make. The Exorcist is based on the novel by Blatty, which is a powerful piece of fiction. In the book, the emphasis is on the psychology of demonic possession, and a question mark remains at the end: Was there a true case of possession, or was it all just a combination of nerves and delusions? In the film, there is no question that a demon is responsible for this desolation, yet it still strikes the same final note as Blatty’s novel: God can make for good what dark forces intend for evil. In the end, God’s victory over all injustices is clearly the theme of The Exorcist, as all of the characters are strengthened by lasting through this ordeal. The key is that the viewer also has to last in order to know the payoff, and in the meantime, the evil is real and it is excruciating. The Exorcist has been heralded as the scariest movie of all time. I would say that the scariest movie of all time could not compare to the way that director William Freidkin manages to wiggle this film underneath the audiences’ skin and hold it there for over two hours. This is not a horror film in the strict sense of horror as entertainment—look elsewhere for a fright flick in which monsters wait in the shadows to jump out at an unsuspecting victim. This is a film that attacks you psychologically, emotionally, and perhaps even physically. In the end, your senses are drained, terrified, and challenged. If this sounds like a test of wits that you want to submit yourself to, then you will want to see The Exorcist. If it sounds like an evening of pure psychological torture, then keep this film as far away from you as you possibly can. An arm’s length will not be far enough. Cast: A Warner Brothers film. Directed
by William Friedkin. Written by Willaim Peter Blatty, based on
his novel. Rated R, for graphic violence and language (both vulgar
and sexual). Running time: 120 minutes (director’s cut runs
140, which is just as good as the original cut). Original United
States theatrical release date: December 26, 1973. Questions? Comments? E-mail me: danel_the_tinman@hotmail.com |
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