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The Exorcist (1973)

A review by Damian Cannon.
Copyright © Movie Reviews UK 1999
Twenty-five years on from its world premiere, The Exorcist still sets a standard by which other horror films are judged. Contemporary efforts may have more gore, better special effects and fewer moral restrictions, but these alone do not alter the central requirement: Are you being scared like never before? In this light The Exorcist is a seminal classic, a singular masterpiece of psychological horror. Its clammy fingers clamp onto the timeless fear of losing one's identity, of being taken over by a malevolent spirit and forced to act against one's will. So deep-seated is this anxiety that it bridges cultural, religious and social boundaries, disturbing all equally.

What's interesting though is how indirectly and lethargically the film tackles its core theme, just how extended the dramatic build-up is. William Peter Blatty, both writer of the original novel and screenwriter for The Exorcist, clearly wishes to expend time and energy on context creation. Unlike the majority of modern films, of any genre, The Exorcist holds its powder dry until the last possible moment; yet the result is not a slow, unbearable rise in tension. Instead we're left holding a deeper understanding of the characters and their environment, of how they're likely to react in a situation beyond rational experience. So when the story does eventually attain critical mass, we're not wondering what the players are going to do next, we're clinging in alarm to the nearest solid object.

For The Exorcist it all begins in Iraq, somewhere in the dry, dusty desert. An archaeological dig is in progress, unearthing relics from a long forgotten age, and Father Merrin (Max von Sydow) helps the locals out. This is far removed from the moneyed comfort of central Washington DC, where Burke Dennings (Jack MacGowran) attempts to shoot a studio movie. His female star Chris MacNeil (Ellen Burstyn) rents a house nearby, a place where quality time can be spent with her young daughter Regan (Linda Blair). It's a pleasant enough home, a good location for cast parties, but that's before Regan begins to act strangely. Her personality shifts, the house echoes with unsettling noises, people start to suffer. Nearby, Jesuit cleric Father Damien Karras (Jason Miller) remains ignorant of the coming battle; calm before the storm.

Directing Blatty's script, William Friedkin steers true to the course plotted long in advance. His touch is marked by restraint, a willingness to imply rather than demonstrate. Thus the legendary special effects are remarkable by their fleeting presence, glimpsed once, then passed by for the next scene. The Exorcist is perhaps made more effective by this process, relying on its cast over Marcel Vercoutere's handiwork. Yet these are the moments where your mouth hangs open, slack by the enormity of what you're witnessing; Regan stabs herself with a crucifix, masturbating, a projectile of lurid green ectoplasm coats Father Karras, the little girl's bedroom swirls with debris, then shudders violently. Yes, the effects really do hold their own against those that can be computer-generated.

Of course, the sum of Friedkin's effort (backed by a large technical crew) is both exploitative and manipulative. The Exorcist exploits its cast by weaving them into a tale of power and impact, making it one of those films whose name alone provokes an emotional response. Yet the actors were well rewarded for their performances; Blair stands out by handling a difficult role with aplomb, pretty impressive for one so small, but all cast members emote human weakness at a detectable level. We, as the audience, are manipulated by Friedkin, lulled by exposition and slammed by shocks. Yet we've all opted to be strapped onto this bucking bronco of a movie, we've all paid at the door in full knowledge of what we're buying into. Put simply, The Exorcist is just like any other well-made film; it entertains and surprises, then it ends.

Unfortunately while this is all quite true, The Exorcist has dated somewhat. It's much less tense and horrific than newly conceived examples of the genre and it leaves gaps that gasp for explanation. What keeps it all together is a monumental reputation, its decent script and the stunning effects. Also worth noting is Jack Nitzsche's spooky original score, which echoes the action with unerring accuracy, and the occasionally stunning photography of Owen Roizman. Certain shots are so beautifully composed and balanced that they transcend the picture, attaining an artistry all of their own. When it happens, as with Sydow's famous foggy arrival, you'll know. Considered as a supernatural whole, The Exorcist is a once-seen, never-forgotten experience that suffers only slightly from the inevitable wear and dissipation of mere existence.

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