I had been primed by reviews and Niner's reassurance that The
Exorcist wasn't a simple horror film. Having now seen it, I'm not
sure it's a horror film at all. Yeah, yeah, I know-I first want
to make McCabe a non-Western and now I'm saying the most famous
horror film ever made isn't a horror film. And it has to do with
the same issue-what is the purpose of the film? I'm not going to
argue the point, other than to say that, for all Friedken's
devotion to portraying the abominations, it is a story that has
far more to do with faith in the unknown, redemption, and the
power of God. More in keeping with Song of Bernadette, in many
ways (or even Cries and Whispers) than anything Vincent Price did.
The performances were all extraordinary; Miller-who was better
known as a playwright than as an actor (and who has inexplicably
given up writing for a pedestrian acting career ever since)-is
the standout. It is an intensely physical performance; I much
appreciated the dual purpose of his workout scenes. At first,
they deepen the character of Karras. A Jesuit, a psychiatrist
trained at the finest universities, is clearly devoted to
intellectual accomplishment. But he never neglected the physical
pursuits and, in fact, found much release in them. (Note: this
may, in fact, be a Jesuit "thing"; the point is still
well-made.) The second purpose of those scenes is revealed at the
climactic moment, when Karras battles physically with the demon
and temporarily subdues it without assistance-and a remarkable
accomplishment it is for Friedkin and the actors that we do,
indeed, think of it as an accomplishment when Karras throws a
small girl to the floor and hits her. When, per his request, the
demon enters his body, he has both the strength of will *and* of
body to do what needs to be done.
Burstyn is heartbreaking; I had mentioned in my Tarzan reviews
how rare it is to see a great depiction of parents on screen.
When she tells Karras that she would know an exact clone of her
daughter was a fake, I teared up. She never once lets you forget
that hidden away in this monstrosity is her darling daughter, who
she loves and cherishes. Her strength of purpose and
determination is again an example of another fantastic female
role. Friedken, for all his devotion to the shock value of his
story, never lets that character down, not once.
For many years I thought von Sydow was much older than he was; I
kept on thinking the man aged gracefully. It was only a few years
ago that I realized that I had this impression because I thought
he was an old man when he made The Exorcist. It is a bit
irritating that a movie that could make up a devil couldn't make
up a 40-year-old to look 70--I found the bad makeup distracting
at times. I disagree with Niner about the neglect of the
religious scenes-I thought they worked as presented in large part
because of von Sydow's utter conviction.
I'm never sure how much credit should go to Blair for her
performance, but the combined efforts are stunning. It simply
would not have worked without her. The real-life priest who
played Karras' best friend delivers well. I also liked the
assistant, who was unyielding in her devotion to Burstyn and the
girl-but when it's all over realizes that she never wants to be
near that little girl again. I actually found Lee J. Cobb rather
spooky, and I'm not sure if that was the intent.
I found the unstated comparisons fascinating. For example,
Friedken very clearly portrays the contempt that modern day
medicine has for the "witchcraft" of faith, religion,
and ritual. And yet doctors throughout are left guessing at
causes because they have no answers. If there are no answers in
medicine, they are left to "faith". It's rooted
differently, of course. It must be a lesion. It must be a
psychological disorder. Even if all our tests show otherwise,
there must be a scientific and physical solution. In the end, how
damaging is their "faith"? The scorn and dismissal with
which they finally mention exorcism hides their discomfort with
the fact that they don't have any better answers. I don't think
this is intended to show the two as equal. Merely different-and
that there are times when one should be willing to give faith a
try. It is a sign of Chris McNeil's love for her daughter that
she rejects scientific solutions and turns-even if skeptically-to
faith.
Add to Niner's list of the social ills portrayed: the movie
within a movie portrays student rebellion, the homeless man is
not only a Catholic but an altar boy, the church descrations,
Father Karras could take much better care of his mother were he
working in the material, as opposed to the spiritual, world. But
I think he has misread the point of Karras' mother, to some
extent-although not that of the mental ward.
There is a clear theme of rootlessness and disconnection. It is
not just that the MacNeils are living in a rented house in a
strange town. Her father is in Europe. Their house back in LA has
been sold. She was going to take Regan to Europe next. They have
no home. Father Karras has been out travelling and is only rarely
around to visit his mother. The bum is homeless. Contrast that
with Karras' mother. Why won't she move somewhere smaller and
more comfortable? Because this is her home. She won't leave. She
has roots; is grounded. In earlier years, her son would be living
with her (or vice versa) and taking care of her. Karras' guilt is
in large part because he knows this. I am comforted by the fact
that she died at home. But she died alone.
I will mention two "rootless" whispers that Niner and
Ace will scoff at, but I can't help but think are deliberate: In
a movie that uses music sparingly, the song playing at the bar
where Karras talks of his mother to his friend is "Ramblin
Man" ("Lord, I was born a ramblin man. Tryin' to make a
livin' and doin' the best I can. And when it's time for leavin',
I hope you'll understand, That I was born a ramblin' man.").
I am not convinced it was a conscious choice, but it seems in
this context very much a request of the Lord, in advance of death,
for generosity in spite of neglect.
And the only occupation mentioned other than those in the medical,
religious, and acting professions (all related to the story) is
that of astronaut. What does Regan, as the devil, say to him?
"You're going to die up there."
So roots and community and belonging to God are the ways to avoid
possession by his opposite? If this is what Friedken intended,
then the relationship in the film is not clear enough. But I don't
think that is the intent. Rather, it is our loss of a sense of
"home" and continuity that causes us to turn away from
faith, from belief. The farther away we go, the more likely we
are to "die", spiritually speaking. This is irrelevant
to whether or not the Devil chooses us for possession, but has
much to do with our ability to feel connected to society and each
other-thus reducing our level of sickness? That is my current
interpretation, but I'm not sure if it's accurate. There is
little question that the theme itself is present in the movie.
Then there is the contrast between faith in the power of man and
that of God. I am referring here to the
difference in the individual's reliance on one or the other. The
doctors and medical community-including Karras-are all perfectly
secure in their reliance on science.
But Merrin is, from the beginning, a man completely comfortable
in the knowledge that he is occasionally nothing more than a
channel through which God speaks. I found the pivotal scene in
the movie to be the levitation scene, in which Friedken does not
opt for an easy drop back to the bed. No, he stressed what
weakening the Devil-"It is the power of Christ that compels
you!" And later in that scene, Merrin says, "I speak
with the voice of God." He does not doubt either that the
devil exists or that God can cast him out.
Karras, the protagonist, undergoes the change--is given the
opportunity to end his crisis of faith. I don't know which is
more ironic-that a man of faith has no reliance in the power of
God, or that no character in the movie notices this inconsistency.
But in a few short hours, he evolves from a man who speaks of the
possession in clinical terms ("I think I should brief you on
the various personalities") to one who believes and uses his
faith to conquer evil. ("Come into me, God damn you. Take me.")
He fights because he must, but also because he has the faith he
might win. At the same time, I wonder if this is ever an approach
that Merrin would take. Is it not only a man who has faith in
individual capability who would take such an action?
A very good movie. I have now watched it twice and suspect I
shall continue to be fascinated by it. I also have not slept more
than a few hours a night since and yes, the hall light is still
on when I do go to bed. Such is the price I pay for being a wuss.
Comments on Review
25882. ChristinO - June 30, 1999
- 12:19 PM PT
Cal,
The first thing I noticed about The Exorcist was the use of sound.
The relentless, arrhythmic clanging and pounding and the almost
total absence of music. The sound itself is nerve-wracking and
puts you on edge---makes you feel you're endangered. It also
serves as a metaphor for the chaos of the modern world and how it
undermines tradition and history. The first scenes of excavation
with sledge-hammers and pick-axes flying, tearing into the earth.
I worried that they would destroy whatever it was that they were
trying to dig up. It was a totally destructive way of going about
uncovering ancient secrets.
I meant to agree with your point about Ramblin Man. I don't know
if your interpretation of the meaning is correct, but it is
certainly plausible and I absolutely agree that in a film that
has exactly one song in it the choice of that song is likely NOT
random or coincidental.
Re: Von Sydow and age make-up. Funny, it didn't bother me at all
because what I saw was his body and the way he moved to portray
age. He had the body and movement of a man in his sixties at
least. Just as a technical note age make-up is one of the most
difficult while gore is considerably easier. The "bigger"
or "showier" a make-up is the easier it is to
accomplish. The toughest make-ups are subtle and realistic ones.
Molding Jimmy Durante's nose is cake compared to trying to
recreate Monroe's.
25888. ChristinO - June 30, 1999
- 1:37 PM PT
That was one of my favorite "messages" of the film. The
idea that to deny one's experience, to deny empirical data simply
because one does not wish to believe what it represents is idiocy.
Whether one is denying the existence of dinosaurs because one
doesn't believe the earth is more than 5 thousand years old or
whether one is denying the fact of demonic possession because one
doesn't believe in God the end result is that reality is denied
in order to coddle faith.
It's the only thing that bothers me about Agent Scully on the X-Files.
She's a highly intelligent person. I like that she's a skeptic,
but after some of the experiences she's had and some of the
things she's seen it makes her look like an idiot to deny the
existence of the paranormal.
I'm not saying one should believe everything one sees, but within
the framework of the film the doctors displayed a supreme idiocy
because the data didn't match their agenda. It is a close-mindedness
that I feel is destructive and it is every bit as fanatical as
some religionists'.
