For their third horror crosstalk, Mike Thorn and Anya Stanley discuss William Friedkin’s 1973 classic The Exorcist and its controversial sequels/prequels. Over 40 years after the initial release, the original film still enjoys widespread acclaim and constant reference, while the other installments remain divisive. Novak and Thorn compare thoughts and opinions, while also considering The Exorcist’s deeper meanings and implications.

Mike: I was only 12 or 13 when I first saw The Exorcist on TV, which almost definitely helps explain why I found it so terrifying. But I often wonder how much my upbringing might also factor into my strong response to this film; as someone who was raised in a Catholic household, am I more sensitive to the subject matter? While I identify as an agnostic at this point in my life, I feel like having that religious presence in my childhood probably affects my reaction in a big way. I think this comes through not only in the fact that I still find it quite scary, but also in my reaction to its unapologetically (Christian) Manichean morality. More than any other horror film that I can remember, this one seems to sincerely believe in pure evil. You were around the same age when you first saw it, right? Has your relationship to The Exorcist changed at all over time?

While watching it recently, I couldn’t help but reflect on the recent onslaught of very heavily, blatantly Exorcist-influenced films (from Ouija: Origin of Evil to Exeter to The Conjuring). Do you think these repeated rehearsals or re-imaginings change The Exorcist in some ways?

Anya: I saw The Exorcist at around the same age as you. I convinced my mother to rent the film for me after I successfully read the entire book one summer, and she held up her end of the bargain. At the time, I was dragged to church every week, but had begun to question the Southern Baptist upbringing I had. In a few years’ time, I would become comfortable in my lack of faith and stop going to church altogether, but that didn’t stop me from being terrified of Captain Howdy. I genuinely feared having my body possessed by a demon despite also believing that such things didn’t exist. Even today, as a content atheist, I find that occult horror still elicits the strongest emotions out of me. Whereas I was once terrified of a demon taking over my body, I now fear the general idea of not being in control of my own person, and of being a prisoner in my own skin. So, to answer your question, my relationship with The Exorcist has changed over time. But, it’s a more lateral move than one of quality or degrees. I’m still afraid, but the film hits a different pressure point in my psyche now. As far as re-imaginings and Exorcist-influenced films, I like to watch them because, like any other horror subgenre, the central monster may stay the same, but the thematics change over time. The Dawn of the Dead zombies represent something far different than those of 28 Days Later. The antagonist of A Girl Walks Home at Night may have fangs and a cloak, but the symbolism surrounding her is a far cry from that of Bela Lugosi’s Dracula. As society changes, so do our fears, and horror has always been the most powerful reflection of those fears. In that context, it becomes fun to look at recent possession films and see what scares us now, and how The Exorcist’s formula has been utilized. It doesn’t change the original in my eyes, but it does put a finger on the pulse of our cultural trepidations.

Mike: Great point. I think it speaks brilliantly to the genre’s constant adaptability and susceptibility to evolution. When I first saw John Boorman’s Exorcist II: The Heretic a few years ago, I strongly disliked it — I went into it with my arms crossed (“Why even make a sequel to The Exorcist?”). Revisiting the film recently, I was stunned by my completely opposite reaction. It seems to me that, as a sequel, Exorcist II knowingly refutes its predecessor’s tone and aesthetics. If The Exorcist is a mostly enclosed, dread-inducing domestic drama, Boorman’s response is a visually exuberant study of huge psychological and spiritual spaces. It’s most definitely a sequel, because it deals so extensively with the first film’s characters and narrative, but it also almost explicitly counters so many of Friedkin and William Peter Blatty’s ideas. If the first film is, in some sense, about pure evil, Boorman’s production reacts by taking seriously the possibility of “pure good.” The thing is, The Exorcist can’t be topped for pure affect and terror — it’s a perfectly composed expression of its ideas. I think Boorman made the right choice in taking the material to a totally different place. For its ambition and bombast (boosted by that amazing Ennio Morricone score), I must say that I kind of love this film. Having said all this, I realize there are many Exorcist fans who feel very differently. What’s your relationship to Exorcist II?

Anya: You’ve brought up an interesting point, that Exorcist II attempted to flip everything its predecessor did. When thinking about the wild variety of prequels and sequels in regard to tone and visual approach, The Exorcist franchise seems to be the most experimental. The story itself is simple, but its aesthetic is malleable, and Boorman ran with that into heavy psychological horror territory. Exorcist II is, at its core, an origin story. While I’m not averse to origin stories (see: my unapologetic support of Halloween 6’s Thorn storyline), this one just failed to hold my attention. I have tried on four different occasions to see what Pauline Kael calls, “winged camp — a horror fairy tale gone wild,” but all I find is the throw-everything-at-the-wall-and-see-what-sticks methodology that has plagued directors of big-budget sequels since the 1970s. From the mumbo-jumbo dream-sharing Synchronizer device that was really just an excuse to re-use footage from the original film, to the now-psychic Regan and her ability to conquer evil through the power of tap dancing, the entire film bewildered me. I honestly think it would have made an amazing psychedelic musical, and I’m still pulling for “Pazuzu and Me” to hit Broadway. Boorman did indeed take the material to a totally different place, but he did so with a grandeur that didn’t jive with the simplicity that I loved about the original. I can say one nice thing about it: as always, Ennio Morricone can do no wrong.

Mike: If and when “Pazuzu and Me” makes its way to Broadway, I’m there.

Following my re-watch of Exorcist II, I checked out Blatty’s Exorcist III for the first time and enjoyed it thoroughly. It feels kind of like a meeting place between the first and second film’s tones (although it definitely sways more toward the first). But even despite its oppressive mood and serious, sustained interest in evil’s capacities, it pushes tone and narrative a little further than Friedkin’s film. I’m speaking as someone who hasn’t seen the new Scream Factory edit, and who hasn’t read the source novel, Legion. Even in its apparently compromised state, though, this is an affecting and calculated piece of horror cinema; I appreciate its patience, its visual calm and the way it lets its philosophical ideas rise slowly to the surface to generate fear. What are your thoughts on Exorcist III? Have you seen both versions? Do you, by any chance, love Brad Dourif as much as I do? I think he’s one of the great living actors, and he’s on the top of his game here.

Anya: I adore Dourif in everything from Exorcist III to One Flew Over the Cuckoo’s Nest, and lately I’ve been enjoying his role in Rob Zombie’s Halloween. In Exorcist III, he’s the man behind one of horror’s greatest jump scares, you know the one! Exorcist III jives incredibly well with the first film, though my dream double feature would be to pair it with its tonal and thematic sister film, David Fincher’s Se7en. One of its greatest strengths is just what you touched upon, the way it allows ideas to slowly bubble to the surface of a simmering narrative. Not one of the gruesome murders is shown; we only see the aftermath, and we witness the investigators putting clues together. As medical reports come back and witnesses are interviewed, we start to get a bigger picture. So, the horrifying nature of the crimes — and the impossibility of their execution — builds dread in a way that couldn’t be achieved otherwise. In fact, the prequels attempt to garner that level of mounting fear and apprehension using a different approach of brutal onscreen deaths, and the effect is lackluster. Exorcist III’s power lies in its subtlety and a near-Lovecraftian ethos to keep the monster in the shadows, and its monstrosities in plain view.