When trying to decide what film to write about for my first "Son of Celluloid" piece, I looked through my video/DVD library for ideas. The first thing to catch my eye were four copies of The Exorcist. (I recently discarded a fifth copy when moving to Seattle). There was the original video, as released in theaters in 1973; The Special Edition 25th Anniversary Video, containing a never before seen BBC documentary that included the scenes cut from the theatrical release; a DVD version of the anniversary edition, because when I got my first DVD player and started rebuying films, along with Aliens, The Exorcist was on the "buy first" list; and finally, the DVD of the Version You've Never Scene re-release, scenes restored.

How many films in your library have more than one copy? How many have at least four? So the answer to the question: What film do I write about first was clear: The Exorcist. Besides, whenever I showed The Exorcist in my film studies class, I always encountered students asking not to watch it because it gave them nightmares or for religious fears. No other film, in my teaching experience, received that kind of reaction.

So, what scenes come to mind when you think of the film? Whenever I told my film students we would be studying The Exorcist, I heard mumblings about the scene where the demon rapes the little girl with a crucifix, or when the demon vomits green pea soup on Father Karras. Ask people what they remember about the original release and those two scenes will usually come to mind. It's interesting how less than a minute of a two-hour film is all people can focus on. Disgusting, a woman said recently at a convention when I asked if she had seen the film. Disgusting Masterpiece, I replied.

The Exorcist has been called many things, but that sums it up. It's a disgusting masterpiece that still shakes up audiences today. But is it a masterpiece because of less than a minute of film? I've always used The Exorcist as an example of good film and was amazed how a film made in 1973 still held my students in its grip. Director William Friedkin still gets them to jump and peek from between their fingers. The question is how and why a film can last twenty-five years.

The answer is that it works on so many levels. Stephen King, in Danse Macabre, attributes the immediate success of the film in 1973 to its underlying theme of the youth rebellion of the sixties and seventies when young people rejected their parents' way of life, questioned their parents' religious beliefs, used profanities, and engaged in unbridled sex (I wish). No one knew why. Parents screamed: it's the drugs, those strange eastern religions, and the devil! This inability to explain their childrens' behavior, according to King, was perfectly represented by Regan because she too falls from her mother's control. Possessed by demonic forces, she blasphemes religion, attacks her mother, demands that the doctors fuck her, and is forced to sexually abuse herself with a crucifix.

Having grown up through this so-called turbulent period, I can easily agree with King's analysis. My Catholic grandmother, seeing posters of The Doors, Hendrix, and Led Zeppelin in my bedroom, burst into my incense clouded room while my friends and I listened to Stairway to Heaven, and splashed us with holy water. I may have even yelled, your mother sucks dicks in hell, but my memories of back then are mostly a haze.

But why do people today, who weren't even born during the release of The Exorcist, still find themselves enthralled? I'll tell you. Did you ever sit to read a good book? After fifteen minutes you're no longer aware you're in a chair, or at a bus stop, or on a subway train going home from work. No. You're totally absorbed, there, in the story. All your senses absorbed, manipulated, at the mercy of the author. That's what Friedkin does to you with The Exorcist. He sucks you in, swooshes you around, and spits you out. But how? Well, that's the trick.

Friedkin doesn't just try to tell a scary story, like so many failed horror films, because a screenplay without style is like looking at the pictures in a book without reading the words. Friedkin drags us through two hours of heightened awareness with sight and sound. He could have just told Blatty's story about a battle between good and evil, where an obnoxious demon (yes, there are nice demons) takes over a lily-white, prepubescent girl. Regan was every mother's perfect child. Watch the beginning again, when we meet the mother and daughter, and notice how much time he spends setting up their perfect relationship. And this was cut down from the original version that showed even more mother-daughter bonding, scenes that didn't even make it into the re-release. I'm sure that for many viewers, the film works on that level alone and that was enough. But tell me looking at the pictures is better than also reading the words. Instead of only working at the basic plot level of good (a child), and evil (the demon), Friedkin uses images, light, and sound to convey the eternal battle.

Fortunately, you don't need to know how the medicine works for it to cure you. Still, you might wonder, what are the tricks?
Watch The Exorcist again (any version will do, but I recommend the latest). The film starts in Iraq (a reference to King's analogy of the weird eastern influence on the children of the sixties?) with Father Merrin doing archeological work. Something is discovered, a small gargoyle-like head. Suddenly Merrin's demeanor changes. He recognizes the demon. The gargoyle is the demon's calling card. We learn later that Merrin had performed an exorcism in Africa and saved a young boy from the same evil sprit. (A story that is also being made into a film.) Merrin knows the demon has returned, as announced by the gargoyle, and suddenly becomes sullen. He knows there will be a rematch. A battle to the death. But where?

What a setup! And all in the first five minutes. Now Friedkin uses duality in images, sound, and lighting to heighten the experience of good vs. evil. The soft buzz of insects cuts to the loud, irritating banging metal of a one-eyed blacksmith. The heartbeat tick of the clock when Merrin examines the artifact drops to dead silence when the clock suddenly stops, stopping the audiences' collective heartbeat at the same time. When Merrin leaves the office, Friedkin takes him (and you) through light streets and dark passages, quiet alleys and noisy restaurants, finally walking quietly along a bright street, when a loud, black horse and carriage almost runs him down, startling him and you.

Cut to the silent, wind blown dig site where the dark shadow of the demon statue looms over Merrin as a black dog fights a white dog in the dust below. Merrin stands on a ledge facing the man-size demon statue like gunmen in the streets of Laredo at high noon. There is going to be a shoot-out - an even match. We know there is going to be a fight. But where?

Cut to a house in Georgetown, outside Washington D. C., where Chris MacNeil is working on a script. We hear something go bump in the attic. The demon has landed. We now know where the duel will take place. Friedkin has us by the senses. But he needs to set us up, tease us before he drops the blade, so he uses a bait and build technique, taking time to set up the loving relationship between the mother and the daughter. This way, when that loving bond is destroyed, torn apart by the demon's appearance, you actually feel the mother's pain, you actually understand, you even care. (A lesson more horror directors should learn. Set up characters. Make us care that someone dies.) Watch Ellen Burstyn's face after her daughter is possessed and you'll understand why she was nominated for an Academy Award.

Then Friedkin introduces Father Karras - a psychiatrist priest! That says it all. Science verses Religion. Karras, a priest who doubts his faith, a man whose job is counseling other priests, but isn't sure he believes in God, a priest who doesn't believe in demons is the one who must fight the demon. Beautiful! Other directors might have chosen to skip the character development, but Friedkin and Blatty (who also wrote the screenplay) were smart enough to leave it in. I love how later, when Chris asks Karras to help her daughter, Karras insists on seeing her as a psychiatrist, but Chris screams she needs a priest, forcing Karras to face his personal demon if he is to save the child.

But wait, there's more. Friedkin continues to weave his magic with images. Look for the scene where Chris walks home from her day on the movie set. She sees nuns dressed in white on one side of the street while surrounded by children in Halloween costumes: ghosts, witches, and demons. Look for the cross-shaped panels on the wooden doors in Chris' house. Some right side up and some up-side down. Watch which scenes Friedkin makes them obvious and which scenes they are noticeably absent. Remember, nothing appears on that screen that isn't part of the plan. At least in good filmmaking.

Watch Friedkin play with light and dark again. Karras going from a dark, loud subway, to a bright street, to his mother's dark apartment. The attic is dark when Chris goes to check for rats and light when the candle flares. Regan's dark room contrasts with the light hall. Look for the shadows on Chris when she is at the psychiatrist. The woman is in the dark about what is happening to her daughter. Watch how the lamp light beams on Merrin (the savior) when he stands over Regan's bed during the exorcism. Watch how the banister casts a shadow on Karras' face, half light, half dark, to show he's torn between science and religion.

Then Friedkin plays with sound grabbing our senses with loud (representing evil) and quiet scenes (representing good). My favorite is when Regan screams, fucking bastard. Cut to Father Karras holding the Eucharist and praying softly at a mass. When Regan is hospitalized, listen for the loud, nerve grating sounds of the CAT scan and x-ray viewing screen, followed by the quiet, almost silent scenes of doctors thinking or giving needles. Then there is the scene where the demon whips Regan's body in bed, growling. She says, fuck me, to the doctor and screams loudly, violently, when they grab her. Her mother cries and screams louder. Bang. The door slams to dead silence as the adults sit quietly in the hall to talk.

Sound is used to portray duality again at the psychiatrist's office when Regan grabs the doctor by the balls. He screams. Regan screams. Cut to total quiet as Karras jogs at a serene outdoor track, soon to be met by Detective Kinderman. In another famous scene, Regan tells Chris she killed Burke Dennings, forces her mother's head between her legs, and throws furniture around the room. Chris screams. Cut to Karras quietly walking over a hill to meet Chris in the serenity of a park. The cavalry to the rescue? Or so we are lead to believe.

There are more scenes to look for and listen to, but the point is made. Listen and watch. But the question remains. How many horror films being made today work beyond the level of story? You've probably seen what's been made recently. Can you even remember their titles? Yet, ask someone, "Have you ever seen The Exorcist, and see what kind of reaction you get.
And does digital sound and added scenes make a difference? Having taught film studies for the last ten years, I estimate seeing the original version over fifty times, including the original theater release. But with the re-released version you've never seen, I actually heard dialogue I never understood before. Like when the servant says, "It wants it's bonds removed," referring to the child, sending a chill up my spine. Additional background music adds even more suspense, which, from the theater audience's reaction, works!

Recently, at Fangoria's Weekend of Horrors in Los Angeles, I asked Friedkin if it was true that he fired a gun behind actor's heads to startle them. He smiled and said, wickedly, "Yes! It forced them to get involved." And that's what he does to you, forces you to get involved. Watch for the scene where Karras listens to the tape recording of Regan and the phone rings. That's when Friedkin fires the gun.

After its original release, The Exorcist won Academy Awards for sound and screenplay, nominations for cinematography, best picture, best director, best actress, and best supporting actor and actress. The Golden Globe was even more generous.
This is a must-see for horror fans!

So that's the first of what I hope will be many more articles to come. Some of the things I have planned are "Romero, Romero, Where art thou?" - a homage to horror icon George Romero, Sam Raimi's contributions to Splat-Stick with his Evil Dead Trilogy or The Three Stooges meet The Texas Chainsaw Massacre, Where have all the horrors gone? - The state of horror on television, Must-see rentals for true horror fans - the good, the bad, and the so bad it's good, The Blair Witch controversy - horror or horrible? But I'd also like to hear from you, the readers. Let me know what films you'd like to hear about, talk about, and bitch about, and I'll see what I can do. So write me at pbrugalett@attbi.com