God, or at least the idea of a god, is an omniscient presence that’s also suspiciously absent in William Friedkin’s The Exorcist. The faith is kept alive in the film’s perpetual use of religious iconography, implying a worldly sense of spiritual belief, but the way in which the various priests conduct their pietism, most exemplified by Jason Miller’s brooding church psychologist Damien Karras, practically render their convictions as moot. At one point, Karras openly doubts his career choice after seeing firsthand the anxieties of his patients.
Of course, the devil is another story. It manifests itself within poor 12-year-old Regan McNeil (Linda Blair), turning a figure of pure innocence into a bile- and vulgarity-spewing demon who goes unnoticed by divine intervention. Friedkin and William Peter Blatty, adapting his own bestselling novel, forgo the easy psychological introspection that’s found in a crisis of faith, instead externalizing the conflict as a physically draining test of human will power and endurance. The filmmakers turn this aspect back on the audience as well, crafting a slow-burn exploitation picture built on his use of overpowering subjectivity—a uniquely uncomfortable spectrum of exaggerated lights, sounds, and colors that assaults our most primal fears on a purely visceral level. It’s telling that, when the protracted exorcism rolls around, it’s not a battle between God and devil, but devil and man.
Friedkin announces his impressionistic intentions with the Iraq-set prologue. A striking image of Father Merrin (Max von Sydow) walking by a row of praying Muslims conveys a universal belief of the world operating under a higher power, yet the forceful soundscapes, jarring cuts, and bizarre asides of fighting dogs suggest the vacancy of divinity where evil thrives.
Von Sydow’s presence alone is an inspired decision, as his role in The Exorcist draws a direct association to his work with Ingmar Bergman and the Swedish auteur’s trademark wrestling matches with faith. This near-silent opening also establishes the film’s preference for tone and theme over story: The horror is mostly dictated through its masterful atmosphere and ellipses, which carefully eliminates exposition and character detail to subconsciously put the viewer in a state of unease and preparing us for the overt frights that occur later on.
With the exception of Karras, the characters are broadly drawn, with minimal insight into their individual identities (Regan’s cherubic features are enough to sell her purity). That, though, is by design. It may seem like Friedkin and Blatty’s empathy is slight given the way the characters suggest pawns in a game, the lack of context also invites us to project our own emotions onto them. For one, it’s hard not to feel for Regan’s actress mother, Chris (Ellen Burstyn), as she begins to entertain the idea that she’s incapable of helping her daughter.
The Exorcist more or less plays out as a classic chamber piece, though one that’s ruthlessly stylized. Lee J. Cobb’s appearance as Detective Kinderman even explicates the film’s fresh, unsettling brand of horror: Although he’s the closest we get to an actual audience surrogate, Cobb’s presence as a cop who loves to “critique” film in a movie that was a turning point for the horror genre is especially poignant given that this was one of the veteran character actor’s final performances. One can’t help but wonder what Kinderman would think of The Exorcist itself.
The Exorcist truly makes the audience feel its characters’ sense of spiritual abandonment, which it savvily connects to the idea of science as a cure-all and how a false promise can lead individuals down the road of discontent. The medical treatments that Regan is subjected to early on in the film come to feel as horrifying in their own way as Mercedes McCambridge’s demonic voice. After enduring her daughter’s prolonged medical treatments, and realizing that as her vast wealth and connections are getting her nowhere, the agnostic Chris becomes open to the “radical course of treatment” that Merrin can perform on Regan. Therein lies the root of The Exorcist’s nature: In the absolute absence of scientific or spiritual comfort, it takes sheer human fortitude (from the film’s characters and audience) to overcome the most intrinsic of fears.
Image/Sound
William Friedkin’s most famous film has lost none of its power after 50 years. Crucial to that effect is the gristly grain of its images. Friedkin was a fan of Warner Home Video’s high-definition Blu-ray, which he and cinematographer Owen Roizman color-timed themselves. One imagines that he would have been pleased with the bump in presentation that the film gets on 4K UHD. On the image front, every terribly minor issue that plagued Warner’s 2013 Blu-ray has been eradicated, from the occasional crushing of blacks to the iffy contrast levels. As for the audio, purists may prefer the original mono, but the Dolby Atmos TrueHD audio mix is a triumph of immersiveness for the way it enhances every grunt and growl to startling effect.
Extras
Both versions of the film are included on the physical release, with the 1973 theatrical version constituting Friedkin’s original vision and definitive cut. The 2000 “Director’s Cut” is more or less “Blatty’s Cut,” as Friedkin wanted to appease screenwriter William Peter Blatty by tacking on hokey expositional sequences that needlessly elaborate on what’s sufficiently implied in the theatrical cut. The remainder of the extras that appeared on the earlier Blu-ray are available via the digital release of the film included on this two-disc set. Those include the separate commentary tracks by Friedkin and Blatty, the exhaustive 70-minute BBC documentary “The Fear of God,” and the treasure trove of trailers, TV spots, and radio ads.
Overall
The Exorcist still gets under the skin after 50 years, and one imagines that the late William Friedkin would be pleased with the bump in presentation that it gets on 4K UHD.
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