A Devil of a Mess
They say lightning never strikes the same place twice, but apparently Pazuzu didn’t get the memo. After the first Exorcistscarred entire generations and the second film (The Heretic) scarred Warner Bros.’ reputation, William Peter Blatty came back to direct The Exorcist III. You’d think the author of the original novel would have the keys to resurrect the franchise. Instead, what we got was a supernatural murder mystery that plays like a TV procedural—except the guest star is Satan, and the director insists you sit through 110 minutes of philosophical speeches delivered with the urgency of a DMV clerk.
This isn’t so much a horror film as it is a sermon with body parts.
The Plot: CSI: Georgetown
George C. Scott stars as Lt. Kinderman, who spends the movie scowling, wheezing, and sweating like a man who just realized his agent tricked him into starring in The Exorcist III. He’s investigating murders that are definitely the work of the Gemini Killer—who was executed fifteen years ago but, through demonic technicalities, has come back to turn Georgetown into a crime scene.
Heads are chopped off, blood is collected in neat little jars, and priests are murdered left and right. Which sounds exciting, except every murder happens off-screen. Instead of scares, we get Scott stomping into rooms afterwards, bellowing, “JESUS MARY JOSEPH!” like he’s auditioning for a Catholic version of COPS.
The Gemini Killer is played by Brad Dourif in full “possessed theater kid” mode. He shouts, he whispers, he flails his arms. Imagine Chucky going through a midlife crisis after an improv class. Jason Miller shows up as Father Karras (because the studio demanded it), despite the fact his character literally broke his neck at the bottom of some stairs in 1973. No problem: Blatty explains it with the subtlety of a drunk priest—Pazuzu just stuffed his soul into a new body, because hell operates like a bad car rental agency.
George C. Scott vs. The Script
Scott was an Oscar-winning actor. He once played Patton with such ferocity people thought he was the general. Here? He looks like he’s fighting off heartburn for two hours. His idea of acting in this film is to yell every other line, as though the audience fell asleep and he’s trying to wake them up.
“IT’S A HOMICIDE!”
“JESUS CHRIST!”
“THE CARP IS IN MY BATHTUB!”
Yes, that’s an actual subplot: Kinderman has a carp swimming in his tub because his wife bought it for Christmas dinner. It’s supposed to be quirky. It plays like filler written by someone who lost interest halfway through typing. If your horror sequel’s biggest running gag is aquatic poultry, you’re in trouble.
The Horror That Wasn’t
This film contains exactly one effective scare—the famous hospital hallway shot with the nurse and the giant shears. It lasts five seconds. Unfortunately, you then have to sit through another 100 minutes of characters explaining theology like they’re at a seminary debate club.
The murders are described in detail but never shown. We hear about decapitated children and blood jars, but what we see is George C. Scott’s sweaty face explaining it to another actor who looks like they’d rather be anywhere else. Blatty apparently thought the power of suggestion would terrify us. Instead, it feels like the world’s longest audiobook with bad lighting.
Studio Demons at Work
Originally, Blatty wanted this to be an adaptation of his novel Legion, which was more of a metaphysical detective story. But the studio panicked: “Where’s the exorcism? Where’s the spinning heads and pea soup?” So they demanded reshoots, which is how Nicol Williamson shows up in the last 15 minutes as Father Morning—a priest so random he might as well have been summoned from catering.
He performs an exorcism so incoherent it looks like two different films spliced together with duct tape. Lights flash, wind machines blow, Jason Miller sweats, Brad Dourif screams. Then Kinderman strolls in and solves the whole problem with a bullet, making you wonder why the Vatican didn’t think of firearms 2,000 years ago.
Brad Dourif: The Human Megaphone
To give credit where it’s due: Brad Dourif commits. He plays the Gemini Killer with such manic energy you half expect him to pull out jazz hands. One minute he’s whispering about his gruesome crimes, the next he’s howling so loud your neighbors think you’re watching WWE SmackDown.
The tragedy is that his scenes—though absurd—are the only times the movie feels alive. Everything else is just endless dialogue, like Blatty mistook “horror” for “philosophy class.”
Cameos from Hell
This film is stuffed with random cameos that make you wonder if the casting director owed people favors. Samuel L. Jackson appears briefly as a blind dream man. Patrick Ewing, yes the basketball player, shows up as the Angel of Death. Fabio—FABIO!—is also an angel, because apparently Heaven looks like a Calvin Klein ad. If you’ve ever wanted your religious horror served with a side of People Magazine’s Sexiest Men Alive, this is the movie for you.
Pacing of the Damned
The movie lurches forward like a drunk seminarian. For every five minutes of plot, you get 30 minutes of Kinderman monologuing about faith, doubt, or his bathtub carp. It’s like watching Law & Order: Theological Victims Unit. By the time the exorcism shoehorns its way into the finale, you’ve already been spiritually exorcised of patience.
Legacy of a Misfire
Fans of the original cling desperately to the idea that The Exorcist III is “underrated.” They’ll tell you about its atmosphere, its dialogue, its one brilliant scare. Don’t believe them. This movie is the cinematic equivalent of a Sunday homily that goes on too long—you start off polite, then your mind wanders, then you’re staring at the exit hoping the Devil himself will show up just to spice things up.
Yes, compared to Exorcist II: The Heretic, it’s a masterpiece—but so is watching paint dry. Just because it’s not the absolute worst doesn’t mean it’s good. It’s like praising food poisoning because at least it wasn’t botulism.
Final Thoughts: The Devil Made Them Do It
The Exorcist III had potential: a veteran actor, a creepy premise, and the writer of the original at the helm. Instead, it’s a bloated sermon disguised as a horror movie, with one good scare and two hours of theological rambling. The only truly terrifying thing about this film is that it grossed $44 million, proving once again that audiences will pay to watch anything if you slap “Exorcist” in the title.
By the end, you don’t fear the Devil—you envy him. At least he got out early.
