The Devil Made Me Do It. Or Maybe It Was Being Homeschooled

When done right, demonic possession is a something that can disturb movie viewers like few other horror tropes. Sure, the idea of seeing our friends rise from the dead to eat our brains is discomforting and tearing our clothing every full moon cycle sounds unpleasant, but the idea of something evil inhabiting our own body as we sit trapped inside is a deeply dark level of human horror. There’s a reason The Exorcist had the effect it did on Friday night movie house audiences, and while I’ll personally always prefer its third telling, I can certainly understand why William Friedken’s work turned stomachs and twisted minds in the 1970s.

Exorcismus has an interesting angle to take on the possession theme. Much like the rather outstanding The Last Exorcism, it toys with the idea of repression and adolescence as the cause/explanation of what might not actually be a demon inhabitation. It’s a good start.

Quick Plot: Emma is your typically moody 15 year old teenager with a less common problem: being home-schooled by her square dad and super Catholic mom alongside her younger do-gooder brother. That kind of schedule can drive a young woman to extremes, be they hanging out with ill-behaved friends or, you know, slicing open her palm to invite Satan in to party.

After getting strange visions of cockroach infestation, having seizures in the kitchen and maybe causing her psychologist’s heart attack, Emma’s problem becomes a tad more serious. Thankfully--or not--her uncle John happens to be a priest with his own experience/failure performing exorcisms on teenage girls. 

The main thrust of Exorcismus is the constant questioning of whether or not Emma is indeed possessed. On that front, the film has some interesting themes to play with. Emma is unhappy being home-schooled and the results have built up a solid frustration souring her on all fronts, especially towards her family. Even Emma herself is unsure whether the demon inside her is of supernatural origin. For all she knows, it may be mental illness that her overeager uncle is simply too quick to misdiagnose.

Exorcismus is a well-directed and acted film (even underneath British dubbing), but it never seemed to reel me in. Filmed in a close, occasionally shaky-cam style, it has an effectively claustrophobic feel that does well in capturing Emma’s own confused psyche.   At the same time, the story’s reluctance to ever commit to horror or family drama goes on too long to the point where its final decision comes more with a ‘finally’ than ‘a-ha!’

High Notes

Yes, you’ve also seen it in The Last Exorcism, but the parallels between repressed womanhood and demonic possession are done quite well here, especially in the hands of lead actress Sophie Vavasseur (yes, she's dubbed in the Instant Watch version, but her physical acting is still vital)

Low Notes

Maybe it was Exorcismus’ slow pacing that eventually segues into an awkwardly fit twist, but I just couldn’t truly find my way into the film’s storytelling

Lessons Learned

“Just wait to see if it happens again” is not the best attitude to take when your daughter is having seizures

Catholics get off on all that Satan crap

Car accidents that take place in super slow motion are typically 95% more fatal than those in real time

Rent/Bury/Buy

Available on Instant Watch through IFC Films, Exorcismus is a perfectly competent possession yarn that might indeed lend you some creeps or something to ponder. It never grabbed me, but I won’t deny that Manuel Carballo’s direction had some freshness about it that made the film a decent way to spend 90 minutes or so. Fans of Exorcist-ish cinema will probably enjoy it, while those looking to catch a few minutes of Doug Bradley sans pins in his head will at least get that.

It just doesn’t look right.

It's Notta Too-mah!

I’m not going to lie: about 84% of the reason why I’m writing about The Manitou is so that I could use my favorite Ahnold line ever in the title for this post. 10% comes from the fact that the titular baddie of this film is petite, hence fitting with February’s Vertically Challenged Villainry. Finally, the remaining 6% comes from the following synopsis:

When Karen (Susan Strasberg) tries to have a tumor removed, she discovers it's actually the deformed fetus of an ancient Native American shaman ready to be reincarnated. Soon, the evil spirit bursts forth, and Karen turns to a sham psychic (Tony Curtis) and a contemporary medicine man (Michael Ansara) for a showdown with the murderous creature. Stella Stevens, Burgess Meredith and Jon Cedar co-star in this campy chiller.

Deformed Native American shaman fetuses AND Burgess Meredith? Life, you are a beautiful, beautiful thing.

Quick Plot: Pretty much what I just said. Susan Strasberg plays Karen, a normal by most means woman who just HAPPENS to discover a fetus growing on the back of her neck. The doctors aren’t much help (though at least they avoid being administrators) so she runs back into the arms of her bogus (but well-dressed) psychic ex-boyfriend, played by Tony Curtis. His name is Harry, which is easy to remember because he has his very own tagline: Harry’s the name and Tarot’s the game. Rock. On.

As Karen’s little surprise grows bigger and her talents expand to speaking a tribal language, it becomes universally accepted that she’s actually some form of surrogate mother to a manitou, i.e., the reincarnation of a Native American medicine man. This is a rare ailment probably taught in the final semester of med school, where wily young folks are too hung over while coasting through senioritis and don't have the time to say 'what the f-"

So what does one do upon discovering that one will be birthing an ancient spirit on the back of one’s neck? Abortion is apparently off the table, as an attempted surgical removal turns the doctor’s scalpel into a weapon of self-destruction. Research seems limiting (“after that, it just goes into rain dances,” bemoans a frustrated study buddy). Harry starts shopping around Native Americans, settling on John Singing Rock to perform an exorcism of sorts (because, you know, it’s the 1970s and all genre films were legally required to include one). All he asks for in return is $100,000 donated to the Indian Education Association. Plus tobacco. I probably would have tried to throw in some popcorn balls or movie passes, but that’s why I’m not a seer.

I don’t know how far I should go in recapping the magic of The Manitou. If you like Star Wars, you will eventually rejoice at the sight of space lasers. If you like The Exorcist, you will drool at seeing a kind-of exorcism. There are also boobs and fake snow. A giant hologram that makes every episode of Sightings look positively horrifying. Spontaneous combustion. Lines like “I’m just a South Dakota Indian with a bag of tricks.”

Oh, and one of February’s most exciting Vertically Challenged Villains ever, a little person Native American who spends more time in the gym than Ahhhnold during his pre-Kindergarten Cop days. 

Need I say more?

High/Low Points

Much like the equally laughable The Devil Within Her, The Manitou’s strength and weakness comes primarily from just how seriously it insists on taking itself. The fact that poor Tony Curtis can deliver his lines with so much earnestness is simply hilarious

Lessons Learned

Say it with me: whatever you do, don’t be an administrator

The best way to rekindle romance is to be impregnated in the back by a Native American medicine man

Duh, like, every machine has its own manitou!

I don’t know that the following is any form of a lesson, but The Manitou seems so gosh darn intent on telling it over the end credits that I feel as though I MUST include the epiologue:

Fact: Tokyo, Japan, 1969: A 15-year-old boy developed what is doctors thought was a tumor in his chest. The larger it grew, the more uncharacteristic it appeared. Eventually, it proved to be a human fetus.

Rent/Bury/Buy

The Manitou is one of those 1970s relics that simply can’t be explained. It must be experienced. It has virtually everything you’ve ever wanted to see onscreen, plus an inconsistent sore and floating elderly possessed woman. I can’t for the life of my cats understand why anybody that breathes would NOT want to watch this film. You do breathe, right?

Because sometimes it's the third serving of pea soup that really takes the salt

I have strong memories of watching The Exorcist III late one night on cable, probably when I was ten or eleven years old. Though I remembered very little of the actual film, I still to this day recall how I felt when it was over, weirdly frightened and reluctant to head to my bedroom without first turning on the light.

Naturally, I had to one day return to a film not really considered to be a classic that had made me so uneasy. Having recently rewatched Friedken’s The Exorcist and, with much less interesting results, John Boorman’s boor-ing (see what I did there?) sequel, it seemed like the time had come to see how well William Peter Blatty’s 1990 thriller held up.

Quick Plot: Detective Kinderman (Lee J. Cobb in the original; a fine George C. Scott here) attempts to solve a series of grisly religious-themed murders in the sunny city of Georgetown. To de-stress, he heads to the movies with his best friend, Father Dyre (Father Karras’ old pal) who isn’t thrilled to hear about slaughtered priests and beheaded altar boys. Before long, extra tragedy strikes and Kinderman becomes personally involved in solving the case.

I won’t spoil one of the first major kills of the film; it’s somewhat predictable, yet still deeply sad and terrifyingly explained. The third murder moves the investigation to a shady hospital, the kind of place where the head of psychiatry can walk around chain smoking (ahhhh, 1990), the head nurse can rudely roll her eyes when being questioned about a crime, and the ‘disturbed’ patients sit wrapped in straitjackets inside dank, unlit cells with leaky faucets. 

It’s inside the mental ward where Kinderman meets Patient X, a sometimes catatonic man who was found roaming the streets with amnesia 15 years earlier. Now awake, the curly haired man oozes evil, waxing nostalgic about the murders he committed in the guise of the Gemini, a fictional serial killer supposedly executed right around the time that “McNeil Kid” threw up her last bowl of pea soup.

Has Pazuzu found his way inside Patient X? Did Father Karras welcome yet another unwanted demon visitor into his body on those fateful stairs? How close is Kinderman to solving the crime and what will he sacrifice in order to do so?

The Exorcist III is, in an easy word, a complicated film densely packed with a few too many ideas. Blatty himself was never quite satisfied with the end result, mainly because the studio (Morgan Creek) insisted on having the final cut so much so that they demanded an exorcism be weaved into the plot (despite the fact that, as you see in the final scene, it really had no place) and changing the title of the film. Though clearly a sequel to Friedken’s classic, Blatty wanted to call the film Legion, after his book that he had used as the basis. Despite the rightful bombing of The Exorcist II: The Heretic, the studio won out, believing a sequel to be more bankable. 

Production, you might say, was probably not buttery smooth.

That being said, however, I kind of loved The Exorcist III. By about thirty minutes in, I realized why the film grabbed me so deeply as a child. Even though most of the violence occurs offscreen, all of it is described in chilling detail; a black child crucified and decapitated, his head replaced by a Jesus statue in blackface. A woman split and stuffed with rosary beads. A little girl, whose ribbons and pink dress are as vivid in your mind as anything you’d see on camera. Blatty, who wrote the screenplay, uses novel-like prose as dialogue and since it’s delivered by fine actors, it comes off as natural and horrific. Some of the special effects don’t look quite as sharp twenty years later, but there are also a few shots that are as unsettling as anything I’ve seen in recent cinema. A hospital murder, given, without exaggeration, four seconds of screentime made me do another audible Magic -like “ugh!” and though I don’t have any religious affiliation, Blatty’s use of macabre Jesus statues gave me the chills.

Though this one is a little more The Joker Goes Catholic for my tastes

Will the film work for everyone? Probably not. There’s an age-old argument that occasionally surfaces when discussing The Exorcist that claims those without Christian leanings are naturally more immune to some of the story’s machinations. Perhaps that’s true for some, but what’s neat about The Exorcist III is that it never feels preaching or pro-religion. There is evil in the world, it argues, evil that may exist as some counterpoint to good (or God, if you like--I don’t) but good men can do something about it, regardless of their faith. You don’t necessarily need an ordained priest to save a soul; sometimes, a detective’s smarts, gun, and determination are enough.

High Points

There’s a lot to be said for laughing in a horror movie, especially one as dark as this. Blatty gives us some truly winning dialogue, especially in the unique but believable friendship between Kinderman and Father Dyre. There’s also plenty of visual gags that simply make the film interesting, including a wonderfully weird dream about heaven (complete with Fabio and Patrick Ewing, natch) and a wheelchair flasher who kind of deserves a sequel of his own

You simply can’t cast crazy better than Billy Bibbit himself, Brad Douriff, and even though you can occasionally catch a little Chucky in his voice, Douriff (and Jason Miller) make the Gemini Killer (maybe) a horrific force

Remember how I said the best part of a movie that ended up with the original title of this one was when a possessed senior citizen crawled on a ceiling? This film has one too. And it could kick that old bag’s ass

Low Points

Perhaps due more to studio intervention than Blatty’s skills, it’s hard to deny the story of The Exorcist III is kind of a mess

Because Scott, Douriff, and most of the priest, police, and medical characters are so darn good, the two scenes that take place inside Kinderman’s home feel out of place. Both the acting and general look just don’t mesh with the rest of the film, taking us out momentarily

Lessons Learned

Never trust a man who has a glamour portrait of himself hanging prominently inside his office

It’s a wonderful life

When conducting an exorcism, nothing says fashion like a tear-away robe

Rent/Bury/Buy

I’m heartily recommending a rental of The Exorcist III, mainly so that you can come back here and tell me if the film affected you in the same odd way it did me. I don’t scare easily, but there’s something so strangely wrong about the murders here, helped, of course, by some fine acting and a director with an instinctively good feel for atmosphere. Had the DVD included a single extra, I’d easily tell you to buy it but sadly, all of Blatty’s cut footage was ‘lost’ by the studio and no one comes back here to tell us why. This is a smart, funny, and deeply scary film that is simply better than it had any right to be. The fact that it’s been branded a cheap sequel is almost a sin.

Or maybe I’m just a wimp.

I Know Who Spammed Me

A few weeks back, my email spammed a whole lot of people: friends, family, former employers, offices I had once applied to work in, renters on Craig's List, etc. While there may indeed be some people on that list welcoming a message about where to find top quality Viagra, I personally felt as though someone had stolen a piece of my identity, crawling around my inbox and mailing those who knew me with a poorly worded advertisement for something I’m not selling.

In modern banking terms, identity theft in a crime and nowhere is this more evident, frightening, or plain gross than horror cinema. Examine:

Possession

It's one thing to find someone else has been using your credit card, but feeling your body host an entirely different (usually evil) entity seems to violate just about every tenant of natural law. Pity The Exorcist's Regan, a mere teenager taken hostage by the cruel, kinky, and weak stomached demon Pazuzu. Similarly, entire towns seem to face a similar short term squatter menace in Wes Craven's Shocker, the Denzel Washington ripoff (face it) Fallen, and the weirdly experimental ninth installment of Friday the 13th. 

Complicated Disease

It’s not MY fault! The werewolf that bit me made me tear off my clothing and attack local loiterers! It’s an excuse used by a very unfortunate constituent of the lycanthropic population and really, how can you not sympathize with young Ginger Snaps, the confused Wolfman, and very tormented David in An American Werewolf In London? Yes, they all get to indulge their inner animal with a frolic in the nude, but as anybody who recognizes the name Rick Baker knows, those transformations just can’t be a scratch on the belly.

Bait & Switch

Perhaps the most physically complex and real estate-demanding identity theft can be seen in the four films (and assumedly counting) sci-fi series Invasion of the Body Snatchers, wherein imperialistic aliens harvest human-sized pods to grow replacement people that can continue your existence in monotone conformity. Those suffering from high blood pressure may see some benefits, but losing that emotion and individual spark means surrendering that quality that makes us human, for better and worse. Then again, the 2007 remake (shortened to The Invasion to best not confuse modern moviegoers) starred a plastic-faced Nicole Kidman as the feeling man’s last hope. So maybe the ability to show emotion doesn’t have so much weight after all.

Replacement Parts

And that leads us to another form of alternate you-ness that puts a whole lot of pressure on Ms. Kidman, the pop culture landmark The Stepford Wives. Based on the novel by Ira Levin, this satirical thriller of sexual politics in suburbia was made into one great film and another that challenges the English language to find words base enough to reflect a proper insult. The tale of Stepford is arguably the wrongest of all of these identity crimes because not only does it involve (spoilers) the murder/genocide of thinking women; it also means that after said strong women are dead, their names, faces, and bodies continue to be used in chauvinistic ways that would have made their living counterparts burn their bras in horror. 

Baby Swap ‘n Such

Due to the mysteries of human life and black and white limitations of ultrasounds, no woman can ever really know what’s brewing inside her uterus. Still, a consenting soon-to-be-mom generally assumes one guarantee: the child is a product of her and an identifiable male partner. Like any rule, there are always exceptions and one needs to look no further than the Rosemary’s Baby‘s Upper West Side, where poor Mia Farrow learns too late that her drunken night of lovemaking wasn’t exactly with the man in her wedding photo. A similar discovery befalls the illustrious Thorn family in 1976’s The Omen, when U.S. ambassador Gregory Peck trades his stillborn son for what he’s told is another innocent newborn. The next five years are then devoted to raising the antichrist. Hey, not everybody’s kid can be an honor student, but sometimes, it’s good to know what’s growing inside your home.

Species Conversion

As someone with a history of self-identifying as a morning person, I can’t imagine anything more horrifying than the biological constraints of vampirisim (well, maybe carrying Satan’s fetus but there are prenatal drugs for that). Aside from completely rearranging my natural schedule, the whole “loss of soul” thing is a viable reason to Just Say No to that handsome midnight caller with an unnatural ivory skin tone. One could make the same argument for zombiism, the disease to which no man or woman is immune. Looking past the obvious fear of being eaten, it’s the blankening of identity that makes this the horror genre’s favorite go-to monster. The idea that your mother could become your murderer is scary; that you would have no restraint at responding by hunting your own child is truly disturbing.

Recasted Sequels

In most cases, it’s the actor’s choice whether or not to reprise his or her role in a (usually) successful film’s followup, so it’s hard to ever feel sorry or concerned for the departing star. Still, it’s sometimes a lot to ask audiences to suddenly shift all sympathy to a replacement actor. Patricia Arquette’s Kristen backflipped her way through A Nightmare on Elm Street 3 only to morph into The Dream Master’s Tuesday Knight, a chain smoker who would probably cough up a lung before reaching the squatting position. Julianne Moore had the thankless task of inhabiting a newly redheaded Clarice Starling following Oscar winner Jodie Foster’s decline in Hannibal, and while Moore makes a believable FBI agent, it’s a jarringly confident makeover for our West Virginian brunette.

So how comfortable are you now in your own skin, and if given the choice, is it that bad to bid it adieu?