The Exorcist
The Exorcist
8.178%87%
A visiting actress in Washington, D.C., notices dramatic and dangerous changes in the behavior and physical makeup of her 12-year-old daughter. Meanwhile, a young priest at nearby Georgetown University begins to doubt his faith while dealing with his mother's terminal sickness. A frail, elderly priest recognizes the necessity for a show-down with an old demonic enemy.
Michael Heimgartner reviewedJuly 15, 2025
The Power of Christ compels you!
I just finished reading William Peter Blatty’s novel and immediately rewatched The Exorcist in its Director’s Cut - and honestly, I’m in awe of how precisely and faithfully the film adapts that book. It’s even more surprising when you remember just how shocking and vulgar the novel was for its time. Seeing it translated to screen with so much respect for the source material while adding its own chilling atmosphere really drives home how rare this kind of adaptation is.
For me, The Exorcist is the perfect horror film. I don’t say that lightly. Every single element is so meticulously crafted, so masterfully realized. From the first minute, it’s immersive, unsettling, and impossible to look away from. The atmosphere is oppressive and dread-inducing without ever resorting to cheap tricks. Friedkin’s direction is careful and deliberate, letting the horror seep in slowly rather than hitting you over the head. Even now, decades later, the film retains a raw power that most modern horror can’t touch.
What makes it even more impressive is how it balances multiple storylines without ever feeling scattered or unfocused. Friedkin weaves these threads together with precision. Regan’s possession is the anchor, of course, but it isn’t the entire story. It’s the catalyst for examining faith, doubt, grief, and the limits of human understanding. Father Karras’s crisis of faith is every bit as important as the exorcism itself, and Friedkin gives these quieter, more introspective moments just as much weight as the scenes of supernatural terror.
It’s also astonishing how patient the film is. You don’t even hear that iconic piece of music, Mike Oldfield’s “Tubular Bells,” until about fifteen minutes in - after all the major characters have been introduced and before the real horror begins to reveal itself. The film takes its time establishing its world and its people, letting us really know and understand them before tearing everything apart. That sort of quiet, confident storytelling is all but extinct in mainstream horror now.
And the performances - what can you even say? Ellen Burstyn is phenomenal, bringing a raw, maternal desperation that grounds the entire film. Jason Miller as Father Karras delivers a performance that is painfully human, wrestling with guilt and doubt in a way that feels so authentic. Max von Sydow’s restrained, weary gravitas as Father Merrin is unforgettable, even if he’s only truly on screen for about twenty minutes. It’s a testament to how carefully the film deploys its most iconic elements.
Technically, it’s also flawless. The sound design is chillingly effective, from the quiet creaks and groans of the house to the demonic growls that seem to come from nowhere. Dick Smith’s makeup work remains legendary for good reason, giving us some of the most disturbing, realistic possession effects ever filmed. Even the editing choices - sometimes sharp and disorienting, sometimes calm and lingering - serve to keep the viewer off-balance.
It’s fascinating that Friedkin deliberately used such minimal scoring. For almost the entire film, there’s no traditional soundtrack at all, which makes the few moments of music all the more jarring and memorable. That choice amplifies the sense of realism, as though you’re watching something truly happening.
The film also had an incredible cultural impact. Warner Bros. famously marketed it as “the scariest film of all time,” and by box office receipts - adjusted for inflation - it remains one of the most financially successful horror films ever made, grossing an estimated 2.5 to 3.2 billion USD worldwide. It was a genuine phenomenon, with audiences reportedly fainting or fleeing theaters during screenings. Critics at the time were divided, but many recognized its brilliance even then, and today it's widely accepted as one of the smartest, most thoughtful horror films ever made. It earned ten Oscar nominations and won two - a rare feat for the genre.
William Peter Blatty’s original novel was itself inspired by a supposedly real exorcism that took place in the 1940s in the U.S., which adds another layer of unsettling authenticity to the story. Friedkin, already celebrated for The French Connection, approached this material with a kind of documentary intensity that makes it feel uncomfortably real.
Sure, you can say the film’s shock value has aged. Today’s audiences might not flinch at the same scenes that once caused mass panic. But that misses the point entirely. The true brilliance of The Exorcist isn’t in its shock tactics - it’s in its exploration of faith versus reason, of parental terror and human frailty in the face of something unknowable. It’s about the existential horror that lingers long after the pea soup and the levitating bed are gone.
Even after all these years, The Exorcist remains an absolute masterpiece of horror cinema. It’s intelligent, unsettling, masterfully acted and directed, and still capable of getting under your skin in a way very few films ever do. It doesn’t just scare you - it challenges you, disturbs you, and forces you to confront things you’d rather not think about. For me, it’s the gold standard for the genre.