Captain Spaulding's Cinematic Catalogue

The Exorcist
(William Friedkin, 1973)
(Starring: Linda Blair; Ellen Burstyn; Jason Miller; Max Von Sydow)





Some movies can be a victim of their own success, especially when it comes to later generations, and I think The Exorcist falls into that trap. Even though this was my first true viewing of the movie, I've seen so many scenes before--- the "pea-soup" scene, the "360-degree-head-turn" scene, "the power-of-Christ-compels-you" scene, as well as numerous other iconic scenes from the movie--- that it hampered my enjoyment of the movie. Watching The Exorcist in 2014, after seeing the movie discussed and parodied so many times over the years, is like reading a book after you've already read the Cliff Notes version, so nothing is a surprise, not even the ending, and the result is a somewhat underwhelming, disappointing experience. That's not a proper critique of the movie itself, however, since it isn't the movie's fault that, forty years after it release, it remains so iconic and so ingrained in popular culture. The longevity of The Exorcist is a testament to the movie's strength and its impact on the genre. It's just a shame that people like myself can't travel back to 1973 and watch The Exorcist in a theater when it was still fresh and new and hadn't already been spoiled and ripped off by countless inferiors.

Is The Exorcist the most frightening film of all time, as so many people label it? No, not even close. And I don't think I would've agreed with that claim even if I had seen the movie in 1973. What it is, however, is a slow-build of tension and dread and suspense that's effectively creepy and unsettling, which is then enhanced by a strong cast, great directing, a solid script, phenomenal special-effects, and an accompanying score that punctuates the horror and gets under your skin. The movie is remembered most for the shocking transformation of fresh-faced Linda Blair into the decomposing, demon-infested embodiment of evil; and appropriately so, since it taps into the parental fear of wanting to protect your child from harm and disease and, you know, demonic possession. (In a weird, twisted sense, I guess you could also say that The Exorcist is a metaphor for a really extreme case of puberty, where, instead of pimples, we get skin lacerations; in response to burgeoning, hormonal-induced desires of sexuality, we stab ourselves in the privates with a crucifix; and, as a result of feeling alienated and alone, we possess priests and propel them out of two-story windows. Normal stuff for any pubescent teenager.)



The highlight of the movie for me, however, was Jason Miller's portrayal of the guilt-ridden priest. The early scenes involving his mother, as well as the ensuing visions after her death, were some of the best scenes in the movie. During the exorcism, when the demon takes the form of the priest's deceased mother and preys on his feelings of guilt and abandonment, the effect is chilling. And speaking of the exorcism, the last thirty minutes of the movie, when the act finally takes place, is thrilling and exceptionally well-crafted. The movie is more of a slow-burn than I expected, but the methodical pace adds to the gravity of the final sequence. When Max Von Sydow finally arrives outside the house, briefcase in tow, in that iconic shot that's often used on the posters and box-covers of the movie, you know that *****'s about to go down. I also appreciate that most of the characters, especially for a horror movie, remain level-headed about the proceedings. Even the priest, instead of immediately jumping on the exorcism bandwagon, approaches the matter with skepticism and rationalism.

It's unfortunate that The Exorcist's legacy has essentially handicapped it for modern audiences. We've heard "Luke, I am your father," long before we watch The Empire Strikes Back. We've seen the iconic shower scene in Psycho years before we watch the actual movie. And we've already had the majority of thrills from the The Exorcist spoiled for us long before we get to put those iconic scenes in context. As a result, despite being a very effective horror movie and containing many great elements, I can't help but feel that The Exorcist is a tad overrated.

Big Jake
(George Sherman, 1971)

In a surprisingly brutal opening, a gang of outlaws rides into the family ranch of Big Jake (John Wayne) and proceed to kill nearly every man, woman and child in the vicinity, illustrating their cruel and dangerous nature. When they kidnap Big Jake's grandson, it's up to the Duke to track them down. The first 45 minutes or so of the movie is very strong, with the aforementioned opening, along with Wayne's introduction and an elaborate shoot-out that results in multiple casualties. From there, however, the movie slowly loses its steam. Big Jake's estranged sons accompany him on the trip, and there are several forced scenes that try to emphasize their awkward relationship. It doesn't help that the actors playing Jake's sons give very poor performances. The occasional goofy humor stands out like a sore thumb as well, since it clashes with the movie's tone. I watched The Shootist recently, and I was a bit taken aback and saddened by how sickly Wayne appeared in that movie. Big Jake was released five years earlier, and it's obvious that Wayne was in much better health at that point in time, since he still has his trademark swagger and vitality. Richard Boone's performance as the main antagonist is also a highlight of the movie. Big Jake is a solid, traditional western, but it could have been so much better if the second half had maintained the strong momentum of the first half.


The Mercenary
(Sergio Corbucci, 1968)

If you watch enough spaghetti westerns, you start to notice that, despite varying plots, the basic formula remains the same. I'm generally okay with that, since it's a formula that I continue to enjoy, but sometimes, like when watching The Mercenary, I long for something different and a little less predictable. Franco Nero (the original Django) plays the typical mysterious gunslinger with a ridiculously fast draw that is seen in so many films of this genre. In return for financial gain, he fights alongside a group of revolutionaries, led by a Mexican Colonel who reminds me of a cross between Tuco and Lee Van Cleef's character from The Good, The Bad and the Ugly. Jack Palance, with his unique physical features, makes for an interesting villain. There are some great shoot-outs and badass quips, along with a trademark Morricone score. I loved the showdown near the end (always my favorite part about these spaghetti westerns), but overall I thought The Mercenary was fairly average.


Guns for San Sebastian
(Henri Verneuil, 1968)

Unlike The Mercenary, Guns for San Sebastian is absent of gunslingers and almost completely devoid of gunfire, allowing it to distance itself from other spaghetti westerns in a manner that I found quite endearing. Anthony Quinn continues to impress me in every role I've seen, and Guns for San Sebastian is no exception. He plays an outlaw who develops a bond with an old, saintly priest. When they stumble into the crumbling remains of a dying town, the priest is shot and killed, and Quinn, despite being an atheist, puts on the robes and is then mistaken for a priest by the bullied townspeople. He develops a bond with the people and helps them fight off a Charles Bronson-led gang of predatory Indians. Quinn, despite his rough exterior, often infuses his characters with genuine tenderness (his excellent performance in 1962's Requiem for a Heavyweight, one of my all-time favorite movies, comes to mind), and the same is true in Guns for San Sebastian. The movie is more reserved and stoical than most films of this type, and there's little action until the last 30 minutes or so, but when the time comes for bullets and blood, the movie doesn't hold back or come up short. Guns for San Sebastian is a very underrated, atypical spaghetti western. I enjoyed it quite a bit. A pleasant surprise.