“The Exorcist” Is the Greatest Commercial for Catholicism Since the Inquisition
(Revised 6/9/2021)
Horror films don’t scare me. I don’t like splatter films (too violent), nor loud audio stings that make me reflexively jump (too easy). But horror films don’t scare me. How could they? I’ve owed over $20,000 in back taxes, my wife divorced me and my mother recently died, completing my set of dead parents. I’ve had two brain surgeries for a tumor that keeps growing back. My cat died. And at age 56, I was laid off from my job of 10 years with a salary I’ll likely never see again as I attempt to worm my way back into the workforce for a job that will hopefully cover my mortgage. You think a make-believe movie about some fuckwad wearing a clown mask wielding a machete and chasing people through a forest is gonna scare me? Please. I’ve faced the true-life, holy godforsaken terror of the I R fucking S wielding a wage garnishment and chasing me with a property lien.
No. Horror movies don’t scare me.
However, there’s always an exception to the rule. And the one horror movie that still gets under my skin is The Exorcist.
Though not for the reasons you may think.
Back in 1975 when I was 11 years old, my dad took me to see The Exorcist. My mom and dad had already seen it and while he brushed it off, she found it deeply disturbing and was concerned it would have the same adverse effect on me. Somehow, my dad and I managed to convince my mom I could handle it. Part of our sales pitch was my love of monster movies — I even made my own with my grandma’s 8mm movie camera. I prepared myself by reading loads of magazine articles about The Exorcist. I knew all about the story, special effects and makeup. I’d seen photos from the film and watched the trailer. I mean, it was like I’d already seen the movie, right?
Wrong.
The fucking thing scared the shit out of me. Took 50 years off my 11-year-old heart. (To this day I’m still taking blood pressure meds because of it.) Mom was right. No movie had ever had such a deep, psychological impact on me — and no movie has since.
That night, after seeing the The Exorcist, my dad tucked me into bed and asked me if I was okay to sleep alone.
“Yes.”
“With the light off?”
“Yes.”
I didn’t want my dad to know the movie scared me as much as it did (or get him in trouble with my mom), so I acted brave. My dad told me he loved me and kissed me good night.
“I’ll leave the door open for you.”
He exited my room, switching off the light. Total darkness. I couldn’t get the movie out of my head. My mind projected a slide show of the horrifying images that were now indelibly branded into my brain. I pulled the covers over my head. But the images kept coming. Then, without warning…MY BED BEGAN SHAKING just like in the movie! It was the demon. I was possessed!
It wasn’t the demon. It was my dad.
He had snuck back into my bedroom and started shaking my bed as a practical joke. Yay! Funny!
Now, you may be thinking of my dad, what an asshole! But actually, it was his way of breaking the tension with humor. He laughed and it gave me permission to laugh. It was some much-needed, light-hearted relief after such a heavy experience. After that, I was able to fall asleep.
It’s Just a Movie… It’s Just a Movie…
When The Exorcist was first released in December of 1973, moviegoers were screaming, fainting, throwing up, experiencing panic attacks and having heart attacks. At one theatre a religious fanatic bum-rushed the screen and literally tried to rip the Devil out of the movie. Such was the power of The Exorcist.
William Friedkin, director of The Exorcist, has always been adamant he didn’t make a horror film claiming it’s about the mystery of faith. William Peter Blatty, author of the screenplay and the novel, producer of the film and BIG-TIME Catholic, wrote The Exorcist under the pretense “If there are demons, then there are angels and that leads to the existence of God.”
You know who else thought The Exorcist to be an apostolic work? The Holy Catholic Church. At the time of its release, the film was positively reviewed by Vatican publications and Catholic leaders as a “profoundly religious film.” The ‘Lics loved this movie. And why wouldn’t they? Two priests, one young and handsome, the other older and wiser, both sacrifice their lives to save an innocent child! It’s like a fucking buddy picture — but, you know, with Satan.
The fear and paranoia caused by The Exorcist increased church attendance, stimulated interest in Catholicism and filled seminaries with new applicants to the priesthood. It was the greatest commercial for Catholicism since the Inquisition.
Divine Retribution, Catholic Style
Many religions have a realm of agony in the afterlife where their devoted congregation spend all of eternity paying for their sins. In Catholicism it’s an all-expenses paid, one-way trip to hell where the Devil mocks, defiles and tortures unrepentant heretics forever.
While the list of shit the Catholic Church prohibits you from doing literally goes from here to hell (and not back), these are some of the juicier offenses that’ll buy you that one-way ticket to Club Inferno:
Illicit sex — sex out of Catholic wedlock, adultery, masturbation and using birth control.
Practicing the occult — everything from eating Lucky Charms cereal to conducting black mass.
Using a Ouija board — even if you’re just contacting family and friends (whether they’re in hell or not).
Pornography — making or watching it.
Thankfully, the ‘Lics offer a line of quality salvation products for the discerning sinner wishing to avoid eternal damnation: baptism, confession, penance, donations and indulgences.
But their industry game-changer is exorcism. Based on the ol’ proverb You can’t take the hell out of the Devil but you can take the Devil out of hell — and straight into your body, it’s a magnificently devious way of keeping in check Catholics who flagrantly enjoy a life of sin while defiantly ignoring post-death fire and brimstone. Now, through the wonders of ancient demonic possession, hell is no longer a far off place to be experienced only after you die — it’s right here and now. There’re no complicated instructions to follow or advanced skills required. Simply commit any one of the many sins offered by the Catholic Church (see above) and before you know it, one of Satan’s legion will be living rent free in your body! Then once that pesky little devil has overstayed it’s welcome, who ya gonna call? The exorcism specialists of the Catholic Church. #1 in demonic expulsion for over 400 years running.
And lest you thinketh the ‘Lics have left all this hokum back in the 15th century where it belongs and out of embarrassment are trying to Mandela Effect us like Disney with Song of the South, they ain’t. Current ‘Lic El Jeffe, Pope Francis has stated outright “… we should not think of the Devil as a myth, a representation, a symbol… when we kick him out he will go…” Recently, The Archbishop of Rome called for a mass exorcism in response to the COVID-19 pandemic, claiming “The Evil One has gone into a frenzy.” And the Vatican even has its own exorcism school taught by the International Association of Exorcists. The annual week-long course attracts 500 students annually from around the world— at $370 a head.
Man, them Catholics got us coming and going.
My Personal Childhood Journey to Damnation
The reason my dad didn’t suffer psychological trauma from The Exorcist‘s head-turning, vomiting spewing, “power of Christ compels you” bombast was simple: he was raised Protestant. Protestants don’t buy into possession and exorcism like the Catholics do. While my dad found parts of the movie cinematically frightening, theologically he thought the whole demon thing was far-fetched fantasy — like faeries, goblins and compassionate conservatism.
My mom, on the other hand, was raised Catholic and if you know anything about the ‘Lics, it’s that they loooove them some demons and exorcising. It’s their brand. Catholic Exorcism™ is the Coca-Cola™ of demonic expulsion. They’ve been peddling that claptrap since 1614 in The Rituale Romanum — which is still the Catholic Church’s official handbook on exorcism, complete with step-by-step instructions, scripted dialogue and how to use the various props; crucifix, holy water, incense. (The ‘Lics LOVE to make a big production number out of everything. Their weddings are goddamn two hours.)
This superstitious twaddle was the basis of my mom’s Catholic education beginning when she was a little girl while her pristine brain was most susceptible to such archaic deviltry. She was taught the Devil is real. Demons are real. Possession is real. Exorcism is real. So, along with millions of other Catholics just like her, she believed what The Exorcist portrayed was real.
Given the deep-seated psychological uneasiness The Exorcist still provokes in me, you can probably guess which parent won out in the Battle of Our Child’s Religious Upbringing. It wasn’t even close. My dad threw in the towel three weeks into the first round, when I was baptized Catholic. From that moment on, it was let the conditioning begin! As I child, I was mesmerized by a picture in our Children’s Bible of a very masculine, red-skinned, goatee-sporting Devil complete with requisite horns and cloven feet. He was right there, next to the blonde hair, blue-eyed Jesus — whom I knew was real — so it made sexy Devil real too.
For the first 15 years of my life, the ‘Lics went to work on me like Olivier on Hoffman in Marathon Man. Church, catechism and Catholic school. I learned all about Satan, his army of demons and all the crazy shit they got up to, fucking around with us humans to get their revenge on God. And there I was, a little boy caught right in the middle of this epic battle over humankind as Satan tempted me to sin against God and his son. Meanwhile, instead of helping me fight this formidable foe, God was up there keeping score on me, marking down every single one of my trespasses on my permanent record, bringing me closer and closer to eternal damnation.
By the time I finally started thinking for myself, I was thinking the thoughts given to me by the Catholic Church. When I went to see The Exorcist, I dragged all that demon baggage with me into the theatre and it was like watching a documentary. I never had a chance.
Up until my 13th year I kept my permanent record remained spotless; altar boy, Catholic school, Holy Communion, wore a crucifix, no smoking, no swearing, no drugs, loved my parent’s, didn’t covet my neighbor’s wife and didn’t kill anyone. I had all Ten Commandments covered. Everything was glorious. And then, in my 14th year, it all went to hell with me following right behind. I committed my first mortal sin. And it was a doozy. Probably the worst sin an adolescent Catholic boy could commit. That’s right, dear reader. You know what’s coming. Me. I spilled my seed.
I had discovered masturbation. At first, I thought, Wow! This is something I can really get behind. It’s like a gift from God! Problem was, it is. And, as I later discovered (after an extended home run streak worthy of the Major Leagues), this gift was only for procreating more Catholics, not recklessly firing off shots for my own amusement like I was at a carnival shooting gallery.
This was serious stuff. I had sinned against God. Surely this was going on my permanent record. I slid into a deep depression. Turning inward, I cut myself off from my family and friends. I couldn’t eat. I couldn’t sleep. I couldn’t concentrate on my schoolwork. And worst of all, I couldn’t masturbate.
With all the shame and guilt I was feeling, I couldn’t reach out to anyone for comfort. Not my friends, not my dad and certainly not my mom. Every time someone asked me if I was okay, I’d pacify them with some bullshit excuse so I didn’t have to admit what was really tearing me apart.
As Father Merrin said of the demon’s tactics in The Exorcist, “The attack is psychological…and powerful.”
Spilling My Guts Over Spilling My Seed
But the ‘Lics did such a masterful job programming me I knew there was only one person who could save me from Damnation Masturbation: my priest. I asked my dad to drive me to Saturday evening confession. Why my dad and not my mom? I’m not sure. Probably because he wasn’t Catholic. I remember sitting in the car next to him before I went into the church. I was a nervous wreck. If my dad wanted to know the reason I was about to face my confessor, he never asked. I always appreciated that.
The confessional is a dark booth with an opaque screen separating you (and your identity) from the priest. This anonymity is what gave me the strength to overcome my shame and confess my, what the ‘Lics call, “grave moral disorder.” The priest then gave me a lecture on how God designed sex to unite man and woman in total, faithful, fruitful love and that whacking off is none of that. After I expressed my sincere remorse, I received the standard penance of Our Fathers and Hail Marys.
And just like that, all was forgiven. I was back in the good graces of God, never to masturbate again.
My heart still breaks for what that 14-year-old boy was put through. I get angry when I think of how they used fear and shame to control the most natural and intimate expressions of my body in order to make me a good Catholic boy.
Taking the Devil by the Horns
When was a child I believed all sorts of the fantastical stories I was told. Santa Claus, the Easter Bunny, the Tooth Fairy, compassionate conservatism. But as I grew older I ditched those myths in favor of a realistic view of the world. One in which I must assume responsibility for my transgressions rather than blaming my indiscretions on antediluvian justifications like bogeymen. I no longer get up early Christmas, Easter or Tooth-less mornings expecting rewards left for me by some fabricated employee of my parents whose job description is to make me behave the other 364 days of the year.
Yet somehow, in the far cobwebbed reaches of my mind, past the dusty spots where Santa, the Bunny and the Fairy once were, there’s still a dark corner where The Exorcist continues to lurk, waiting to take hold of me, even though I see past its cinematic gimmickry to the peas soup vomit, visible wires “levitating” the girl and the demon voice by a female actor who was in an episode of Bewitched.
All these years later, the film still manages to somehow prey on my primal fears — and both I and The Exorcist have the Catholic Church to thank for it.
They did a helluva job on me. Just imagine what they could’ve done if they used their powers for good instead of the devil.
Coda: Coming Full Circle 36 Years Later
In 2011 I attended a screening of The Exorcist with an appearance by its director, William Friedkin. After the movie, Friedkin greeted attendees in the lobby. I was able to steal him away just long enough to tell him the story of my dad bringing the 11-year-old me to see the movie. Friedkin expressed genuine shock that my parents allowed me to see the film at that young age. I then told him how later that night my dad snuck back into my room and shook my bed. Friedkin looked right at me and without missing a beat said: “What an asshole!”
Well, if the all-mighty William Fucking Friedkin, director of the holy goddamned Exorcist says my dad was an asshole for shaking my bed, well, then…
Check out all the other pies I have my fingers in…
© 2021 M. K. Jackson
