The Exorcist

I think I was in college when I first saw The Exorcist, by which time my resentment of the Catholicism I grew up with had calcified, and that undeniably colored my reception of the film, and still does. It’s hard for me to take seriously anyone who lives in fear of a goat-man trying to lure everyone into a flaming cave of eternal suffering, and that mythology only gets sillier when viewed through the vaudevillian lens of demonic possession. I’d be more game for this sort of fantasy—as I am for other folk horror idioms like vampires and werewolves—if it weren’t a core component of an actual belief system used for centuries as a tool of mass oppression, and still enthusiastically espoused by billions of people. So most attempts to even ostensibly legitimize Christian mythology are likely to leave me cold. (And yes, I do realize religious narratives are ripe for rational allegory, but as I said, my resentment runs deep.) As a result, I never put The Exorcist on the same pedestal so many other film fans have.

But something clicked for me on this viewing. A big part of it is a deeper appreciation for William Friedkin’s filmmaking—especially after seeing Sorcerer and Cruising—which feels so naturalistic despite the clearly labor-intensive process behind it. He still couldn’t make me feel the gravitas of the possession and exorcism, and in fact, I find the exorcism scenes to be the least interesting parts of the film. But there’s still plenty of horror to be had in the simple idea of a loved one suffering from a malady no one understands, and this point is sold so well. The documentary-style account of Regan undergoing angiography is one of the scariest things I’ve ever seen (and apparently I’m not alone in this). Her mother’s incredulous response to the stumped doctors who suggest an exorcism ritual might have a beneficial placebo effect: “You’re telling me that… I should take my daughter to a witch doctor.” Crushing. And the ultimate triumph of primitive Catholic dogma stung a little less this time when I realized that Father Karras’s spiritual crisis is resolved not by blind faith but by clear evidence. He never stopped being a guy I’d like to hang out with.