The prosecution presents Exhibit A to the courtroom: The Exorcism of Emily Rose. It's a frustrating little film, sandwiched by titles claiming that the story it tells is based on a real event.
Curiously, The Exorcism of Emily Rose is not really about an exorcism at all. It isn't even a horror film. It is, in fact, a drawn-out, courtroom "thinker" chronicling the trial of Father Moore (Tom Wilkinson), whose attempt to perform the religious ritual of exorcism leaves the possessed, the young Emily Rose, dead. Laura Linney steps in as Erin Bruner, a teeth-gnashing DA with a heart of ice, the better to keep her daily alcohol intake chilled while defending the sleaziest of sleazes. But when she realizes that she must step outside of her usual realm of fact-based reasoning in order to unravel Father Moore's prime defense, the audience realizes that $8.50 is a lot of money.
With the majority of the film taking place in court (shot by director Scott Derrickson in delicate measurements of one part clunk, two parts yawn), the viewers feel that they are indeed part of a jury. Not, as the filmmakers would like, however, part of the "onscreen" jury, which serves as our surrogate conscience when deciding who shall take the blame for Emily's death. Instead the viewers are the jurors in a case of trickery and failure and the director responsible is on trial.
Film criticism often feels like cross-examination, and since it's the closest I'd like to come to being a lawyer, I will continue this review as head prosecutor. Consider my next bit of evidence, Exhibit B: The 1973 classic The Exorcist. Here is a movie that, understandably, has a great shadow, one that Emily Rose cannot seem to escape.
Watching Rose, one gets a sense of a sibling inferiority complex at work. Indeed, the measly portions of the movie that actually involve the exorcism itself are hopelessly similar to and less intriguing than their older, more modest brethren. Emily Rose contorts itself as wickedly as a PG-13 rating would allow in attempts to escape this comparison. Because Director Derrickson's fear of similarity is so apparent, however, it becomes self-fulfilling.
In the end, the film claims to be about the battle between faith and fact, as Erin and Father Moore scramble to give Emily's death some semblance of meaning. It's a race to give devout belief the credit it deserves in a world where scrutiny rules and all doubtful attorneys bear frightening resemblances to weasels.
The finale is less than stellar, but more importantly it is self-defeating. If the characters in the film need to have "faith" explicitly spelled out for them in order to believe, then the sanctity that defines it is lost. What makes faith so respectable is, after all, it's ability to exist without any manifestation of proof. Unfortunately, Mr. Derrickson allows these two worlds to mingle in a clear effort to appease the audience. Thus, one is not only unable to enjoy The Exorcism of Emily Rose; one is equally unable to admire it.
Director Derrickson may still have a solid defense. He might argue that I'm missing the point entirely; that his film is about giving people hope and was never meant as a self-conscious retread of The Exorcist. "Have faith," he might say, "Have faith."
In a final shrug of misguided effort typical of his film, he would offer up Emily Rose's last weekend box-office success as proof of his caliber as a director. In response, I would be a particularly nasty prosecutor and finish with this final piece of evidence: Derrickson's only film of note prior to making Emily Rose, the straight-to-DVD gem, Hellraiser: Inferno.
Cue shot of disgruntled, bleary eyed jurors. Court adjourned.
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