The top modern horror franchises, from a certain way of thinking, are those which manage a regular release schedule, quality be damned, with new movies out nearly every year. Horror is made of repeatable terrors, and is villain centric – it’s also cheap to make. Given all this, one would think The Exorcist, possibly the best and most successful horror movie of all time, would have a mighty string of sequels to follow. This does not bear out, for The Exorcist came out in 1973, about a decade before sequels were again a viable option. Instead, The Exorcist’s wake was filled by the rip-off artists, the (largely Italian) pictures aping The Exorcist’s surface details and shock effects – these efforts help to highlight the overlooked dramatic qualities The Exorcist boasts.
In this climate, with countless flicks depicting children and (more lasciviously) slightly older women under the throes of demonic gobbledygook, how could an Exorcist sequel hope to stand out? It’d have to do something different, and that is precisely what Exorcist II: The Heretic did. In fact, it commits that greatest of all sequel sins – it does not work as a sequel! Hell, the damn thing’s not even a horror movie! It’s a helpless attempt to boggle the mind and swell the soul, all the while delivering a magnificent middle finger to William Peter Blatty’s original.
The director of this monstrosity is John Boorman, who passed on the opportunity to direct the original due to concerns of child cruelty. Actually, he hated the original! Hated its tone, hated its realism, hated its respectful treatment of Catholicism, hated the fact it was scary! This John Boorman, man, he’s an Artist, man, given to nodes of transcendence faaar above The Exorcist’s mere terror. This is a guy, mind you, given to indistinct New Age philosophies, more schooled in ambition than comprehensibility or rigor, the man who directed freaking Zardoz, the man whose best film (Deliverance) is most famous for a scene of butt-rape. Boorman’s not untalented, by no means, but he is undeniably the wrong man for this job.
On record, Boorman states his interest in doing an Exorcist sequel was to take advantage of that pre-earned connection audiences have with the genre – you have beloved characters and a known story to build on. This was his experiment – “The idea of making a metaphysical thriller greatly appealed to my psyche.” That he would even phrase it that way… What I don’t understand is how a director could profess that sequel-friendly reason for doing a sequel, then systematically fill his movie with notions antithetical to the original, lambast continuity, renege on audience expectations (the most important thing), and offer up nothing remotely clear as an alternative.
By all accounts, The Heretic was decent enough in script form, at least in the first draft by William Goodhart which caused star/ex-possessee Linda Blair to sign on. That was before Boorman got his pretentious paws on the piece, and forced the insertion of post-humanist notions spearheaded by Rospo Pallenberg – the hell?! Rewriting feverously in mid-filming is never a good idea. But enough lambasting The Heretic from a distance. Closer examination shall reveal the stupidity best.
An isolated, mostly plot-free opening scene is the only point where The Heretic functions like a standard horror sequel. It concerns the possession of some Spanish girl, and her attempted exorcism. It’s a pretty weak sauce exorcism – I could do better! – in a context of apparent mass worldwide exorcism – a condition Part One assured us was extremely rare. And the girl self-immolates.
The presiding priest here is…well, he was supposed to be Father Dyer, a minor figure from The Exorcist, except Father William O’Malley (is everyone connected to The Exorcist a “William?!”) was unavailable. Yes, Father William was too busy being an actual priest to bring his non-actor skills to the table. Instead many a thespian was considered, with upgrades to Jack Nicholson, Christopher Walken, Jon Voigt…you know, seamless recasting. For all I know, this just means their names were said in a Hollywood office. All that matters is Richard Burton is here, in the “new” role of Father Philip Lamont – seemingly the only drunk priest in the Vatican’s employ, as per Burton’s sotted performance. Burton makes me laugh out loud, and whatever blame Boorman doesn’t earn goes here instead.
It being now four years after the fact, Lamont’s Cardinal superior at the Vatican orders him to investigate Father Merrin’s death…Okay, hold up! Father Merrin died of a heart attack, it was foreshadowed all throughout The Exorcist – this stuff ain’t that complex! If you’re gonna investigate the former possession of Regan MacNeil (Blair), what about Father Damien Karras (who doesn’t even warrant one mention in The Heretic)?! But the church now thinks Merrin might have been a heretic (ah hah!), and there you are. Still, that’s a pretty awkward sequel reason for resuming the narrative.
It’s nothing compared to how Regan is still in this mess. Looking back to The Exorcist, she was unquestionably, verifiably freed of her possession by Karras, who took the demon into himself and subsequently committed suicide – See, that’s what I’d be investigating! But the premise of The Heretic, what we must accept for everything to follow, is that Regan is still sorta possessed. Or repossessed – har har! Not possessed so much that she’ll rot into a freakish apparition like before – a niggling little detail in Blair’s contract which sort of cripples any sequel’s chances – but, er, possessed-ish.
All this is at the apparent insistence of her mother Chris, who remains eternally off screen – good for you, self-respecting Ellen Burstyn. The trouble, as “Chris” sees it: Regan cannot remember her demon possession…What?! What’s the big deal?! That’s a good thing! No matter, for the damn reason that we need something going on, Regan been placed in some vague, unnamed clinic for treatment. She is accompanied by her mother’s servant Shannon (Kitty Winn), a supporting figure from Part One here promoted to lead status just because – probable a role written for Burstyn. And Regan’s been entrusted to Dr. Gene Tuskin, a role written for a man. Tuskin is played by Louise Fletcher, though, and somehow they couldn’t even change her name to “Jeanne.” Asses! And would you entrust your daughter to a woman last seen as Nurse Ratched?!
And that clinic of Gene’s! Talk about lame, overt symbolism! The whole place is a hexagon, with nothing but hexagon-shaped rooms inside, and hexagon patterns everywhere! Yes, it’s a hive, damn it, the metaphorical meaning here far superseding the need for a realistic setting. (I am suddenly sympathetic to the relatively calm bee imagery in Cremaster 2.) Dr. Tuskin’s theory, as asinine as it is, is that Regan’s exorcism “made her worse” – Excuse me! Did you see her murdering priests and peeing rugs?! I didn’t think so. And Tuskin’s treatment for this nonsensical non-problem is equivalently nutbars – it is the Synchronizer, a hypnosis bleeping strobe light machine thingy meant to synch people’s subconscious together. It’s the thing from Inception, only non-cinematic. And it is dumb.
Boorman, in basically rejecting the overt Christian element of The Exorcist, reverts to the pro-science agenda it threw out in its first hour. (I am sympathetic to this debate, but not when it forces sequel regression and thematic stalling.) That science is represented by this sort of fruity nonsense doesn’t help – but Boorman’s just using it as a tool to get to his true interest, telepathy and ESP! That’s where this Exorcist sequel is heading, in light of a plot. What a crock! And there ya go, replace the time-tested and traditional notions of the original, which hold true today, with a flash-in-the-pan transcendental approach which remained niche even at its height. This is one of the worst sequels qua sequels I have ever seen!
Okay, so Regan’s hooked up to that flickering doodad, using her “tone” to bring Tuskin’s “tone down to hers.” (All quotes to follow consist of actual dialogue.) Slowly Regan’s “memories” are “seen,” with newly shot footage of her climactic exorcism (why?!) using actors that are neither Linda Blair nor Max von Sydow – and both remain on this movie’s cast list! Over an incredibly long scene, every variation of “synching” is tried…Regan on Tuskin, Tuskin on Lamont, Lamont on Regan. It’s like deviant sexual experimentation – with your mind! (Zardoz…)
Sputtering along in first gear, Regan makes a drawing of Lamont’s head on fire. He sees this, and instantly announces: “The flames, they’re getting bigger! We’ve got to put the fire out!” The hell?! And then Lamont races down to the clinic’s basement, where a box is randomly on fire. The hell?! So he puts it out…
Okay, this is an effort to establish Regan’s nascent telepathy – this from the normal little weird girl from The Exorcist. Here’s a more common example of a sequel shitting the bed: a little retconning to justify and explain things. For now we learn Regan wasn’t targeted by the demon randomly. No, it’s because Evil was trying to destroy Good by eradicating the next step in human evolution. The hell?! This is the film’s central thesis! I half expect a boy with an adamantium skeleton to be the next target!
Lamont debates with Tuskin, saying her goofy Synchronizer proves scientifically “there’s an ancient demon locked within her.” The hell?! And whatever the problem which must be resolved – this benign possession in remission, apparently, because Boorman didn’t “buy” Karras’ sacrifice in The Exorcist and thought Regan was faking her recovery – Where was I? Oh, right, Regan starts having visions and whatnot, triggered by the Synchronizer. Way to not solve the problem, everybody! So…
While I’d been laughing generously at The Heretic’s bathos so far (bless you, Richard Burton), this moment marks the first of many times my jaw literally dropped. (I even spat up coffee at one point.) Regan dreams, dreams from a locust’s point of view bombarding its way through Ethiopia. Uhmmm…yeah. Locusts descend upon the African fields. Whatever scarce connection back to reality this film so far evinced goes tumbling off the roof’s edge, just like Regan nearly does! And the explanation for all this madness only worsens things – it’s the demon’s dream memories, melded with Regan’s mind…Oh, and Lamont’s mind too, because now they share a mental symbioses (which eludes Tuskin because she is a mere pitiable pre-transcendent scientist).
Regan steps back from the edge, even while Boorman fails to. And Boorman, e’er the master of heavy-handed imagery, has Regan, clad all in billowy white, tend to her doves. This isn’t a new thread, it’s been layered throughout! She’s a saint, man, in a totally non-denominational sort of way.
Regan and Lamont mind meld on the Synchronizer again, Regan bringing Lamont “down on her.” This affords a fuller descent into African locust madness, allowing The Heretic its prequel passage – Were they actually going for a Godfather: Part II thing here?! Recall one line in The Exorcist about Father Merrin’s time in Africa. Here it is in full, as Merrin (what are you doing here, Max von Sydow?) performs his first exorcism on a young African lad.
“I am Pazuzu. King of the Evil Spirits of the Air!”
This is when I ejected coffee. Bingo, our demon has a name-o! And an uncontestable connection to Mesopotamian mythology. Now we know, the locust POV resumes its Raimi cam way through the probably metaphorical, metaphysical chasms of darkest Ethiopia, as extras espy it and flee in screaming terror. Fleeing a single flying grasshopper in terror? That’s something you’d only see at the South Coast Plaza, not rural Africa! A man tumbles down the stage-set chasm, and Ennio Morricone’s soundtrack (the one thing I am predisposed to like, with huge reservations) goes spastic with the wailing.
The Locust Cam continues, chasing zebras, yaks or something, the Earth itself, through a village of mud until…James Earl Jones exits from a shrine and meows at us! I tell you what, I did not expect to see this.
Okay, half way in… I can get through this.
Coming to, Lamont announces he understands this – Good for him! He must travel to Africa, and find the grown boy Kokumo (James Earl Jones being the post-possessee). Only he possesses (er) the knowledge to rid Regan of her problem…whatever it is. Being prevented to be the greatest ESP telepath she can be, apparently. Ooh, the tension is unbearable! As Lamont puts it, the “demon inside her” is “preventing her from reaching full spiritual power” and forming a “world mind.” What – a – crock! And as Regan puts it in pure expository mode, with the casualness I would mention having eaten a pizza, “I was possessed by a demon.” Well la-ti-da.
Also, I forgot: No one prays to God in this movie. They pray to Father Merrin. John Boorman doesn’t “get” religion, does he?
Lamont doesn’t head directly to Africa. Rather, first he travels all the way to the Vatican, to report back to his Cardinal. “You’re a loose cannon, Lamont! You’re off the case!” Well, that’s the gist of it, at any rate. It’s a papal adviser as the police chiefs from the Dirty Harry movies. And there’s not a moment of self-awareness!
So, Lamont wants to “help” Regan in terms which can be summed up as “the same nonsense Kingdom of the Crystal Skull descended into.” Tuskin also wants to “help” Regan, though it’s mighty unclear in what way. She’s now a foil to Lamont, meaning she…wants to prevent him from doing…something by herself doing…something.
Lamont passes through a sub-Indiana Jones archeological Ethiopian journey, visiting the rock churches from the memories the locust gave to Pazuzu gave to Regan gave to him. The locals don’t buy Lamont’s justification for his knowledge – don’t blame ‘em! – and subsequently stone Lamont. With stones, I mean. Like E.T. and Elliott, Regan too suffers Lamont’s drubbings, which helps to enliven the sickening Broadway musical thing she’s busy performing (this movie is all over the place). Seeing as Regan is channeling the spirit of Richard Burton, it also explains the degraded performance Blair gives (that and she too is an iffy actress).
This allows Tuskin to isolate Regan in her hive. This allows Regan to continue her cross-continental mind-meld with Lamont. This allows Boorman to alternate between sets in an increasingly incoherent fashion.
Back to the Lamont Show: Father Nutball continues his trek to find Kokumo, aiding by a random 30 seconds of screen time by Ned Beatty – hell, it afforded the actor a vacation to Africa, and another notch on his overfull resume. Lamont finally makes his way to the city of mud, in perpetual sunset (as it is a set). Boorman’s loosey-goosey style insists this is another dream (either that, or some rancid chemical was leaking into the African set’s air), as bedridden Regan increases her meld mania. “Call me by my dream name.” Okay, girly, Lamont asks – cough – Pazuzu to take him to Kokumo. This is humorous. “Kokumo! Kokumo! KOKUMO!”
Down with Kokumo
We’ll get there fast
And then we’ll take it slow
That’s where we wanna go
Way down with Kokumo
Kokumo – James Earl Jones – resides in his inner mud sanctum in eternal meditation, as you do, clad in a full-body locust costume. The voice of Darth Vader, people, in the same year! He tells Lamont he must “cross over” the field of spikes before him, also saying some spiritual mumbo jumbo I do not follow. Also, Kokumo spits up a whole tomato. That synchs it, as it were. Lamont goes and impales his damn self on the spikes – this somehow doesn’t get back to torment Regan – and proceeds to awake in –
A sterile locust research laboratory. The hell?! Kokumo is now a mild-mannered doctor, whose spiritual enlightenment has led him to the field of locust mad science, or whatever. Presumably, all that mess before was one of Lamont’s drunken hallucinations, a mere metaphorical summation of what happens when you pass out inebriated on an institution’s linoleum floor.
Now, if you thought this sudden return to apparent reality would mean a return to sanity, you don’t know The Heretic. Kokumo talks about his locust research, that “We like to call her the good locust. She was evolved to resist the brushing of the wings.” The hell?! This is the lynchpin that governs the entire climax, so it’s a bloody shame they couldn’t have founded it upon something other than experimental research on an unfamiliar insect. You know, something people have prior knowledge of.
Regan wakes up. A plane flies. She checks herself out of the clinic. The plane flies. She arrives in Africa. The plane flies. Ah, non-chronological. And…she meets Lamont in the New York Museum of Natural History. So…that plane stuff was just thrown in to be deliberately misleading, for no reason. Up yours, John Boorman!
Also, Regan has stolen the silly machine. The Synchronizer!
Regan and Lamont instantly go to a seedy hotel to synch up yet again, and inject another dose of explanation/confusion onto the proceedings. There’s not much more to this, just the same stuff about Merrin exorcizing demons and all that. Seemingly, there was a little more footage they wanted to wedge in. This resolves Lamont’s will, to get Pazuzu to leave Regan for the sake of human evolution! [Sigh.]
They’re going to do this at the Georgetown house from The Exorcist. Why? Hilariously, even Wikipedia explains this step as being simply “for some reason.” Really, it’s just so these sequel mongers can squeeze in something, anything audiences might respond to.
So begins the great, listless race to Georgetown between Lamont (with Regan in tow) and Tuskin (with Sharon in tow). How does Tuskin know they’re making this illogical step? Because Regan called to let her know. Why?! The climax demands it. Anyway, Lamont is travelling via train, in a perpetual trance brought on for unknown reasons having probably to do with the Synchronizer (truly the source of all dilemma in The Heretic). Tuskin is travelling by plane…or at least trying to.
It seems the demon Pazuzu doesn’t want her to make the trek…either that, or God doesn’t. Which might make more sense, since apparently Pazuzu is trapped within Regan or whatever, only…the encroaching locusts over the Washington Capital dome are clearly Pazuzu’s minions. And why does Pazuzu want to keep Tuskin away, when it’s Lamont who intends to defeat Pazuzu?! Because…ah hell! Pazuzu’s powers, seemingly, even extend beyond locust wrangling and drunk priest trancing – It has the same screwy pre-Final Destination control over happenstance as The Omen showcased far more memorably – The Omen!, the true spiritual successor to The Exorcist! So minor stupid incident after minor stupid incident delays Tuskin’s trek.
Oh, and Lamont’s trance (I cannot call it demonic possession, for there is nothing in The Heretic – beyond all the flashback stuff – that resembles an Exorcist-ish possession) allows him to control the weather. Why else would Tuskin’s airplane be in dire storm straits right up until Regan snaps Lamont out of his funk? The hell?! Then Lamont utters another clarifying line to explain it all: “The power…I must take you there.”
Upon landing in Washington, Tuskin asks the cabbie take her to 8 Prospect Street – the Georgetown house. The cabbie is deathly afraid, like a Transylvanian peasant. So…the house is haunted now? It was a rental property that happened to host a demonic possession; it’s not the issue! No matter, the place is now gated and barbed, uninhabited in the 4 years since.
Within the home – in Regan’s former bedroom – Lamont confronts the fullest manifestation of Pazuzu’s unclear and varying powers. An evil, seductive Regan doppelganger succubus manifests itself out of the (in)corporeal ether, tempting Lamont away from his true purpose to do…whatever he’d planned to do. And bravo, John Boorman, for sexualizing the underage Linda Blair (who has a sort of Miley Cyrus thing about her) – this is what we get in place of fun monster stuff.
Along races Tuskin’s cab, when – the windshield up and shatters itself. The hell?! The cabbie punches out the glass (HA!) when the cab crashes directly into the house’s gates. So he’s dead. (That was gratuitous.) Tuskin is trapped, and Sharron – herself now in a trance for whatever damned cause – appears unconcerned. Ah, but when Tuskin says “Pazuzu,” apparently Pazuzu possesses Sharon – in a non-demonic possession sorta way, of course. So Sharon immolates herself in the cab’s gasoline. What in the name of the King of the Evil Spirits of the Air was the point in this whole subplot?!
Meanwhile, Lamont’s seduction…Sayeth the evil Regan: “Pazuzu’s Regan is the only Regan.” Yes, every utterance of “Pazuzu” is gigglesome. “Once the wings have brushed you, you’re mine forever.” The hell?! But Lamont is rescued, by the almighty power of the voice over, as he understands Kokumo’s prophecy of the locust: “You must tear out her evil heart.” This is something James Earl Jones was forced to not only say, but make it sound as though it has natural connections to the science of locustry. And while the house set erupts into a mad, frantic extravaganza filled with all the special effects the remaining budget could muster (generic haunted house white chasms and such), Lamont saves Regan by ripping out evil Regan’s heart. Also, there are locusts everywhere. I forgot to mention that. It’s all mere visual noise.
“The enemy of the human race is subdued” – somehow – and Tuskin has her final change of, er, heart, apropos of nothing, granting Lamont care over Regan. Fade to white.
White?! Yes, John Boorman’s explanation for The Heretic is that it is about Good, just as he purports The Exorcist is about Evil – this being the Exorcist named after its hero, the Exorcist which shows God’s inarguable triumph over Pazuzu (nee Satan). That’s a fundamental misunderstanding of the film you’re attempting to sequelize. A sequel can correct an apparent moral failing in the original – I like what Aliens does for Ripley in that sense – but it needs to build on what is there, not discard the central premise. The Heretic is simply rotten to its very core!
Understandably, such a catastrophe pleased neither critics nor audiences – it’s the anti-Exorcist. Beyond simply not working, The Heretic was so afunctional, it provoked immediate and steady audience laughter in early screenings – legend has it “Exorcist” author William Peter Blatty was the instigator of this ridicule. Well played! Such failure led Boorman to reedit his beast, creating yet another rewrite post-production to salvage something from the wreckage. It didn’t work, and in the end The Heretic could only gross 3/40ths of The Exorcist’s profits! Lord knows which of these edits I saw – reportedly, both are awful. Indeed, some publications regard Exorcist II: The Heretic as the second worst film of all time, behind only the monumental Plan 9 From Outer Space. Strong words!
Sequels as putrid as The Heretic are not unheard of, but they do not engender franchises. It’s cinematic abortion! The only reason further efforts would be made – eventually – is due to the visceral power of The Exorcist itself, a power so strong The Heretic could not quell it, in spite of Boorman’s strongest personal desires to assassinate the original. In fact, The Exorcist is one of those movies good enough that the fact of a sucky sequel simply encourages people to correct the mistake. It’s the Batman & Robin effect; a long detox period is necessary, then the series can start anew.
Related posts:
• No. 1 The Exorcist (1973)
• No. 3 Exorcist III (1990)
• No. 4 Exorcist: The Beginning (2004)
• No. 5 Dominion: Prequel to the Exorcist (2005)
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