Mark Kermode, �BFI Modern Classics � The Exorcist�
Really, if you wanted to do a good book about The Exorcist, it could just be a book of quotes. �The power of Christ compels you!� �Let Jesus fuck you!� �Do you know what she did? Your cunting daughter?� �That�s much too much of a display of power, Carras.�
I mean, the film is a plethora of samples for your mediocre punk rock or death metal band. At least Logical Nonsense had the sense to only sample the fighting dogs at the beginning, so it�s not as obvious.
This isn�t a book of quotes. Instead, we get a lot of behind-the-scenes stuff, but done in 1997, before the remake that had the new scenes. Doing a book 20 years after it was released means a lot of the people interviewed don�t remember what the hell happened. To make up for it, they talk a lot about the highlights of the film.
And if highlights of the movie are all you want, you could always find it here, told in 30 seconds, and performed by bunnies.
And you know, if I had received the scans for the Family Circus entry earlier, I would have made the promise that I would limit any sad comments about The (ex)Girlfriend to one per entry. But I haven�t publicly stated that yet, so what the hell. As it stands, I�m still going pretty well on that promise anyway. So here goes with the one comment.
There�s a definite problem writing both journalism and fiction � you�re constantly thinking about angles and scenarios. If you didn�t figure it out already, I was one of those kids who spent time wandering around the back yard by myself, playing my game of Finding the Aliens Who Turned My Parents Into Hippies, and What Exactly They Do With All That Wheat Germ.� Grade school was, more often that not, me making my own stories up in my head in the far corner of the lawn (or in the corner of the classroom when they started in-school suspension).
My father has kept reams of paper where I made full-length graphic novels as a child. I couldn�t draw, so I took my multi purpose protractor and had all my characters utilizing shapes like hexagons, irregular polygons, ovals, circles and rectangles. These were the heads. Then I would attach stick-figure arms and legs to them, add a cape, and taa-daa! Picasso-themed superheroes!
I haven�t seen them since I made them. I can�t tell you how bad they were.
Anyhoo, I have an overactive imagination. I also like to plot. So when I called The (ex)Girlfriend on Sunday, I had a cunning plan, to quote Black Adder.
�Hello?�
�Hey Lumpy, shut up and listen for a minute, okay?�
�Okay.�
�Tomorrow, at 11:20 a.m., I will be at the Century 16, to see Hellboy. If you�re not busy, I�d like to see it with you.�
She said okay. Then she invited me to come over to her house that night to watch Adult Swim cartoons. I wasn�t expecting that. Plus the two previous nights of drinking heavily until 4 a.m., only to go to work at nine meant that if I did show up, I would not only be too tired to actually talk coherently, but she would smell the two-day funk of gin and cigarettes. Maybe that would�ve helped. She likes Tom Waits after all. I decided Tom is better heard than seen and went home.
Of course, on the way, I realized I had forgotten part two of my plan. I called her back.
�Me again. I forgot to say that you don�t have to wear a skirt, but I sure won�t mind if you do.�
Phase two complete.
My drunken hands had hit the �time� button instead of the �alarm� on my clock, so I bolted up in the morning in a panic, late for my own plot. I showered, shaved, and raced down to the southside of town before I realized that I was at least twenty minutes ahead of schedule.
I waited in an empty parking lot for twenty minutes, read the book I had bought for her (and no, I�m not reviewing it � though technically I could), finally saw the box office open and waited in the lobby looking for her car.
Which didn�t come.
Finally I went into an empty theater and took a seat. Before I could feel pathetic though, another single man walked in. At least I thought I might have a date. I�m not the biggest loser after all! The previews started, and during the third one, she walked in and raced toward me.
And she was wearing a skirt.
Here�s where the plotting comes in. We hadn�t spoken to each other, except for the invitation and the second part of the invitation, since the break-up. I didn�t know how this would go � would we be awkward? Nervous? Would we cry like banshees? My plot was to sit quietly, watch the movie, and hopefully, I could hold her hand the entire time. That�s all I wanted.
Instead, we made out like teenagers. Or at least teenagers who know how to make out.
After three days of sheer hell, I�m suddenly giddy again. She invited me to oysters and beer on Friday. I accepted in a fucking heartbeat. But then here�s where the scenarios come into play, and my overactive imagination. I started thinking about how I wanted to write this. I figured I had time, as I already had four reviews finished, and was waiting for Alan to give me the images I needed for the Family Circus review.
I had the idea that I was going to mention that I finally saw Hellboy, with a girl no less, and thought that, for what I saw of the film, it was actually pretty damn good. I would leave it at that. A tease for the common reader and a wink at her, as we both read each other�s blogs.
But like I said, I had other things to post. She didn�t. When she put her version of the day on her site, she mentioned one particularly funny moment. At one point of the film, an Al Green song starts playing in the background.
I fucking love Al Green. I winced when the song came on, as it�s the first song on both volumes of his greatest hits collection, and I own them both. The song, in case you didn�t guess. was �Let�s Stay Together.� She leaned over and said she loved this song.
�You know what this song is called, right?� I mumbled.
�What?� she whispered back, more out of not hearing what I said, than not knowing what song it was.
�Nothing.�
A second later, she leaned over again, kissing my ear. �Yes, I know what song this is.�
Anyhoo, she wrote a version of that story, and her faux pas with Al Green was included. Everything else, however, was not. Not the skirt, not the making out, not the 15 minutes in the parking lot where neither of us wanted to leave, despite that I was supposed to start work in 10 minutes on the other side of town.
So I�m thinking, is she really just going to do selective editing to where it�s a quick joke with a punchline? Why? Is it because she doesn�t want others to know about the other bits? It wouldn�t be out of modesty, this is the girl who described our �fucking to fitness� program. Then I�m thinking that she�s leaving it out because she doesn�t want other people to know.
This is where my conspiracy-fueled brain starts on overtime. Who exactly does she not want to know about this? Are they bigger than me? It doesn�t matter, because she ought to know this � I�m a reporter! I�m a one-man truth squad! I�m a crusader for facts, and the facts are that WE MADE OUT! CALLOO CALLAY!
God, I hope this doesn�t fuck up Friday. I�m supposed to get oysters and beers with her. Man, I got a big mouth.
Oh, and the wheat germ thing? The Aliens use them to make more fucking hippies. Beware. BEWARE!!!!
