If hell has a cinema, I suspect Exorcist: The Beginning is always playing in Theater 2, right next to the concession stand that only serves warm milk duds and flat Pepsi. It’s the kind of movie that doesn’t just insult its audience—it insults archaeology, theology, African wildlife, and even sand itself. Directed by Renny Harlin (whose résumé is like a demolition derby of bad decisions), this 2004 prequel manages to turn one of the most terrifying horror films of all time into something that feels like a rejected Indiana Jones script covered in demonic graffiti.
A War, A Crisis, and a Contractual Obligation
We begin with Father Merrin, played by Stellan Skarsgård, who looks like he’d rather be at literally any other film set on earth. Once a priest, now a disillusioned archaeologist with PTSD, Merrin is basically “Indiana Jones without the charm, whip, or budget.” He’s haunted by his WWII trauma and spends most of the movie looking like he’s about to sigh himself into the grave.
Enter a shady collector who sends him to Kenya to investigate a buried Byzantine church. Why is there a Byzantine church in Africa? Don’t ask questions. The writers didn’t.
The Church That Time Forgot
The church itself is pristine, like it was built by HGTV demons and immediately shoved underground to preserve the resale value. Its statues point their spears downward, which is supposed to be ominous but looks more like angelic sulking. Inside, everything screams, “This is definitely cursed,” but Merrin just keeps poking around like a man determined to win Worst Archaeologist of the Year.
Of course, the locals want nothing to do with the dig because they know when a white guy in khakis shows up to start digging, bad things follow. Merrin ignores their warnings because colonialism is basically his side hustle.
When Animals Attack (Badly)
Then come the hyenas. Oh, the hyenas. Supposedly terrifying, they look like cut scenes from Jumanji (the 1995 version, not even the fun Rock reboot). One poor kid gets torn to shreds by CGI that would’ve embarrassed a PlayStation 2 game. Instead of horror, the scene elicits chuckles—nothing kills tension like digital wildlife that appears allergic to physics.
Nazis, Demons, and Poor Script Notes
For reasons that remain as murky as the CGI hyenas, the Nazis keep showing up in Merrin’s nightmares. One even possesses another character, which is somehow both tasteless and lazy. When your horror film’s big scare is “what if Hitler, but spooky?” you know you’re scraping the bottom of the infernal barrel.
The script tries to tie Merrin’s crisis of faith to his confrontation with Pazuzu, the demon from the original film. In theory, this could’ve been powerful. In practice, it’s like watching a theology student mumble his way through a half-forgotten essay while Pazuzu yawns in the background.
The Supporting Cast of Cannon Fodder
James D’Arcy plays Father Francis, the token wide-eyed priest doomed to be a cautionary tale. Izabella Scorupco is Sarah, who might as well have “future possession victim” stamped on her forehead from frame one. There’s also Major Granville, who exists only to prove that British colonial officers were jerks (shocking, I know). The locals? Mostly there to look terrified and occasionally deliver an ominous warning that Merrin promptly ignores.
Everyone is either a cliché or a soon-to-be corpse. Sometimes both.
Gore Instead of Fear
Where William Friedkin’s The Exorcist relied on atmosphere, Harlin’s prequel just dumps buckets of gore on the screen like it’s auditioning for a Slipknot music video. Boils, blood, maggots—oh my! Subtlety is for cowards, apparently. One scene involving a stillborn baby covered in maggots is less horrifying than it is proof that someone in the effects department needed therapy and maybe a hobby.
The Big Bad: Pazuzu the Boring
Eventually, the plot remembers it’s supposed to be about demonic possession. Turns out Sarah is possessed, and Merrin must confront Pazuzu in an exorcism showdown. But instead of tension or dread, it plays like a badly staged WWE match: lots of shouting, some writhing, and a finish you can see coming three scenes earlier.
The exorcism itself is so uninspired that you half expect Merrin to just roll his eyes and say, “Fine, demon, you win, I’ll go back to Rome.” Honestly, it would’ve been more entertaining.
Production History: A Curse of Its Own
The most terrifying thing about Exorcist: The Beginning isn’t anything onscreen—it’s the production history. Morgan Creek had already financed Paul Schrader’s version (Dominion: Prequel to the Exorcist), but executives decided it wasn’t “scary enough.” So they reshot the entire film with Harlin, trading atmosphere for cheap jump scares and CGI hyenas. The result? A box office flop so embarrassing they released Schrader’s version a year later, like a sheepish kid showing off the essay he plagiarized after the first one bombed.
Comedy in All the Wrong Places
For a movie about faith, demons, and man’s eternal struggle with evil, Exorcist: The Beginning is accidentally hilarious. Every time someone gasps at the church’s “mysteries,” you can’t help but laugh. The CGI hyenas deserve their own sitcom. The endless grim flashbacks to Nazi atrocities feel less like character depth and more like someone dared Harlin to make war crimes boring.
And then there’s the dialogue. Gems like:
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“The church was buried to contain the evil!”
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“The evil is here!”
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“Evil!”
It’s like the thesaurus was repossessed halfway through writing.
Final Nail in the Coffin
By the end, Merrin regains his faith, defeats Pazuzu (for now), and walks off into the sunrise like a man who knows he’ll have to sign on for more sequels because his agent hates him. The film tries to be profound, but it’s about as deep as a puddle of holy water.
Where the original Exorcist terrified generations, Exorcist: The Beginning only terrifies studio accountants and anyone who paid full price at the box office. It’s a film so lifeless that even Pazuzu seems embarrassed to show up.
Final Verdict
Exorcist: The Beginning is less a horror film and more a $50 million lesson in how not to make a prequel. It replaces dread with CGI animals, atmosphere with gore, and theological weight with exposition that would make Sunday school kids groan.
It’s not scary. It’s not clever. It’s not even fun. It’s the cinematic equivalent of finding out your communion wine is actually boxed Franzia.
