THE DUKE ON
EXORCIST - THE BEGINNING
EXORCIST - THE BEGINNING
"He's Right, It Isn't Shit!"
It does The Duke no good to relate tales of cinematic
catastrophe, to review flicks which, in the fabled words of
Nietzsche, “Stink like the festering dung of a scabies-riddled
baboon.” I’d much rather tell you all about the wonders of The
Nostril Picker or Suicide Club than talk about cack-spray like
The Alien What Fighted A Predator. I mean folks work hard on
these things. It ain’t nice when someone takes delight in
tearing someone else’s joy asunder.
To be all the forthcoming in Holland, when I sat down for to
view the flick by the name of The Beginning Of The Exorcist, I
was sure that some wretched, boil-faced hag of a film was about
to assault me in various soul-molesting fashions. I imagined I
would leave the place with a thousand-yard stare etched forever
on my skull, like in that picture what recently got stolen from
the art gallery. The one with a fella screaming that went on to,
I believe, become the basis for a trio of Wes Craven pictures.
But no. Amazingly, however stacked the odds may be against it,
and they were stacked like a motherfucker, is the truth of the
matter, I actually, believe it or not, really enjoyed this flick
about The Exorcist – All The Stuff What Happened Back In The Day.
The power of Christ compels you to sit the fuck down and pay
serious attention.
The Exorcist was one of those flicks I always wanted to see as a
youngster, and was never allowed to. I had to wait until I was
old enough, was the harrowing reality, which in fact meant
waiting until I could find a copy and then watch it without the
folks knowing a damn thing about it. It was one of the Video
Nasties, a flick banned for decades on account of its sheer,
unrelenting terrorosity.
Actually, it was banned on account of kids might see it and get
all disturbed, or it might cause them to find new ways to
entertain themselves of an evening, like maybe masturbating with
a crucifix and then twisting the neck around and then spitting
some stomach-sauce over a priest.
On account of the BBFC, us kids in the United UK had to make do
with Pogs.
Curiously enough, the two sequels were passed with nary a word.
Exorcist II should, of course, have been banned, on account of
the wretched shite what it turned out to be. The third one
proves much too depressing an experience for The Duke to develop
much of a thought about.
Cheer the hell up, George C Scott. You were in Dr. Strangelove,
for Gods sakes, the best of all Kubrick’s pictures.
Anyway, I finally got to see The Exorcist, and loved it dearly.
Or at least, I convinced myself I loved it dearly, on account of
I had spent a decade waiting to see it, and only the pinnacle of
cultural achievement could justify such longing.
It didn’t take much convincing, though. It really is quite the
remarkable motion film.
So, then, upon hearing news that a prequel was in the works, a
film by the name of The Exorcist – How It All Began, The Duke
was pleased as a fist in the teeth. None other than Paul
Schrader, writer of Taxi Driver and Raging Bull, last seen
hollering Action from the set of Auto Focus, was to be the man
to bring The Start Of The Exorcist to the big screen, or medium
sized screen depending on your geographical area, or 14” screen
if you maybe downloaded it from the web-net.
The power of Christ compels you to uninstall Kazaa.
However, as is so often the case, the forces of darkness,
insanity and communism conspired to ensure that Exorcist – Part
4 was going to suck dramatically, like some toothless whore on
Christmas Eve.
The studio, upon receiving Schrader’s cut, decided that no, what
we’ll do is fire the fuck out of you and hire Renny Harlin
instead. Thanks Paul Schrader, but the absence of gore, guts,
innards and CGI bits can only bring sorrowful disdain at the Box
Office.
To be fair to the studios, it makes at least two-thirds sense.
This is a dark, sombre meditation on the nature of faith, evil
and religious devotion we’re dealing with here. What the hell
does the fella responsible for Last Temptation Of Christ and
Bringing Out The Dead think he knows about that kinda stuff.
Best to get the chap responsible for Die Hard 2, Cliffhanger and
Driven, about Sylvester Stallone drives some motorcars.
The result is that two films exist, both bearing the name The
Exorcist – The Early Years. Schrader’s version is apparently set
for a DVD release, whilst the Harlin cut, incorporating only 20
minutes of Schrader’s footage, gets the big theatrical outing.
It would be stupid and a sign of gross pretension to assume that
Schrader’s flick is a masterpiece, given that not a frame of it
has been seen by anyone but those involved in its production. It
would also, however, be a sign of just such stupidity and / or
pretension to holler about Harlin’s flick is work of
irredeemable toss slung carelessly across a very expensive
garment, perhaps one like what Liz Hurley would wear to a
premier screening of a Matrix film.
Harlin’s flick is, The Duke takes some pleasure in relating,
quite the enjoyable slice of cinema.
There are many reasons for this, and not one of them have a damn
thing to do with the ludicrous CGI hyenas. If you thought the
similar four-legged pixellated monstrosities in Roland
Emmerich's The Snow What Killed The World were terrible, well,
yeah, you were right. Good for you. But these ones are shit too.
In fact, every time a CGI element appears on the screen, you can
be sure it’s about to be abysmal. This is understandable, given
that Harlin had, like, half an hour to sling this shit together,
but it doesn’t make any less excruciating.
Oh, look, it’s a kid getting eaten by a bunch a fuckin things
you’d expect to see chasing Pac Man, not running about in a film
with the weight of expectation bearing upon it such as this.
But, CGI nonsense aside, this is still a case of two hours
passing rather quickly. The first half is fairly talky, but it’s
still engrossing, even if it is a lot of expository fluff. Maybe
it’s just cause The Duke likes the films what deal with the
Satanic tomfoolery and all that, but I doubt it. I mean
Rosemary's Baby bored me to within an inch of my lung-juice, or
at least it would have, had The Duke been a normal type a fella,
and not an immortal being of utmost wit.
No, I’d feel fairly safe in assuming that Exorcist – God, I
Can't Think Of Any More Funny Titles kept me so entertained
because it was, well, entertaining. Pivotal to all this
entertainment is, of course, the central performance by Stellan
Skarsgård as Father Merrin, the role played in the first flick
by Max Von Sydow, famous for starring as Death in Ingmar
Bergman's The Seventh Seal, itself a remake of Bill & Ted’s
Bogus Journey.
Skarsgård is fantastic, is what. You probably know who he is,
but in case you don’t, he was played by Al Pacino in Chris
Nolan's remake of Insomnia.
Also highly agreeable is the fact that Harlin’s effort is among
the most demented horror flicks released by a major studio since
Saving Private Ryan. Everyone harped on about Eli Roth’s Cabin
Fever was the most insane film you ever did see, just because a
woman’s lip falls off and then a woman shaves and the skin comes
off and then a fella plays with a woman’s hoo-hah and gets gunk
all over his fist.
Harlin, however, he knows the worth of a truly repugnant set-
piece. For one thing, the marketing has gone some way towards
preparing us for a low-key, claustrophobic, old-fashioned affair
(possibly what Schrader’s flick turned out to be), when in fact,
what we get flung at us is nothing less than trash of the
highest order. This is bad taste in excelsis, is what. At times,
it’s so grotesque as to be laughable. But still, when was the
last time you saw a mainstream flick with a woman giving birth
to a maggot-riddled stillborn? Not since Jerry MacGuire,
probably. Or what about a youngster getting eaten in close-up by
some CGI hyenas? Or maybe another youngster getting treated to a
belly-full of leeches.
In fact, the worst possible thing a character in Harlin’s flick
can do is be born after 1996. If you’re too young to buy Home
Invasion by Ice, Ice Motherfuckin T, then most likely there’s
some hideous fate awaiting you. Maybe you’ll get shot in the
head by some Nazi’s, and then some CGI blood-spray.
Hand on motherfucking blood-pump.
Maybe all this tasteless nonsense is to detract from the
ludicrous nature of the proceedings. For one damn thing, what in
the hell is Merrin doing romping around Africa when, by all
rights, he should be sweating in Iraq, like it says at the start
of the first film.
I mean come on, the thing is even filmed exactly like those
opening ten minutes of The Exorcist, right down to that freaky
clock we keep seeing for no reason.
That’s one freaky clock, by the way. If I found that item
hanging above the telly I’d beat it to fuck with a brick, let
The Duke state for the vinyl.
The reason why they decided to go for Africa rather than Iraq,
it transpires, is that there are more Africans in Africa, and
therefore it proves more viable considering Harlin wants to end
his film with a Zulu-esque face-off between the Brits and the
African Natives.
I don’t recall a military assault concluding Freidkin’s film.
Far as I remember, there was just some nonsense about a fella
jumps out a window.
This is so absurd that The Duke can’t help but love it. And not
in a condescending kinda way, like when you tell a kid how
pretty a painting is when really it looks like something you’d
find stuck halfway up a vagrants arsehole. I honestly enjoyed
this. So demented is it, so over the top, so eager to make a man
say about Holy fuck, surely they won’t do that kinda shit!, that
it kept me captivated throughout.
In the documentary Plan 9 – Flying Saucers Over Hollywood, a fan
of the wonderful Ed Wood picture explains how Plan 9 can never
be judged the worst film ever made, on account of how
entertaining it is. The worst crime a film can commit, he muses,
is to be unbearably boring. If Exorcist – What Went On Before
The Pissing On The Carpet And Puking bores you, feel free to
relate about how insufferable it all is. The truth of the matter
is that it left The Duke in a constant state of glee. Schrader’s
film may prove to be superior (or it could shock the hell out of
us all and be awful), but Harlin’s effort is never less than
captivating. Horrible, foul with regards the violence, but as
much fun as sneezing, nonetheless.
Thanks folks.
The Power Of Christ Compels You To Send The
Duke An Email
catastrophe, to review flicks which, in the fabled words of
Nietzsche, “Stink like the festering dung of a scabies-riddled
baboon.” I’d much rather tell you all about the wonders of The
Nostril Picker or Suicide Club than talk about cack-spray like
The Alien What Fighted A Predator. I mean folks work hard on
these things. It ain’t nice when someone takes delight in
tearing someone else’s joy asunder.
To be all the forthcoming in Holland, when I sat down for to
view the flick by the name of The Beginning Of The Exorcist, I
was sure that some wretched, boil-faced hag of a film was about
to assault me in various soul-molesting fashions. I imagined I
would leave the place with a thousand-yard stare etched forever
on my skull, like in that picture what recently got stolen from
the art gallery. The one with a fella screaming that went on to,
I believe, become the basis for a trio of Wes Craven pictures.
But no. Amazingly, however stacked the odds may be against it,
and they were stacked like a motherfucker, is the truth of the
matter, I actually, believe it or not, really enjoyed this flick
about The Exorcist – All The Stuff What Happened Back In The Day.
The power of Christ compels you to sit the fuck down and pay
serious attention.
The Exorcist was one of those flicks I always wanted to see as a
youngster, and was never allowed to. I had to wait until I was
old enough, was the harrowing reality, which in fact meant
waiting until I could find a copy and then watch it without the
folks knowing a damn thing about it. It was one of the Video
Nasties, a flick banned for decades on account of its sheer,
unrelenting terrorosity.
Actually, it was banned on account of kids might see it and get
all disturbed, or it might cause them to find new ways to
entertain themselves of an evening, like maybe masturbating with
a crucifix and then twisting the neck around and then spitting
some stomach-sauce over a priest.
On account of the BBFC, us kids in the United UK had to make do
with Pogs.
Curiously enough, the two sequels were passed with nary a word.
Exorcist II should, of course, have been banned, on account of
the wretched shite what it turned out to be. The third one
proves much too depressing an experience for The Duke to develop
much of a thought about.
Cheer the hell up, George C Scott. You were in Dr. Strangelove,
for Gods sakes, the best of all Kubrick’s pictures.
Anyway, I finally got to see The Exorcist, and loved it dearly.
Or at least, I convinced myself I loved it dearly, on account of
I had spent a decade waiting to see it, and only the pinnacle of
cultural achievement could justify such longing.
It didn’t take much convincing, though. It really is quite the
remarkable motion film.
So, then, upon hearing news that a prequel was in the works, a
film by the name of The Exorcist – How It All Began, The Duke
was pleased as a fist in the teeth. None other than Paul
Schrader, writer of Taxi Driver and Raging Bull, last seen
hollering Action from the set of Auto Focus, was to be the man
to bring The Start Of The Exorcist to the big screen, or medium
sized screen depending on your geographical area, or 14” screen
if you maybe downloaded it from the web-net.
The power of Christ compels you to uninstall Kazaa.
However, as is so often the case, the forces of darkness,
insanity and communism conspired to ensure that Exorcist – Part
4 was going to suck dramatically, like some toothless whore on
Christmas Eve.
The studio, upon receiving Schrader’s cut, decided that no, what
we’ll do is fire the fuck out of you and hire Renny Harlin
instead. Thanks Paul Schrader, but the absence of gore, guts,
innards and CGI bits can only bring sorrowful disdain at the Box
Office.
To be fair to the studios, it makes at least two-thirds sense.
This is a dark, sombre meditation on the nature of faith, evil
and religious devotion we’re dealing with here. What the hell
does the fella responsible for Last Temptation Of Christ and
Bringing Out The Dead think he knows about that kinda stuff.
Best to get the chap responsible for Die Hard 2, Cliffhanger and
Driven, about Sylvester Stallone drives some motorcars.
The result is that two films exist, both bearing the name The
Exorcist – The Early Years. Schrader’s version is apparently set
for a DVD release, whilst the Harlin cut, incorporating only 20
minutes of Schrader’s footage, gets the big theatrical outing.
It would be stupid and a sign of gross pretension to assume that
Schrader’s flick is a masterpiece, given that not a frame of it
has been seen by anyone but those involved in its production. It
would also, however, be a sign of just such stupidity and / or
pretension to holler about Harlin’s flick is work of
irredeemable toss slung carelessly across a very expensive
garment, perhaps one like what Liz Hurley would wear to a
premier screening of a Matrix film.
Harlin’s flick is, The Duke takes some pleasure in relating,
quite the enjoyable slice of cinema.
There are many reasons for this, and not one of them have a damn
thing to do with the ludicrous CGI hyenas. If you thought the
similar four-legged pixellated monstrosities in Roland
Emmerich's The Snow What Killed The World were terrible, well,
yeah, you were right. Good for you. But these ones are shit too.
In fact, every time a CGI element appears on the screen, you can
be sure it’s about to be abysmal. This is understandable, given
that Harlin had, like, half an hour to sling this shit together,
but it doesn’t make any less excruciating.
Oh, look, it’s a kid getting eaten by a bunch a fuckin things
you’d expect to see chasing Pac Man, not running about in a film
with the weight of expectation bearing upon it such as this.
But, CGI nonsense aside, this is still a case of two hours
passing rather quickly. The first half is fairly talky, but it’s
still engrossing, even if it is a lot of expository fluff. Maybe
it’s just cause The Duke likes the films what deal with the
Satanic tomfoolery and all that, but I doubt it. I mean
Rosemary's Baby bored me to within an inch of my lung-juice, or
at least it would have, had The Duke been a normal type a fella,
and not an immortal being of utmost wit.
No, I’d feel fairly safe in assuming that Exorcist – God, I
Can't Think Of Any More Funny Titles kept me so entertained
because it was, well, entertaining. Pivotal to all this
entertainment is, of course, the central performance by Stellan
Skarsgård as Father Merrin, the role played in the first flick
by Max Von Sydow, famous for starring as Death in Ingmar
Bergman's The Seventh Seal, itself a remake of Bill & Ted’s
Bogus Journey.
Skarsgård is fantastic, is what. You probably know who he is,
but in case you don’t, he was played by Al Pacino in Chris
Nolan's remake of Insomnia.
Also highly agreeable is the fact that Harlin’s effort is among
the most demented horror flicks released by a major studio since
Saving Private Ryan. Everyone harped on about Eli Roth’s Cabin
Fever was the most insane film you ever did see, just because a
woman’s lip falls off and then a woman shaves and the skin comes
off and then a fella plays with a woman’s hoo-hah and gets gunk
all over his fist.
Harlin, however, he knows the worth of a truly repugnant set-
piece. For one thing, the marketing has gone some way towards
preparing us for a low-key, claustrophobic, old-fashioned affair
(possibly what Schrader’s flick turned out to be), when in fact,
what we get flung at us is nothing less than trash of the
highest order. This is bad taste in excelsis, is what. At times,
it’s so grotesque as to be laughable. But still, when was the
last time you saw a mainstream flick with a woman giving birth
to a maggot-riddled stillborn? Not since Jerry MacGuire,
probably. Or what about a youngster getting eaten in close-up by
some CGI hyenas? Or maybe another youngster getting treated to a
belly-full of leeches.
In fact, the worst possible thing a character in Harlin’s flick
can do is be born after 1996. If you’re too young to buy Home
Invasion by Ice, Ice Motherfuckin T, then most likely there’s
some hideous fate awaiting you. Maybe you’ll get shot in the
head by some Nazi’s, and then some CGI blood-spray.
Hand on motherfucking blood-pump.
Maybe all this tasteless nonsense is to detract from the
ludicrous nature of the proceedings. For one damn thing, what in
the hell is Merrin doing romping around Africa when, by all
rights, he should be sweating in Iraq, like it says at the start
of the first film.
I mean come on, the thing is even filmed exactly like those
opening ten minutes of The Exorcist, right down to that freaky
clock we keep seeing for no reason.
That’s one freaky clock, by the way. If I found that item
hanging above the telly I’d beat it to fuck with a brick, let
The Duke state for the vinyl.
The reason why they decided to go for Africa rather than Iraq,
it transpires, is that there are more Africans in Africa, and
therefore it proves more viable considering Harlin wants to end
his film with a Zulu-esque face-off between the Brits and the
African Natives.
I don’t recall a military assault concluding Freidkin’s film.
Far as I remember, there was just some nonsense about a fella
jumps out a window.
This is so absurd that The Duke can’t help but love it. And not
in a condescending kinda way, like when you tell a kid how
pretty a painting is when really it looks like something you’d
find stuck halfway up a vagrants arsehole. I honestly enjoyed
this. So demented is it, so over the top, so eager to make a man
say about Holy fuck, surely they won’t do that kinda shit!, that
it kept me captivated throughout.
In the documentary Plan 9 – Flying Saucers Over Hollywood, a fan
of the wonderful Ed Wood picture explains how Plan 9 can never
be judged the worst film ever made, on account of how
entertaining it is. The worst crime a film can commit, he muses,
is to be unbearably boring. If Exorcist – What Went On Before
The Pissing On The Carpet And Puking bores you, feel free to
relate about how insufferable it all is. The truth of the matter
is that it left The Duke in a constant state of glee. Schrader’s
film may prove to be superior (or it could shock the hell out of
us all and be awful), but Harlin’s effort is never less than
captivating. Horrible, foul with regards the violence, but as
much fun as sneezing, nonetheless.
Thanks folks.
The Power Of Christ Compels You To Send The
Duke An Email
