The Exorcist (1973)

 

I promise I’ll get to the exorcism that is the heart of The Exorcist. I will. It’s just that most people only seem to remember that part of the film and neglect all of the stories that precede it, and those stories are very significant to the plot. They reveal a series of disruptions in the lives of the four characters who will face off against a demon who has possessed a young teenaged girl. It’s not just the possession and the exorcism that warrant attention, however, and the screenwriter, William Peter Blatty, won the Oscar for adapting his own novel into the screenplay, and he had some sense that we needed to know about the major characters rather than immediately going to the process of getting rid of the demon. Motivation can matter.

Take, for example, the character who actually opens the film, Father Lankester Merrin (the great Max von Sydow, whose face conveys such a world weariness). He’s an archaeologist/priest who’s at a dig in Iraq when he discovers an unusual object. He’s very old and has a heart condition, and it’s probably not the best of ideas to have him puttering around with stuff that might have been associated with an ancient demon, a demon that appears to him in a vision, by the way, that should scare him away from having anything to do with such creatures.

Jason Miller plays another priest, Father Damian Karras, who’s a psychiatrist as well as a priest. (Did all priests have to have two jobs back then?) He’s based in Georgetown, where he counsels others in the priesthood, but his heart and his mind are with his mother in New York. She died there, and he feels as though he’s abandoned her. He confides to another priest that he’s started to question his faith, but his belief in Catholicism will be shaken even more later in the film. Miller has a sort of world-weariness to his face as well, but it’s undercut by the deep sadness his character has over his mother’s death.

The central plot mostly revolves around Chris MacNeil, an actress working on a film in Georgetown, and her daughter, Regan, who’s accompanying her mother after her parents have split up. Ellen Burstyn plays Chris, who is very focused at the start of the film on her performance. We see a couple of moments of her preparation for a sequence that’s being shot on the campus, and it shows us how attentive she is to the details of the character she’s portraying. Burstyn exhibits that same kind of intensity throughout the film, as she starts to realize that her daughter has become possessed. The Worried Mother can be just another cliché when it’s in less capable hands than Burstyn’s, but she manages to remain memorable even when the primary focus is on her daughter.

The daughter, played by Linda Blair, who was just 13 years old when the filming of The Exorcist began, undergoes a series of odd changes. She can’t seem to control what is happening to her, and her mother, with the best of intentions, seeks out medical advice to treat the young girl. There are scenes involving medical procedures that, for me, are just as horrifying as what happens during the exorcism, and they are just as graphic as what happens during the exorcism. Blair has to endure a great deal in this film; it can’t be easy to convey a sense of possession, especially when you’re coated in hideous makeup and tossed around a room like a doll. It’s a very physical performance, and how she managed to survive all of the crazy stuff that happens to her character is a marvel.

I’ve never been completely certain as to how Regan became possessed. It seems to be the fault of a Ouija board, but it does seem odd that a demon would call itself Captain Howdy and then become so intensely violent and vicious in its possession. Yes, I do understand that the demon is trying to confuse Regan with its non-threatening name; I’m not that dense. It’s just that the change is somewhat abrupt. Then again, we need to suspend our disbelief in order to accept that Regan has become possessed anyway, so why not allow it to be the result of contact by Ouija? Much of what audiences remember is the escalating series of issues Regan faces, resulting in the death of Chris’ director. Regan’s room is cold, she begins speaking in voices, odd writing appears on her stomach, so many memorable moments. Father Karras witnesses many of these events, but it takes a while for him to accept that the girl has become possessed. Again, his own questions about faith lead him to be a reluctant counselor.

Eventually, Father Karras and Chris agree to summon an exorcist, and who should it be but Father Merrin, the aged priest from the beginning of the film. All of the stories converge when he arrives at the home and begins his preparations for the exorcism. Father Merrin will confront a demon in the body of a young girl, Father Karras will need to draw upon his remaining faith in order to believe that the demon can be exorcised, Chris will have to remain strong (no easy feat) while hearing all of the noise that the exorcism generates and the pain that her daughter feels, and poor Regan herself will have to survive everything that happens to her. It’s four people going through a rigorous form of torment.

The possession itself does not take up the largest portion of the film, but the sequences in Regan’s bedroom are undoubtedly the highlight. You can’t watch someone’s head turn all the way around without feeling stunned, and you can’t see the green vomit coming from Regan’s mouth with feeling repulsed. The demon’s cursing in many languages (glossolalia, a term you seldom see these days) and its personal attacks on Father Merrin and Father Karras still have the power to shock all of these decades later, and watching Regan’s body float above the bed as the two priests try to compel the demon to leave the girl? Wow! Those special effects are still powerful. Why weren’t the special effects in this movie even nominated? No award was given in the category that year, but surely what the filmmakers achieved here was worthy of recognition.

The Exorcist is exceptional filmmaking on many levels. The acting is superb, the script (again, adapted by the author of the novel on which it was based) keeps the tension mounting, and the cinematography is spectacular. I was only 10 when the film was released and, therefore, was not allowed to see it. When it was first shown on television, it came with warnings about the intensity of the images, no doubt a response to all of the fainting that allegedly took place during the theatrical release. Now, of course, films that attempt to shock us have made this film from 1973 seem tame by comparison in terms of the horror being depicted, but what continues to resonate are the performances by the four lead actors, each of them grappling with their own issues while trying to do what seems impossible. That’s why it remains an influential movie.

Oscar Wins: Best Screenplay Based on Material from Another Medium and Best Sound

Other Oscar Nominations: Best Picture, Best Director (William Friedkin), Best Actress in a Leading Role (Ellen Burstyn), Best Actor in a Supporting Role (Jason Miller), Best Actress in a Supporting Role (Linda Blair), Best Cinematography, Best Art Direction-Set Decoration, and Best Film Editing

Jesus Christ Superstar (1973)

Jesus Christ Superstar is the musical retelling of the last week in the life of Jesus Christ. The film version takes some interesting approaches to call attention to the theatrical roots of the production, including locating the action in some ruins in the Israeli desert. A busload of what appear to be hippies stage the musical among the ruins and caves and scaffolding, even putting on costumes during the opening sequence to cover up their modern clothing. The focus of the plot is Judas’s betrayal of Christ and all of the key moments that follow such as the Last Supper (beautifully rendered in a tableaux) and Jesus’s night of self-doubt and questioning of his fate (perhaps the best part of Ted Neeley’s title performance). Judas is spectacularly and energetically played by Carl Anderson, and having his character being the center of the narrative is a wise choice given the comparatively stiff acting of Neeley as Jesus. However, the best performance is perhaps Yvonne Elliman as Mary Magdalene. Her rendition of “I Don’t Know How to Love Him” is beautifully sung and stunningly shot as well; it’s as if the filmmakers’ knew that the song and the singer would stop the show. I do wonder, after watching Elliman here, why she didn’t a longer and more successful career. Overall, the film is very much a product of its time. When Christ cleans out the temple of its bad influences, for example, there are images referring to drug paraphernalia, the whole drug culture, and even (obliquely) the Vietnam War. Jesus himself would look perfectly at home on a surfboard with his long, dirty blond hair and piercing blue eyes. And during the performance of the title song, Anderson’s Judas wears fringe that would rival the outfit worn by the Who’s Roger Daltry at Woodstock. The film also has quite a few homoerotic undertones. The disciples, honestly, are all pretty hot, and the pharoses and priests appear bare chested with crisscrossing black chest plates that wouldn’t look at all out of place in a leather bar. Herod’s number taunting the captive Jesus (“Try It and See”) is quite campy with its colorful wigs and makeup. It’s probably supposed to suggest Herod’s decadence, but it does come off as quite queer (and overtly anti-Semitic). The cinematography of the film is especially noteworthy, making effective use of the Middle Eastern setting, and the occasional freeze frames during the choreography and the consistent transitions of fading to black are effective. While this film (like almost any film dealing with Biblical matters) raises questions about its faithfulness (yes, I did use that word intentionally) to the text, as a film itself, Jesus Christ Superstar serves best as a time capsule of the period in which it was created and the theatrical traditions out of which it was borne rather than as a sacred text.

Oscar Nomination: Best Original Song Score and/or Adaptation

The Day of the Jackal (1973)

 

The Day of the Jackal depicts an assassination attempt on the life of French President Charles de Gaulle in 1963. A militant terrorist organization—I realize that might be redundant—known as OAS (Organisation armee secrete), upset over Algeria being granted its independence from France, has failed several times to kill de Gaulle; the opening sequence demonstrates how seemingly incapable they are of carrying out such a mission. Several OAS leaders, hiding out in Austria, decide to hire a professional hitman and choose the “Jackal” (played rather stoically, appropriately, by Edward Fox). Much of the film is taken up with the Jackal’s preparations, including obtaining fake passports and other papers, having a special rifle made, and changing his identity several times when he’s found out. He also kills several people along the way, including a female lover and a male lover he acquires at different points in the narrative, quite progressive for the time. He’s almost discovered several times due to the detailed work done by French deputy police commissioner Claude Lebel (played in an understated manner by Michael Lonsdale, later to be a Bond villain) and his assistant (played by a very young Derek Jacobi). Lebel works with a collection of government, police, and military officials, and the scenes involving the cabinet meetings are hilarious. Most of the members are clueless, having far too much faith in the skills of their underlings and their own cognitive powers. Lebel is always a step ahead of the cabinet even if he’s always a step or two behind the Jackal. The tension in the film gets heightened by the intercutting of the Jackal’s preparations in the face of being discovered and Lebel’s careful, thorough work to locate the potential assassin no matter which country he’s in or which disguise he’s taken on. At almost 2.5 hours in length and at a much slower pace that today’s films, it might seem like an unusual choice for a Film Editing nomination, but The Day of the Jackal maintains a strong feeling of suspense throughout the entire running time. It also seamlessly uses footage of the actual President de Gaulle at a Liberation Day ceremony at a climactic moment. It’s a testament to the skill of the filmmakers that, even though we know that de Gaulle wasn’t assassinated 10 years before the film was made, we still wonder if the Jackal will pull off his $500,000 job. The film leaves us with a sense of bewilderment over the true identity of the Jackal, forcing us to wonder how much or what we ever knew about him.

Oscar Nomination: Best Film Editing

The Sting (1973)

I've always considered The Sting, winner for Best Picture of 1973, to be just about perfect. It has just about all you could ever want in a good movie: great actors at the top of their game, an engrossing plot, moral complexity in terms of what and who are good and bad, and a great musical score. What's not to love about this film? I've been a fan since I saw it at the tender age of 10. Yes, my mother took me to see movies like this when I was 10. Perhaps she's more responsible for my love of movies than even she could fathom. (She also took me to see Funny Lady in 1975 when I was only 12, so perhaps she also bears some responsibility for my love of Barbra Streisand, but that's a post for another day--and another site.)

The Sting is about the attempts by Johnny Hooker (Robert Redford) to exact revenge on Doyle Lonnigan (Robert Shaw, two years before Jaws yet just as crusty) for having his friend and fellow grifter Luther (Robert Earl Jones--yes, HIS father) murdered for having lifted some money that was Lonnigan's. Well, it wasn't really Lonnigan's because he's a crook too, just like almost everyone in this film. And that is what makes Lonnigan's and then Hooker's desire for revenge all the more powerful.

Hooker joins forces with Henry Gondorff (Paul Newman), who's known for his ability to play what's known as "the long con," a kind of elaborate scam that takes time to set up and time to pull off successfully. They decide to con Lonnigan over bets for horse races, and their methods for getting him "on the hook" are some of the most entertaining parts of the film, particularly the sequence involving a card game aboard a train.

You've already seen two names that should bring a smile to your face: Newman and Redford, reunited here after Butch Cassidy and the Sundance Kid. They're both charming, just the kind of complicated and beautiful leading men that the 1970s movies seemed to specialize in. They're obviously bad guys, what with the con games and all, but who wouldn't want these two in your corner? Who wouldn't be taken in by those smiles?

The supporting cast is all first-rate. In addition to Shaw and Jones, you have Charles Durning as an inept, crooked cop, Ray Walston and Harold Gould and a dozen more as the supporting players for the con, and Eileen Brennan, who does more with a sideways glance than you can imagine, as a madam who is Gondorff's lover and business "partner."

I love the intertitles throughout the film. They hearken back to the days of silent movies, but they're so lovingly rendered in sepia tones reminiscent of the style of the decade of the 1930s that serves as the setting for the film. And who can't recall that music? Scott Joplin's rags fit the tone of the film perfectly. I once owned a cassette tape on which someone had recorded the album for me. I wore it out from constant playing, so enamored of this film I was at the time. I think I might have to order the CD of the music if it's available, just to continue my reminiscences.

This is the kind of movie that gets it all correct: the performances, the story, the costumes, the music--you name it. You should take the time some day to shut off the telephones and lock the doors. Turn out the lights, and turn on The Sting. It's like visiting with an old friend, a welcome return to a warm feeling that you once had.

American Graffiti (1973)

Watching American Graffiti, a nominee for Best Picture of 1973, is like catching up with an old friend. I've seen this film several times in my life, and getting to see it again is a chance to relive some very fond memories. I wasn't even born yet in 1962, the year in which the movie is set, but the story and the characters are really timeless. Almost everyone has had a night like the one this movie depicts, that night when all of the decisions you have make in life seem to coalesce.

The plot is pretty paper-thin, in many ways. Two recent high school graduates spend their last night in a small town before going off to college. Ron Howard and Richard Dreyfus play the leads, and the bulk of the movie is what happens on a "typical" night to them and their friends. They hang out at the local diner, and they cruise up and down the streets of the town. They meet new people and talk with old friends. Nothing more serious than that happens...well, except that both young men come to realize what they want out of life.

I've always empathized with Charles Martin Smith's Toad. Here's a guy who just can't seem to catch a break, yet he's always upbeat. He usually drives a scooter, but he gets to drive his friend's car for this one night and he makes the most of it, picking up a girl and buying liquor and making out at the lake and getting the car stolen--it's quite a full evening for him. In some ways, Toad is the archetypal "nerd" character that became such a staple of films in the following decades.

Then again, I also feel a kinship with Dreyfuss' Curt. He's the smart kid who's always second-guessing himself. He knows he's destined to go to college; he just has to convince himself of it first. And when an opportunity for love presents itself in the guise of a blonde in a white Thunderbird, he almost throws away his future for it. Perhaps that's why this film has such resonance (no, not blondes in T-birds); we all can see someone like ourselves in it.

Overall, this is a jewel. Not a bad performance or a wrong moment in it. And how can you resist that music? There's a reason why the 1950s made a comeback in the 1970s, and that reason is American Graffiti. I owned the soundtrack for many years on vinyl (yes, I am that old), and I wasn't the only one. Even those of us who didn't grow up during that decade can still feel a nostalgic twinge whenever "Rock Around the Clock" comes on the radio (which, granted, isn't that often unless you're listening to the oldies station anyway, but still...).

I feel intense sadness at the end of the movie when we're told what happened to the key characters later in life. It's almost a cliche in films now to end with this device, but American Graffiti uses it to great effect. Certainly, not all of their stories end unhappily. The opposite is true in several cases. But it's as if someone managed to find out what happened to all of your childhood friends; you can't help feeling a sense of nostalgia and regret. Perhaps that's another reason for why this movie retains its appeal after all these years.

Cries and Whispers (1973)

Nominated for Best Picture of 1973, Cries and Whispers is one of the rare foreign language films to be nominated for the top prize. It's one of Ingmar Bergman's most powerful movies. The story is relatively simple to summarize, I suppose. Two sisters, Karin and Maria, come to their family home to watch over their dying sister Agnes. However, the film is about much more than that simple plot description might suggest. This is an intensely painful film to watch, and it moves at a glacial pace, but it is very much worth the time and the energy.

It starts in a rather audacious way: a series of images, including several clocks. Almost 10 minutes pass before any character speaks, but the concept of the passage of time has already been prioritized. A series of flashbacks, usually signaled by a close-up of the face of one of the actresses, reveal defining moments in their past. And each moment is heartwrenching. The one that everyone focuses upon, of course, is Karin's self-mutilation. I don't really know that I could explain why she does it, except perhaps as a way to feel something, anything, in the sterile environment in which she has become trapped. So rarely does she express emotions that it almost seems like a relief to her to feel such pain. It's a powerful, uncomfortable scene, but the movie is filled with such discomfort. That's not to suggest that it isn't also a fascinating movie; it is quite spellbinding. You are drawn into the lives of these women, and you try to understand the source of such enormous pain felt by them all.

This is a film about guilt and shame. It's about regrets and reconciliations. It's about the ways that we treat each other, both good and bad. It's about the responsibilities that we have to each other and the resentments we often have about those responsibilities. It's about isolation and about community. It requires...no, demands (as do many Bergman films) your attention.

I was particularly intrigued by his use of the color red throughout the film. It's there in Karin's blood, of course, but it's also the color of the walls in several rooms of the house. And rather than fades to black or white, scene changes are often indicated by fades to red. Perhaps he's trying to suggest something about the links we share through our blood lines, about the genetics we have in common. Perhaps it's a commentary on the anger which too often fills our lives, red being the color most often associated with that emotion. I suppose that is one of the treasures of a Bergman film, that ability to discuss what it all means. It was one of his greatest talents as a filmmaker.

I also think this film is a statement about women and the emotions they must carry. All of the male characters are minor, and none of them are particularly appealing. You wonder why these women married or fell in love with such unattractive people. Perhaps it was Bergman's way of placing the emphasis instead on female bonds. Certainly, the women are more complex and more interesting. And the performances, though at times enigmatic (just as the script might have dictated), are all stellar. Kari Sylwan gives an almost silent performance as Anna, the maid. In fact, much of the movie is built upon silences, and she conveys a great deal of emotion with merely her face or the way she carries her body. Liv Ullman plays Maria, and she brings her usual craftsmanship to the part; as in several other Bergman films, she shares screen time with equally talented women (think Persona, for example) and more than holds her own. Harriet Andersson plays Agnes with such a level of ferocity that it's difficult to watch her writhe in pain, but it's equally difficult to turn away from her at those same moments. The standout for me, though, is Ingrid Thulin as Karin. She brings such a depth to the range of emotions she must convey, and she is able to do so with such tiny gestures or facial expressions. It's a stunning performance from an actress apparently little known outside of Europe.