Yes, I know The Exorcist is 50 years old, not 58. But I am 58 and I see this film much differently than when I originally did in my younger years.

Last weekend, I had the chance to see a rare screening of the original theatrical version, from a 35mm print, on the big screen, at Chicago’s Music Box Theatre. This place really knows and appreciates the importance of such a screening and I’m thankful to be close enough to take advantage of them. And seeing a huge line down the block for this once again made the blackened heart inside this old horror fan swell. Seeing it in a crowded theater really makes the power of the film hit a little harder than watching it at home.

The reason this was a rare screening was that since 1999, the only version the studio rents out for screenings is the extended version, which they call “The Version You’ve Never Seen Before”. I saw it in the theater when it was released and aside from seeing some extra footage, I didn’t care for it as a whole. Now, I refer to it as either “The Version I’ll Never Watch Again”, or more simply the “Where’s Waldo” version, mainly because instead of using the image of Capt. Howdy’s face a couple of times in the film, the longer cut seems to stick it EVERYWHERE! Plus, there are just sequences, such as the famous spider walking scene, that while they are cool to see, I don’t feel they really don’t fit in the film.

As I sat there watching this film that just turned 50 years old, getting more and more drawn into the story, I found it getting to me once again. But what I realized afterwards though, it what was affecting me that I think has changed. 

The very first time I saw this was only part of it because it was on regular TV and was obviously highly edited. But the parts that I did see, in particular that of Regan’s cut-up face, that alone got to me. Closing my eyes while trying to go to bed just filled my mind of that face.

When I got older and was able to rent the VHS tape and watch the full theatrical version, I still felt that it was a very effective film, but I don’t think it scared me as much as it intrigued me. Since at that time, I was really into special makeup effects, learning who Dick Smith was, this mastermind of makeup that was turning this innocent little child into a terrifying visage of horror. For the longest time, I thought Max von Sydow was an old man! From creating the different stages of looks of Regan, the practical effects like her head spinning around to the words appearing on her chest, it all fascinated me. To the point that I wasn’t watching the film for the story, as much as the special effects and movie tricks.

But the more I watched it over the years, I realized there was much more there than the effects. I started to realize just how much I loved the script. I love the dialogue between Karras and the demon; the way Karras tries to explain to Chris MacNeil that her daughter is mentally ill, not possessed “by the devil himself”; and the passive aggressive way that Lt. Kinderman works his way to try and find answers to his questions.

Over the years, my views of this have changed once again, but the parts that get to me the most, and the scenes that really makes this film terrifying, powerful, and effective, is the impact of the character of the mother, Chris MacNeil, played incredibly by Ellen Burstyn. Maybe it might have something to do with being a parent, but seeing her helpless as she watches these horrible things happening to her daughter with no real help to be given. The medical doctors seem to be not only clueless, even making fun of their counterparts in the field of psychology, while we see Regan get worse and worse, and the poor mother is sitting there with no one to turn to. Even when she turns to Father Karras, where we know she doesn’t believe in any religion, we know she is grasping at any help she can find at that point. We feel it in her speech, we see it in her eyes, our heart aches with that pain of having a sick child that you’d do anything to help but have to just stand there and rely on others. For me, those scenes become nothing less than heart wrenching. And I believe it is the performance of Burstyn that makes the whole story work. Had it not been for her incredible commitment to that role, I don’t think it would have been nearly as effective. We all know why she wasn’t awarded an Oscar for her role, and we all know she was robbed.

But that part of the film, the part of the helpless parent, is what really gets to me these days when I watch the movie. Maybe being an atheist gets in the way of being frightened by the concept of possession or of demons. But being a parent, no matter what your beliefs are, there is no escaping that sense of dread and anguish while you watch your sick child in pain.

For me, these days, that is why this film still packs one hell of a punch.