In recent years, there’s been a big surge in “definitive versions” of films being made widely available to audiences. Some, like Zack Snyder’s Justice League and Ken Russell’s The Devils, present the director’s full vision, unaffected by studio meddling or censors’ destruction. There are some instances, like Josh Trank’s preferred cut of Fant4stic, where those versions may never see the light of the day. There’s also a less common third category: what if nobody knows what the hell the definitive version is, not even the director? One of the most famous examples of that category is Exorcist II: The Heretic, the messy production of which is explored to captivating effect in David Kittredge’s brilliant documentary Boorman & The Devil.
To set the scene: Warner Bros. have just had one of their biggest ever hits with The Exorcist, and they’re naturally keen to keep that goodwill going with a sequel. Small problem: most people involved with the original don’t want anything to do with it, including the writer and director. So they turn to John Boorman, who had given them another big hit with Deliverance a few years previously, and incidentally declined to direct the first Exorcist due to finding the story “rather repulsive”. Eventually they’re underway, with a script by playwright William Goodhart, $11 million, and a mandated release date of June 1977. Then everything goes to hell in a handbag pretty much immediately… and hell keeps finding new handbags.
Most of the stories told over the course of the film are, for lack of a better word, nuts. Real locusts were imported for a key scene and caused a whole word of problems, as you might expect; you hear and see the word locusts so many times it starts to lose all meaning. Then those locusts indirectly cause Boorman to contract San Joaquin Valley fever, which almost kills him. Richard Burton comes across particularly poorly, between faking bowel trouble to avoid the table read, his alcoholism, and the general perception that he’s half-arsing it. And when the final film screens for the first time, it’s received so badly that the audience realise a WB executive is in the screen and literally chase him out. I knew next to nothing about Exorcist II before I saw this, and sometimes I couldn’t believe what I was hearing – and yet somehow it’s all true.
Structurally, this isn’t going to revolutionise the documentary as a genre. Much of the film is comprised of talking head interviews, ranging from the film’s actors such as Linda Blair and the late Louise Fletcher, to other horror filmmakers, and Boorman himself. These interviews are also frequently interspersed with animated dramatisations of the various production troubles, as well as footage from the film itself. All pretty conventional documentary elements on paper, sure, and yet there was something about the way these elements are combined that really clicked so well for me. The talking heads are an absolute delight, with Fletcher in particular bringing a brilliant comedic flair to her anecdotes, and having such a way with words that you can’t help being completely invested whenever she opens her mouth. These interludes are nicely complimented by the animations, which are fun little interludes ranging from goofy representations to genuinely helpful graphics. When the messy production tales start, the animations ramp up in frequency, the editing and music become more intense, and it all really helps to throw you right into the chaos of everything going on. It’s hard to understate just how entertaining it all is, while still finding plenty of time for explanation of things like obsolete film exhibition practices without losing that spark and energy.
There is also occasional narration from Kitteridge, which in my eyes is the film’s only real weak point. While a lot of what he’s saying is certainly informative and necessary, his delivery leaves a lot to be desired. To borrow a turn of phrase from my dear friend and CC contributor Siobhan, it risks steering everything into WatchMojo territory rather than feeling like a theatrical documentary.
Most importantly, in amongst all the chaos being described and shown, there’s still a deep reverence for the craft of filmmaking that permeates the whole film and brings it all together. Some of Boorman’s pieces to camera have him talking about his craft in such a beautiful, poetic manner; it really sells you on how magic film can be as an art form. Kittredge clearly has a deep admiration for this era of Hollywood, where the major studios weren’t afraid to take major risks with films, even if they didn’t always work out. I also particularly appreciated the in-depth explanations of how certain visual effects were achieved in-camera, even though I must confess that I still couldn’t wrap my head around some of them. And sure, it can be fun to rip into a stinker and gawk at everything that went wrong during its production, the latter of which is certainly true here. However, the film demonstrates that a lot of people clearly cared about making this stinker, no matter how it turned out, and there may well have been a great movie hiding in there somewhere. It’s the cherry on top of a documentary I was already thoroughly taken by. Whether you love or hate Exorcist II, want an insight into how Hollywood used to be, or just love hearing about messy production stories, there’s really something for everyone here.
Boorman & The Devil is in select cinemas now.
