The Unlikely Redemption of a Hollywood Pariah
Let’s be honest: most people remember Exorcist II: The Heretic as a cautionary tale. A sequel so reviled it became shorthand for ‘artistic suicide.’ But David Kittredge’s documentary Boorman and the Devil isn’t just here to rehash old wounds—it’s here to ask a far more provocative question: What if we’ve been misunderstanding John Boorman’s ambition this whole time?
Why We Need More ‘Failures’ Like Exorcist II
Here’s the thing about artistic failure: it’s often a symptom of daring. Boorman didn’t just stumble into the mess of Exorcist II—he sprinted toward it, arms wide open. Fresh off the success of Deliverance, he was handed the keys to one of Hollywood’s most sacred monsters. And what did he do? He didn’t just make a sequel; he tried to reinvent the horror genre as a canvas for poetic surrealism. Personally, I think that’s far more interesting than any ‘making of’ drama. This wasn’t incompetence. It was hubris with a capital ‘H.’
The documentary’s real genius lies in reframing Boorman’s ‘mistake’ as a case study in creative courage. Let’s unpack that. When studios greenlit risky projects in the ’70s, they weren’t just gambling on box office returns—they were betting on artists’ ability to surprise audiences. Boorman’s sin wasn’t making a bad movie; it was making a movie that audiences weren’t ready to parse. In my opinion, that’s the kind of failure that deserves celebration, not ridicule.
The Secret History of Hollywood’s Lost Era
What many people don’t realize is that Exorcist II wasn’t just a bomb—it was a cultural rupture. Boorman’s vision clashed with everything audiences expected from horror. He ditched jump scares for Jungian psychology, turned demonic possession into a metaphor for adolescent alienation, and yes, included a literal psychic showdown between a 12-year-old Linda Blair and a giant CGI locust. (A detail that’s both ridiculous and oddly visionary.) From my perspective, this wasn’t a misfire—it was a prototype for the kind of ‘elevated horror’ filmmakers like Ari Aster or Robert Eggers now get praised for.
Kittredge’s documentary nails this tension between ambition and reception. When Boorman says in interviews, “I wanted to make a film that haunted the mind, not the spine,” it’s impossible not to hear the ache of a director who got punished for treating horror as high art. One thing that immediately stands out? The parallels to modern auteurs. Think of Alex Garland’s Annihilation or Panos Cosmatos’ Mandy—films that split audiences precisely because they refuse to play it safe.
The Problem With Risk in the Age of Franchises
Let’s zoom out. The real tragedy here isn’t Boorman’s wounded career—it’s how the film industry’s appetite for risk has atrophied. In 1977, Warner Bros. let a director known for gritty realism tackle a horror sequel with experimental flair. Today? Franchises are treated like shareholder assets, with creative decisions vetted by algorithmic focus groups. What this really suggests is that Hollywood’s fear of failure has become more stifling than any actual box office bomb.
This raises a deeper question: Are we losing something vital by conflating commercial failure with artistic worthlessness? Boorman’s defenders (including talking heads like Mike Flanagan and Karyn Kusama in the doc) argue yes. They see The Heretic as a relic of an era when directors were allowed to swing for the fences—even if they struck out. If you take a step back and think about it, isn’t that strike zone what made ’70s cinema revolutionary? Scorsese’s New York, New York, Coppola’s One from the Heart—all ‘failures’ that pushed boundaries while their creators were still figuring out how to balance art and commerce.
Final Thoughts: Why This Documentary Matters Beyond the Nostalgia
Look, Boorman and the Devil probably won’t convince everyone that Exorcist II is a misunderstood masterpiece. But it does something arguably more important: it forces us to interrogate why we glorify certain kinds of ambition while dismissing others. The film industry’s obsession with ‘bankable’ creativity has created a void where directors like Boorman once thrived. And honestly? That’s scarier than any pea-soup vomit scene.
So when the documentary hits theaters this August, I’ll be watching not just for the juicy behind-the-scenes dirt, but for what it symbolizes. In an age of cinematic universes and sequel factories, maybe the real horror story is how few filmmakers today get to make the kind of ‘mistakes’ that actually matter.
