Heaping praise upon Exorcist II: The Heretic is difficult, but, at the very least, it can’t be accused of simply retreading the original in the most exploitative way possible (as was the rigueur du jour in grindhouses across the globe). Indeed, that was actually the original plan: to shoot it quick and on the cheap, going so far as to employ unused footage and alternate takes from the first film, sort of like the prototype of future shoestring sequels like Silent Night, Deadly Night 2. In an alternate universe, The Exorcist II is whispered in the same sentence with the likes of that.
Or is that the universe we’re actually in? John Boorman’s film is damn near universally reviled and certainly stands as one of the most bewildering and disappointing follow-ups to an absolute masterpiece. If it were merely bewildering, that’d be one thing—in fact, its utter weirdness is almost downright commendable, if only because the film feels nothing like its predecessor. However, the final product doesn’t resemble a conscious step in another direction so much as it feels like an aimless, wandering attempt at coaxing answers from a film that thrived on ambiguity and inexplicability. It goes without saying that such an approach rarely works out in horror films: evil is only diminished once the curtain’s been pulled back on it.
So it goes with The Heretic. Unfolding four years after the events in The Exorcist (and forever in its shadow), it finds Regan MacNeill (Linda Blair) leading a rather charmed life considering her previous ordeal. Now 16 years old, she lives in a high-rise apartment with guardian Sharon Spencer (Kitty Winn, assuming a somewhat maternal role in the wake of Ellen Burstyn’s refusal to return); while she still undergoes regular treatment with psychotherapist Gene Tuskin (Louise Fletcher), she’s found success as a stage dancer and has mostly put her tumultuous past behind her. Meanwhile, the Catholic Church has found it more difficult to move on from those events: some within its ranks have branded the late Lankester Merrin (Max von Sydow) a heretic, so one of his acolytes (Richard Burton) is dispatched to investigate his death and clear his name.
His intrusion naturally disrupts Regan’s relatively tranquil life, and, in the first of several things that don’t make much sense, the obsessed priest coerces Tuskin in trying out an experimental form of hypnosis on her patient, a decision that sends Father Lamont down the bizarre path that’s made this sequel so infamous, one that’s lined with incomprehensible mind-melds, African jaunts, James Earl Jones, Assyrian demons, and bugs. At times, The Heretic is the weirdest possible sequel to The Exorcist, as it often doesn’t even feel as though it hails from the same universe as Friedkin’s film. Somehow, its connection with its predecessor feels absolutely tenuous despite the return of three characters and a central conceit concerned with illuminating the events of that film.
The Exorcist II is a fine example of a film that can’t thrive on weirdness alone, with its various tangents and tonal inconsistencies merely resulting in frustration and dullness instead of genuine intrigue. Even considering it from a train-wreck cinema standpoint isn’t all that rewarding: sure, the film is an oddball, and you’re sometimes left wondering just how Warner Brothers let Boorman get away with this (it's arguably one of the last gasps of faith in New Hollywood), but it’s not even awe-inspiring in its messiness—it’s just a directionless muddle that seems to actively undo Friedkin’s masterful blending of clinical horror with a feverish, nightmarish verve that shook audiences to their core.
Instead, Boorman’s sequel is almost perfectly bifurcated between the world of science and mysticism, which aren’t at war here as much as they’re both just sort of there, with the former taking the shape of dry psychoanalysis sessions that can’t be all that productive given Regan’s suppression of her trauma and her doctor’s disbelief in it anyway. Managing to return Blair to her most famous role initially feels like a coup until it’s clear that the script has very little direction for her. Only nebulous ideas arise, nearly all of which manage to undercut the inexplicability of her previous suffering: it turns out Regan might be one of many special snowflakes predicted by Merrin to eventually emerge into the world and combat evil. While this clearly shifts the paradigm of the original, it’s at least a fascinating idea that could allow the film to explore the notion of Regan as a martyr, sort of a modern Joan of Arc, forever haunted by the burden of thwarting evil (even despite Blair’s acting ability refusing to grow up with her—Regan MacNeill might have been among the most ditzy saints ever).
But instead of exploring this, The Heretic has Father Lamont hop on over to Africa to investigate Merrin’s other encounter with evil several years earlier in Northern Africa, a diversion I’m of two minds about: on the one hand, it’s an awful early indicator of Hollywood’s compulsive need to explain everything. Merrin’s brief, furtive mentions in the original were enough, but that doesn’t stop the sequel from delivering unnecessary flashbacks and almost completely deflating the nature of the beast, so to speak. Turns out Regan’s bout wasn’t with Satan himself but rather an ancient demon named Pazuzu, a discovery that’s kind of like watching your favorite team beat a bunch of second-stringers—you almost feel compelled to put an asterisk beside Merrin’s victory in The Exorcist.
However, on the other hand, the Africa tangent does make up the most compelling stretch of the film. Nearly everything that’s made The Heretic notorious derives from this interlude, which is the only time The Heretic even approaches an otherworldly, fever-dreamy mood to give it some manner of distinction. In the film’s most invigorating scene, Boorman’s camera swoops over the African landscape (read: a WB sound stage but humor me) to reveal the boy Merrin once exorcised, now a fully-grown tribal leader played by Jones. All of this is courtesy of a vision that impels Lamont to actually make a visit, at which point an already bewildered Burton seems even more mystified by just what in the fuck is going on. Having seen the film multiple times, I am still in no position to offer any explanation. All I can give is empathy and direct it towards Burton’s perpetually furrowed brow, as there are precious few moments where this otherwise stalwart performer seems comfortable. If there’s any desperation to be found, you have to assume it owes to Burton’s palpable longing to somehow negotiate his way out of this mess before it’s too late.
He wasn’t so fortunate, of course, and goes down the ship alongside everyone and everything else, including whatever sense of coherence the film manages. For all its insistence on departing from the original, The Heretic can’t resist literally retracing its steps by returning to the scene of its famous climax (reconstructed, again, on set—they couldn’t even get the actual house to come back for this shit). A faint thematic thread centered on denial (Regan, her doctor, and even the Church reject the possibility of actual, Satanic evil) is woven only to be lost in a nonsensical conclusion that reveals just how oblique Pazuzu’s plan has been the entire movie; with no clear goals stated up until this point, the demon merely resorts to the ol’ corruption-of-the-cloth routine, only with 100% less cocksucking barbs and more heart-rippings and nubile Linda Blair temptation (there are somehow two Regans during the finale, which, all things considered, isn’t the weirdest thing that happens since self-immolation is also involved).
Disappointment abounds in The Exorcist II, but its cop-out finale is among the most disheartening elements, especially in light of the studio’s apparent decision to go big and bold instead of making a quick cash-in (at this point, The Heretic carried the biggest budget in WB’s history). Ultimately, you’re left with exactly what you’ve come to expect from half-hearted sequels: more of the same, only it’s been diluted the second time around. In this case, though, it feels almost impossible because Boorman’s vision is otherwise quite grandiose and his resources more than adequate (Blair aside, this is a helluva cast, plus Ennio Morricone’s score provides a subtle Eurohorror vibe that’s otherwise sadly muted)—it’s just that it’s so untamed and delivered without any sense of actual direction or clarity. Make no mistake: The Exorcist II is a very strange, almost admirably peculiar departure, but almost none of it works outside of Boorman’s occasionally artful flourishes that hint at a film that could have existed on the same metaphysical plane as the original. Falling well short of that, it rests in an unfortunate purgatory reserved for bad movies that aren't really bad enough. Rent it!
