In Erin’s class, we were assigned to do an “immanent critique.” I watched The Exorcist III that week and tried to do an immanent critique of that film. It’s not very good. Following A.S. Hamrah’s advice, I typically do not summarize plot or give easily-accessible information about the film (I’m not a columnist in a newspaper, but a writer on the internet, where all information is parallel). For whatever reason, I did the opposite here. Typically when I write about a film—which I have a lot of experience doing—I talk about the latent motivations of the filmmaker, what the narrative represents; I try to point out striking examples where we can see formal or narrative elements revealing the film’s underlying motivation. Movies are carefully-engineered weapons whose interests are, ultimately, against our own; we should exercise great caution when dealing with them, and seek to understand the precise manner in which the movie has been designed to corrupt us. What follows is an attempt to write about The Exorcist III (like everything on this website, this is a piece that I return to often).
So much is left unsaid in the film. Most of the horrible killings happen off-screen, for example. But if I say that it’s “more” or “less” of anything, then I am comparing it to other things and being insufficiently immanent.
The plot follows a police lieutenant investigating a series of murders that are being attributed to the “Gemini killer,” a serial murderer already caught and executed years ago. The priest who jumps out the window in the first Exorcist film is now played by the original actor, and a new guy. In his new guise, the priest claims responsibility for the new murders—despite being locked up in a rubber room and wearing a straight-jacket. The face of the original priest appears at the film’s climax.
The film opens with a dream-like murder of a young black boy. He is found in a church decapitated, with silver ingots driven through his eyes. Our protagonist is at the end of his rope. He’s too old and unhealthy-looking for such an active role. He’s constantly losing his temper, screaming at random characters who intrude into the film’s scenes. The film is filled with shouting and unexpected bursts of stress.
In the final scene, a priest tries to perform an exorcism on the man in the padded room. His Bible is torn to pieces by an invisible presence and he is flung upward and pressed against the ceiling. His skin and flesh stick to the padded surface, peeling away to reveal the striations of muscle underneath.
The cop bursts in, revolver drawn. He doesn’t see the priest bleeding in the corner, and instead confronts the killer, who keeps referring to himself in the plural. He wants to make our hero “believe.”
Pinned to the wall by the Gemini Killer’s magic powers, arms parallel to the floor in the pose of crucifixion, the lieutenant rasps
This I believe in…I believe in death. I believe in disease. I believe in injustice and inhumanity, torture and anger and hate…I believe in murder. I believe in pain. I believe in cruelty and infidelity. I believe in slime and stink and every crawling, putrid thing…every possible ugliness and corruption, you son of a bitch. I believe…in you.
The Gemini Killer wants the secular protagonist to believe in the actuality of the Divine, to convince him of the cruelty of an order that permits the evil he has wrought over the course of the film. Lightning strikes the padded floor, over and over. Through the broken surface, arms reach up from spectral fog. We see the black boy from the beginning, face painted as in a minstrel show, tears of blood trickling from the silver ingots hammered through his eyes.
The cop’s speech about scum and villainy is ambiguous. All these bad things seem to be the domain of the Devil/Gemini Killer. It’s unlikely that he is affirming his loyalty to the infernal. The monologue is a negation through affirmation. The film is not that ambiguous. It’s pretty clear about what’s happening, and does not play “Devil’s advocate” and try to represent his infernal perspective. It simply does not both to complete certain causal circles. The power of the film comes from arresting images; excellent craft, combined with a narrative that is clearly outside the American cinema we typically associate with this level of craft; and its lack of resolution. This is not the same as ambiguity.
Finally, the possessed priest, our “Gemini Killer,” momentarily gains control of his body; the cop blows his brains out, the Devil is deprived of a vessel, and evil is vanquished.
Why do I feel so bad in this room? In all classrooms? Too much baggage. I should do an immanent critique of me, here, right now.
Immanent critique of the hospital bombing. In what sense is it real? A bunch of children and injured people were attacked. A strike at a building whose function is to shelter the sick and injured. A war crime by international law; a moral crime by universal law. They try to flatten it by presenting it on a screen, alongside everything else; but its reality spills onto the streets.
We learned new chants at the rally on Sunday. We showed up at Dorchester Square to practise them before going on the march. We were led by a voice that came from somewhere out in the sea of people. They spread, and we were slowly off. It was raining lightly; a ceiling of umbrellas added to the atmosphere of collectivity.