‘The Popes Exorcist Review: The Power Of Christ (and Russell Crowe) Mostly Compels You In Yet Another Possession Chiller
At first blush, "Papa's Exorcist" leads you to believe that it is based on the real life experience of the late Father Gabriel Amorta, a Catholic priest who served as Chief Exorcist for the Diocese of Rome for 30 years. Its creators announce that it has begun, and the many dates and locations shown at the beginning of the film give it a touch of docudrama; In addition, the film is backed by Loyola Marymount Jesuit Research University's non-profit production team, which is executive produced by Loyola Chancellor Father Edward J. Siebert.
It turns out that even high-ranking Catholics have a sense of humor. You don't have to wait for the end credits to say it's "fiction" to realize that Daddy's Exorcist is Amorth-inspired, fluid fantasy thrash. Likewise, Sunnydy is inspired by Florida oranges and no less delightful in this freedom. Unlike the Bible or Cupid's autobiography, Julius Avery's film adheres to the mold set by the demonic horror films of half a century ago, in which an unfortunate American teenager is populated by an ever-more repulsive former friend of Satan. and the ugly consequences when a venerable priest is called upon to restore order.
The film's sincere belief in this premise spares it any major doubts or surprises, as Michael Petroni's (The Ritual) and Ivan Spiliotopoulos's (The Wicked) thin, numbers-based screenplay lives up to the hype. Enter the most horrible Catholic abbey you have ever seen. And yet The Papal Exorcist still evokes eerie B-movie nostalgia, partly because Australian hairdresser Avery exhibits a certain flair for the theatrics of fire and brimstone, but mostly because of Russell Crowe; Damien Carreras, Oscar winner for The Walking Dead, exudes believability, self-deprecating irony with just the right balance of balance.
In a delightful prologue, Amorth, dazzlingly dressed in black and riding an elegantly luxurious Vespa, visits an Italian provincial town in the guise of a bewildered young man. The boy "shows all the classic signs of dominance," Amartu said. One of them, one of the most ingenious devices of the script, is the sudden mastery of the English language. Amorth decides that the boy is not possessed, but morally exhausted. This is how most of his cases end, he explained to a skeptical Vatican court trying to overturn its position. But real diabolical evil does surface from time to time, most notably, as it turns out, in an abandoned Castilian abbey supposedly recently inherited by a widowed American, Julia (Alex Esso) and her two children, the crazy Amy (Laurel Marsden) and the sane one. Henry: . (Peter de Souza-Fagny), who hasn't spoken a word since seeing his father die a year ago.
One look at Henry's haggard, brown-eyed face and you know he's easy prey for roaming evil spirits looking for a soul to eat, and they can't be missing from this dark, ruined gothic playground that's beautifully designed. Artist: - Directed by Alan Gilmour, where Julia decorates a room with the carefree ingenuity of someone who has never seen a horror movie. The Exorcist Pope is set in 1987, and The Exorcist seems fresh in the collective cultural memory, although no one comments on the similarities when Henry begins to let out a deep Mephistopheles roar (courtesy of Ralph Inneson) and spit obscenely. Obscenity towards mother.
From there, things get even worse: local Spanish priest Esquibel (Daniel Zovato) feels lost when the Pope himself (a high-profile, obscure Franco Nero) sends Amartha to help. Lots of annoying spells, a useless crucifix thrown in the general direction of ungrateful demons, and said demons hitting human bodies like baseballs across the room. The dramatic problem with much of this horror subgenre is that Catholic weapons don't work until they suddenly stop working. The papal exorcist fills that gap with some dubious historical excavations, turning into a strange accusation of demonic possession in the sins of the Spanish Inquisition, a welcome reprieve for the Catholic Church before Amort finds its charm and the film closes. Jaws is a tasteless conflict between good and evil.
Avery's A24 debut, Son of a Gun, promised more sophisticated genre preparation than that, but he nonetheless dabbles in such ecclesiastical, borderline pyrotechnics, loaded with digital red cardinals with creepy crimson-eyed prosthetics, angry explosions and tornadoes. , With a stamp. Aided in this are the expertly wet lenses of green, gold and cranium tones of cinematographer Khalid Mokhtaseb and the solemn cries of suitably exuberant music by Jade Kurzel. “You can’t last long in this business,” Amorth laments, but the film is largely successful.
Crowe, with all this ridiculous bad taste, approaches the material instructively. Always the Richard Burton of our time, and now, drawing parallels to his clownish self in The Exorcist, he strikes a regal pose and smiles. It's an air of resignation on screen with Amort, who elevates the film and takes it to the next level, adding melted cheese to good ham. Not every actor can repeat "our sins will find us" dozens of times in a terrible Italian accent while maintaining his cool and nervous performance. If this crazy ship had a soul, Raven nearly saved it.
