Exorcising The Exorcist
“I’m speaking to the person inside of Regan now. If you are there, you, too, are hypnotized and must answer all my questions. Come forward and answer me now.”
I am sitting cross-legged on the living room floor in front of the television. Was it a wood console T.V. or a Zenith, and in black-and-white? I can’t access that detail. But I know it’s 1980, and my babysitter and her boyfriend are cuddling on the couch behind me. With my hands in front of my face, I peer through my splayed fingers. My heart is racing as I watch the most terrifying film ever.
The Exorcist is on network television, and I am five years old.
Trembling, I watch twelve-year-old Regan McNeil sitting in a hypnotic trance. Her forearm and hand propped on the chair armrest. Her face contorts, and she is growling. Her evil, possessed eyes look at the psychiatrist. The next moment, she hurls forward, biting him in his nether region. I am pretty sure this is when my trembling turns into crying, and I am inconsolable when my mom arrives home. I don’t know how much more of the movie I saw or how long I cried.
I was aware of the supernatural at that age. I believed in Santa Claus, of course, as children do. But I became instantly sold on the idea of the devil, and for the last forty-three years, the mere mention of the movie makes me shudder. And to know me is to know how it paralyzes me. We crack jokes, but there is truth to it. I can’t look at images or see a 5-second clip without getting goosebumps. Any mention of it, I will quip that I carry a vial of holy water in my purse.
You know, in case I run into Linda Blair on the street.
Sorry, not sorry, Linda.
So, when my boyfriend suggested we watch it last weekend, I surprised us both by saying yes. It would be his first time seeing it. Over the decades, I tried watching it a few times to get past my terror. But I always woke up with nightmares in the weeks after. And it’s odd since I enjoy scary movies. And I love to read Stephen King horror novels. I can suspend my reason of disbelief with the best of them. So, why does the power of The Exorcist compel me?
It was time to face this nightmare that had taunted me since childhood. I am forty-eight, after all, and a little old to be afraid of a movie.
I grabbed my blankie and a book for distraction.
Just in case.
Today, I see it through a different lens. I watched what led to the hypnosis scene: the violent shaking bed, Regan being tossed up and down by an invisible force, and the invasive medical tests done on her. And that’s when I made the connection. My then five-year-old brain related those scenes to my experiences at that time. The confusion of my little brother’s epileptic grand mal seizures and hospital visits.
My brother Bobby’s seizures were heartbreaking and frightening. He had suffered from them since infancy. And everyone felt helpless when they happened. I remember his uncontrollable spasms. Were they daily occurrences? I don’t know, but there were several ambulance rides and hospital stays. Aside from the obvious, it’s no wonder The Exorcist traumatized me.
First, five-year-olds should never see it. I don’t know who that babysitter was, but I hope my parents didn’t hire them again after that night. Second, I trust my confusion over Bobby’s seizures and what I watched on celluloid intertwined. Did I think my brother was possessed by the devil when he had a seizure? I don’t know. But, I lost a little of my innocence watching that movie at a tender age.
Watching The Exorcist now, I understand the phenomenon. And I see what I couldn’t comprehend in my youth — a priest wrestling with his belief. It’s still a terrifying horror film. The visuals, language, and makeup are no less horrendous and brutal. But, viewing it in my middle age, I see it less about demon possession and more about humanity and light overcoming the dark.
I now appreciate the Academy and Golden Globe nominations and awards. It’s not a film you watch, it’s one you experience. With this new appreciation, I am happy to say I finally wore down and exorcised the devil. I have been nightmare-free ever since.
But I still have that vial of holy water.
Just in case.
