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So how much of a hard-ass is director William Friedkin? Just ask Father William O'Malley, a real-life priest cast in a small supporting role in the 1973 horror blockbuster The Exorcist. When O'Malley's amateur performance of giving last rites to his best friend wasn't conveying the dramatic intensity that Friedkin wanted, the good director slapped him across the face to motivate him into an emotionally-charged delivery. It shows onscreen. Or witness Ellen Burstyn's cry of pain when Linda Blair's demon-possessed character knocks her across the room; landing badly and injuring her back, Burstyn shrieked in genuine pain, and Friedkin's camera intentionally tracked in close to exploit her agony. Again, it shows onscreen. But then, The Exorcist is just as notorious for its subtlety as it is for its grandiosity.
The term cultural phenomenon was aptly applied to this film. Steven Spielberg and George Lucas would shortly re-create it with Jaws and Star Wars, respectively. But in 1973, Friedkin managed to turn author William Peter Blatty's novel of demonic possession into an unheralded box-office hit which also added a dose of well-needed credence to the horror genre. It also sent more than a few audience members rushing in terror from movie auditoriums, and it raised the ire of some Catholics who deemed the movie blasphemous (a point which makes very little sense; here, the protagonists are holy priests, and the villain is the devil....isn't that the way it's supposed to be?).
The prologue The Exorcist is fitfully ominous. On a treacherous archeological dig in the Middle East, a group under the command of one Father Merrin (Max von Sydow) uncovers an artifact that alerts this retired "exorcist" that his services may once again be required. And the shot of Merrin in the desert, facing a horrifying statued representation of the demon, is perhaps one of the best ever captured on film, simply because of its quiet elegance. Make sure you're watching the letterboxed version (1.85:1 aspect ratio) for the full effect.
The sudden shift to American family life is quick, but it draws in the viewer. Chris McNeil (Burstyn) is an American actress who has re-located with her 12-year-old daughter Regan (Blair) to an apartment in Georgetown. Her marriage is obviously on the rocks, but Chris hopes to be able to mend it. She also has to manage the advances of her alcoholic director, Burke Jennings (Jack MacGowran, who died shortly after completing his work on the picture). Then there's that whole pesky business of Regan gradually becoming possessed by demonic forces, thus fulfilling the omen that Merrin had uncovered in the desert.
Across town, Father Damien Karras (Jason Miller), a local priest with an emphasis in psychiatry, is having problems with his own faith. His devotion to his work has resulted in his neglect of his dying mother. But his life's work is about to take a dramatic turn when a desperate Chris McNeil, having exhausted all medical avenues to cure Regan, beseeches him to perform an exorcism on the kid; perhaps it will have a placebo effect. It's here where The Exorcist really takes off. Karras' initial scenes with Blair are sharply written, with a voice-over by legendary actress Mercedes McCambridge providing the devilish rasp which is dubbed over Blair's lines. Some of the best lines are literally bathed in dark humor (it's hard not to crack a grin when Regan snaps, "And I'm the devil! Now kindly undo these straps!").
This young lass needs more than a placebo. She needs some of that old-time religion, plus a good priestly ass-whippin' for the demons that have her in their clutches. Hence, it's time to call in Merrin. And the revered exorcist's arrival at the McNeil home is blanketed by an enigmatic fog, accompanied by Mike Oldfield's haunting "Tubular Bells" music, making for another unforgettable cinematic moment. One wonders how effective the film would have been with acclaimed composer Lalo Schifrin's original score, which Friedkin deemed "fuckin' Mexican marimba music" and flatly rejected, reportedly tossing the tape cannister out the door and into the parking lot. Ouch!
This review won't further comment on the exorcism finale; watch the movie if you want to know what happens. But while cinematic audiences were terrified in 1973, a new generation got a taste of The Exorcist on the big screen twenty-seven years later. And as a special treat, the 2000 re-release (subtitled The Version You've Never Seen) includes four additional scenes which were excised from the original cut. Three of them are entertaining. The fourth, an unnecessary and harebrained coda between O'Malley and a local detective played by Lee J. Cobb, only disrupts the wonderfully uneasy tone of the original conclusion. Presumably, writer Blatty wanted this needless scene restored to help bridge this film with his 1990 sequel Legion: Exorcist III. By that time, O'Malley's and Cobb's characters would be played by Ed Flanders and George C. Scott, respectively.
Editorial discretion and "special edition" trigger-happiness notwithstanding, The Exorcist in either version remains one of the most time-tested and resilient offerings of modern horror cinema. For any horror enthusiast, it is nothing less than required viewing. Even without the fuckin' Mexican marimba music.
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