Directed by William Friedkin
Running time 121 mins
Certificate 18
Cinematic re-releases have become big news over the last couple of years. A lot of movie snobs would like to claim that this is because Hollywood is running out of ideas but, like the claim that novels are adapted for cinema because there's no good scripts in circulation, is purely bitter gibberish. Novels have always been filmed, from Phantom Of The Opera to The King and I, only to be ennobled with the title 'classic' and their creators lauded as Gods of the screen rather than plagiarists. Re-releases are an acceptance of two facts: firstly, that there is a huge back catalogue of films that audiences still want to see and, secondly, that films are always better on the big screen than on TV.
Generally re-releases are just a nice idea and a reasonable moneyspinner. The regular re-appearances of It's A Wonderful Life and The Wizard Of Oz are like a reliable old friend that only visits at Christmas. Grease was a surprise, but fitted into the 70s retro trend that was being so heavily touted earlier in the year. Only two releases have been real events: firstly, the Star Wars trilogy, which was the movie equivalent of a new edition of The Bible with a few new chapters thrown in. Secondly, The Exorcist.
In any other country, the re-release of The Exorcist would be a minor footnote: a point of interest, possibly of minor debate, but not of real and massive social interest. In the UK, people that have scarcely been to the cinema since the last time it was released will fix you with a steely stare and insist that You. Have. To. See. This. Film. End of story.
It's not just because this is a great film, of which there is little doubt and only the truly churlish would disagree. It's not because of the rumors of a demonic influence upon the screen because that's bunkum. In spite of what has been said about the sounds of a genuine exorcism on the screen, it is just a very well made movie. It's not because of the tales of a Tomb Of Tutenkhamun-style curse on the set, which anyone with half a brain and a knowledge of the production will know that it was far more to do with the habits of William Friedkin. Any accidents and deaths were down to Friedkin's practice of freezing, crushing and hurling his actors about on set, then having the gall to talk about 'an external evil' afflicting his beleaguered and beloved actors. Ask Ellen Burstyn who was responsible for the permanent damage caused to her spine on set and she's unlikely to blame the devil.
The real reason that people in the UK are so fascinated with The Exorcist is that they've likely as not never seen it. This comes down to a strange quirk of British law, all of which stems back to the British Board Of Film Classification (BBFC). All films must be classified by the BBFC before release in public cinemas. Videos must also be given a classification but this will sometimes be different to that granted to the cinema release of exactly the same film. The argument goes that, because children can be kept away from cinemas but can't be kept away from the family TV, circumstances demand different standards apply. This patently arbitrary and ludicrous judgement, based on some bizarre average house and a presupposition that video certification does not work, leads to videos being denied a certificate or being heavily edited for domestic consumption, even though they are freely available to be seen in a public place. Under the 1988 Video Recordings Act, a video classification is immutable: once set, a classification can never be altered, even if public opinion and morals alter. BBFC chairman James Ferman has continually told Warners distribution that "the time is wrong" to submit the video for classification, with a subtext that, if submitted, he would force through a refusal of certificate or insist on barbarous and structural cuts to the movie. One way Warners loses the film, the other they are forced to release a mangled rag of a movie, neither if which they are prepared to countenance. Ferman, in a splendidly gutless manner, has spent years insisting that the Warners corporation and not he are responsible for the unavailability of the video. In reality, as Tom Dewe Mathews quotes an anonymous member of the BBFC in his essential book Censored: The Story Of Film Censorship In Britain, this is single-handed censorship. Don't worry, it's just James saving us from ourselves again: Apparently if you watch this film at home you'll start eating babies or something. (Foreign readers may be interested to know that this is a man that edited 3 seconds from the widescreen video of Dragnet because there's a poster for a Bruce Lee movie in the corner of the screen. In the poster he's holding nunchuks and they cannot be shown on screen in Britain at all. That's the level we're working at here.)
The re-release of The Exorcist comes down to three factors. Firstly, it's the twenty-fifth anniversary of its first release, but the same holds true for The Sting and that's not reappeared yet. Secondly, and possibly more importantly, the changing of the guard at the BBFC, with long-standing chairman James Ferman finally standing down, is encouraging rumors of a video certification being in the offing. Thirdly, the long-standing campaign by noted British film critic Mark Kermode, who has spent years adulating and studying this film. In his BFI handbook and his superb documentary The Fear Of God: Twenty-Five Years Of The Exorcist, he has provided the definitive works on the topic and kept the memory not merely alive but on the front page.
So what's so new about this print and why should everyone see this movie?
Well, for once, I'm in agreement with James Ferman: this isn't a movie that everyone should see. I think that the fact that the BBC has the power to deny individuals the right to decide for themselves if they want to watch it or not is indefensible but I do agree with him as to how powerful this film is. It is one of the few genuinely terrifying movies of all time, so scary that several people with quite strong stomachs and a taste for the perverse refuse to see it by themselves. Unlike so many horror flicks, its delivery is always equal to the buildup. Although exceptionally derivative of the seminal The Haunting, it removes Robert Wise's "tell, don't show" approach to the unseen supernatural with an equally exhausting "show, never explain".
Old friends of the movie will already know this but really should go again anyway. Although none of the legendary cut scenes, such as the actually quite poor crab walk, have been restored a new print replaces the quite decrepit set in circulation, while a new Dolby soundtrack is the only real addition on the technical front. However, with a film this good you don't need any new tricks, just a lick of paint on what's already there.
As a humanist and an atheist, a story about the demonic possession of a small child in modern Washington is just a film and I will always be slightly disappointed that humans still feel the need to hold the nature and structure of the universe, rather than their own venality, responsible for the ills of the world. However, I do feel that, because I'm not stopping to cross myself every five minutes, I've probably got a better chance of appreciating what a skilful and manipulative piece of filmmaking The Exorcist truly is.
Unlike many horror movies, The Exorcist does not require the audience to be complicit in the creation of mood. The only reason that one would be scared by, for example, Nightmare On Elm Street is because one wants to be scared. The Exorcist drags the audience along with it through a slow-burning horror. It's a slow and perilous decline from the world we know into the world beneath, so gradual that the viewer's expectations and willingness to believe is slowly, ever so slowly modified.
The story of The Exorcist is the gathering together of three plot lines. In Northern Iraq father Merrin, played by Max Von Sydow, finds evidence of an ancient and demonic presence on an archeological dig. Meanwhile, in Washington film actress Chris McNeil, played by Ellen Burstyn, finds her daughter's behavior increasingly erratic and terrifying, with no explanation available from the best medical and psychiatric minds in the profession. Meanwhile, down town, father Karras, played by Jason Miller, is suffering a crisis of faith after the tragic death of his mother. The slow revelation of demonic intervention draws these three together and into final, terrible confrontation with the devil itself.
It is this very same slow revelation that has, deservedly in my opinion, won this film the title of true classic. Many films that have been banned in Britain, such as A Clockwork Orange and Driller Killer, are severe disappointments when finally viewed, being either tedious or just badly made. The Exorcist is one of those films that never disappoints, primarily by not retreating into some ludicrous mock-medieval spiritualism. This isn't Germany in the twelfth century but Washington in the 1970s. No one wants to believe or even consider the possibility of possession and so turn to science instead. This leads to some of the most unpleasant medical scenes ever filmed, all of which do nothing to solve the problems. Friedkin depicts this in a completely flat style: no swooping cameras, no bogeymen, no music for much of the film. Instead it is like a documentary, so average and recognizable that the invasion by pure evil feels like a personal violation. It's this mood and not the famous spinning head or pea soup vomit that makes this film: indeed, the fact that the film could survive what, in the hands of others, would be pure directorial grandstanding shows how successful this move really is.
This is the greatest work of Catholic propaganda ever filmed. After all, medicine, psychology and common law fail, but the Church is triumphant. In spite of repeated protestations and denials of its usage of the rite of exorcism, the idea of the catholic priesthood as the original Men In Black, defending the innocence of Linda Blair's Regan from hideous abuse, must be appealing. After all, if there is biblical evil, there must be biblical good. The evil is an astonishing depiction of sheer malice: unlike every other cinematic monster, it does not hunt its prey. There's no leaping out of closets here, for instead it sits waiting for the priests to come to it. The arrogance, matched only by its creativity for illdoings, makes the demon the ultimate mercurial figure in cinematic history and still utterly unpredictable. Audiences are left totally unsure as to the nature of the demon, its intentions and plans: this utter ambiguity, matched only by a knowledge that a creature this ancient must have done this before and, presumably, will do it again, is what makes this film so distressing and absorbing.
There are, of course, drawbacks and problems with this film: after all, no movie is perfect. Primarily they stem from one of the film's greatest strengths, Bill Friedkin's cool and almost documentarian approach to the material. Characterization and performance can often become swallowed up and, in the case of Lee J. Cobb's lieutenant Kinderman, they seem to be an irrelevancy to the plot. Other than father Karras, few characters are given real motivation or back-story. This means that the almost silent performance of Max Von Sydow as the eponymous exorcist should always be applauded. Undeniably one of the finest screen actors of al time, every gesture combines despair and compassion in equal measure. No moment sums up the division between Regan and the spirit that possesses here more poignantly than when Merrin, after inflicting great torment upon the spirit, tenderly wipes the mess and vomit from the child's face.
The ultimate genius of The Exorcist was recognized by the Academy upon its release in 1973. Robert Knudson and Chris Newman are probably the only incontrovertible deserving recipients of an Oscar ever because, without their work, this film would never have received its nomination for best picture. From the opening scenes in North Iraq, the mood is set almost solely by their sound: Friedkin's footage maintains that flat, semi-documentary style that drags the audience in and lulls them into a false sense of security through its mundanity. Knudson and Newman's soundtrack is percussive and disruptive, every sound amplified to the point at which one can hear a pin drop but it sounds like a gong. Each crash and shred is wrapped in a blanket of insulating silence, keeping the audience on tenterhooks. That's where the magic lies: if the audience knows that it can hear that pin hit, they'll behave as if it is not amplified, retuning their behavior to match the mod. They will hold their breath and restrain their urge to shuffle in their seat. Even the popcorn remains untouched on the floor. When the first big silence comes, the viewer realizes that the whole auditorium is silent and at that moment they are hooked.
It's in their handling of the voice of the demon, Mercedes McCambridge, that their greatest success lies. Decades of smoking had left McCambridge with a voice like a walking tumor which only just passes as human. When this ancient, wry and intelligent voice bubbles forth from the distorted features of a small child on the verge of adolescence, the end result is more unnerving that can really be imagined. With the addition of a Dolby soundtrack and nice, new, clean and crackle-free prints, their work is now presented in all its stunning glory. This is the foley artists' equivalent to the release of the CD stereo version of Pet Sounds and a wonderful achievement. For that fact, and that it will annoy James Ferman so much, you have to see this movie.
RMW