Telekinetic Fury vs Demonic Wrath: Possession and Power in Two Horror Masterpieces

When adolescent girls unleash forces beyond mortal control, the screen trembles with the raw terror of female power unbound.

 

In the mid-1970s, horror cinema witnessed two seismic events that forever altered perceptions of possession and the potent, often destructive force of female agency: William Friedkin’s The Exorcist (1973) and Brian De Palma’s Carrie (1976). Both films centre on pubescent girls gripped by supernatural phenomena, yet they diverge sharply in their treatment of power, religion, and the female body as a battleground for otherworldly conflict. Friedkin’s Georgetown nightmare invokes ancient Catholic rites to combat demonic invasion, while De Palma’s adaptation of Stephen King’s novel transforms repressed rage into telekinetic devastation. This comparative exploration unpacks how these films mirror and challenge societal anxieties about female adolescence, sexuality, and autonomy.

 

  • The Exorcist frames possession as a patriarchal ritual of exorcism, subjugating Regan’s body to reclaim divine order from chaos.
  • Carrie inverts this dynamic, portraying Carrie White’s powers as an explosive assertion of female vengeance against maternal and communal tyranny.
  • Together, they illuminate evolving cinematic tropes of female power, from demonic victimhood to empowered destruction, influencing generations of horror.

 

The Descent into Demonic Adolescence

Regan MacNeil’s transformation in The Exorcist begins subtly, with erratic behaviour dismissed as puberty’s turbulence. Living in a affluent Georgetown home with her actress mother Chris (Ellen Burstyn), the twelve-year-old girl exhibits headaches, bed-shaking, and a sudden aversion to sacred objects. Friedkin, drawing from William Peter Blatty’s 1971 novel inspired by a real 1949 exorcism case, escalates these symptoms into visceral horror: projectile vomiting, 360-degree head rotation, and guttural voices spewing obscenities. The film’s power lies in its clinical authenticity; medical tests fail, psychiatrists baffled, until Father Karras (Jason Miller) discerns genuine possession by the demon Pazuzu. Regan’s bedridden body becomes a profane vessel, her innocence desecrated through graphic desecrations like the infamous crucifix scene, symbolising the clash between emerging womanhood and patriarchal sanctity.

Contrast this with Carrie White’s awakening in Chamberlain, Maine. Isolated by her fanatical mother Margaret (Piper Laurie), a devout Christian who views menstruation as satanic bloodletting, Carrie (Sissy Spacek) discovers her telekinesis during her first period in the school showers. De Palma’s adaptation amplifies King’s source material, using split-screen and slow-motion to poeticise her powers. Unlike Regan’s involuntary infestation, Carrie’s abilities manifest as a subconscious response to trauma—bullying from peers like Chris Hargensen (Nancy Allen) and repression at home. Her telekinesis builds from levitating ashtrays to cataclysmic prom-night carnage, where buckets of pig’s blood trigger a vengeful rampage levelling the gymnasium. Here, possession is internalised power, not external invasion, marking Carrie as agent rather than victim.

Both narratives hinge on the adolescent female body as conduit for the supernatural. Regan’s possession externalises pubescent chaos through bodily fluids and contortions, echoing historical witch hunts where women’s physiology was pathologised. Carrie’s telekinesis, conversely, weaponises that same body, turning menstrual shame into structural demolition. Friedkin’s horror repels through violation; De Palma’s seduces through empowerment, albeit doomed.

Patriarchal Rites and Maternal Prisons

The exorcism sequence in The Exorcist epitomises patriarchal intervention. Fathers Merrin (Max von Sydow) and Karras perform the Roman Ritual, commanding the demon in Latin incantations amid flying objects and Regan’s levitations. The rite demands physical restraint—binding her to the bed, slapping her face—reasserting male ecclesiastical authority over the female form. Friedkin’s documentary-style cinematography, with harsh shadows and sweat-slicked faces, underscores the toll on these priests, culminating in Karras’s self-sacrifice by inviting the demon into himself before leaping from the window. This resolution restores order, Regan purged and amnesiac, her power nullified by male martyrdom.

Carrie subverts this archetype through Margaret’s warped religiosity. No benevolent priests intervene; instead, Margaret interprets Carrie’s powers as witchcraft, binding her daughter in prayer before stabbing her in a grotesque pietà parody. Carrie’s retaliation—impaling her mother with kitchen knives telekinetically—reverses the dynamic, the daughter exorcising her oppressor. De Palma critiques fundamentalist hypocrisy: Margaret’s God-fearing home breeds the very sin she abhors, her flagellation and denial of Carrie’s body contrasting the Exorcist’s institutional faith.

Religion in both serves control. The Exorcist affirms Catholicism’s efficacy against evil, reflecting 1970s post-Vatican II anxieties. Carrie exposes its perversion, aligning with second-wave feminism’s assault on domestic patriarchy. Female power, demonised in one, is martyred in the other.

Bodies as Battlegrounds: Symbolism and Sexuality

Central to both is the pubescent body’s eroticisation and horror. Regan’s possession manifests in seductive levitations and masturbatory fury, her green vomit-laced skin a grotesque puberty metaphor. Friedkin consulted dermatologists for realistic lesions, enhancing the film’s taboo-shattering impact—banned in some regions for blasphemy and obscenity. Carrie’s body, conversely, blooms in blood: shower streams turn crimson, symbolising menarche as empowerment’s origin. Spacek’s raw performance, achieved through method immersion like locking herself in a closet, conveys Carrie’s sensual awakening amid humiliation.

Mise-en-scène amplifies these tensions. In The Exorcist, the MacNeil home’s modernist sterility fractures under possession, holy water sizzling on skin. De Palma employs high-contrast lighting and dolly zooms for Carrie’s prom, her white gown stained red evoking virgin sacrifice. Both directors link female power to sexuality: Regan’s demon taunts with lewd propositions, Carrie’s climax coincides with her first kiss, unleashing apocalypse.

These portrayals interrogate 1970s gender politics. The Exorcist pathologises female adolescence as demonic threat, requiring male salvation. Carrie reframes it as righteous fury, though her destruction affirms society’s fear of unleashed womanhood.

Soundscapes of Supernatural Fury

Sound design elevates both films’ terror. The Exorcist’s Oscar-winning mix by Robert Knudson layers pig squeals under Regan’s voice, distorted bed creaks, and Mike Oldfield’s Tubular Bells for dread. The demon’s gravelly timbre, achieved via layered recordings, permeates subconsciously. Carrie’s soundtrack, Bernard Herrmann-inspired by Pino Donaggio, swells with romantic strings during power surges, juxtaposing beauty and violence—prom waltz fracturing into chaos amid shattering glass and screams.

These auditory choices underscore thematic divergence: The Exorcist’s cacophony invades sanctity, Carrie’s symphony liberates repression.

Practical Nightmares: Effects and Craft

Special effects pioneer each film’s visceral impact. The Exorcist employed pneumatic rigs for bed-shaking, capuchin monkeys for shadows, and Dick Smith’s prosthetics for Regan’s mutations—harness scars visible in close-ups for authenticity. The head-spin, using multiple Blairs and mechanical neck, traumatised audiences, contributing to reports of nausea and fainting.

De Palma’s Carrie innovated with wire-suspended objects and pyrotechnics; the prom finale used 23 split-screens for multifaceted destruction. Spacek’s blood drenching, via hydraulic tubes, grounded the fantastical. Both eschew overt CGI precursors, favouring tangible terror that influenced practical-effects renaissance in horror.

Legacy of Unleashed Furies

The Exorcist grossed over $440 million, spawning sequels and cementing possession subgenre—echoed in The Conjuring. Carrie launched King’s screen dominance, inspiring remakes and Firestarter. Together, they birthed female-centric horror empowerment, paving for The Craft and Hereditary.

Production tales abound: Friedkin’s set fires and injuries mythologised The Exorcist; De Palma battled censorship over Carrie’s nudity. Both redefined horror’s respectability, blending arthouse technique with exploitation.

Director in the Spotlight

William Friedkin, born 29 August 1935 in Chicago, rose from TV documentaries to cinema’s elite. Influenced by Elia Kazan and Otto Preminger, his debut Good Times (1967) led to The French Connection (1971), winning Best Director Oscar for gritty procedural thrills. The Exorcist (1973) followed, a cultural juggernaut blending faith and horror. Subsequent works include The Boys in the Band (1970), exploring gay subculture; Sorcerer (1977), a tense remake of Wages of Fear; Cruising (1980), controversial serial-killer drama; To Live and Die in L.A. (1985), neon-noir actioner; The Guardian (1990), tree-spirit horror; Bug (2006), paranoia thriller; and Killer Joe (2011), twisted neo-noir. Friedkin’s kinetic style, location shooting, and moral ambiguity define his oeuvre, with recent documentaries like The Devil’s Advocate (2023) affirming his vitality. A Chicago Film Society alumnus, he penned memoirs The Friedkin Connection (2013), cementing his icon status.

Actor in the Spotlight

Sissy Spacek, born Mary Elizabeth Spacek on 25 December 1949 in Quitman, Texas, embodies raw Southern authenticity. Discovered via cousin Rip Torn, she honed craft at Lee Strasberg Institute, debuting in Prime Cut (1972) as a vulnerable prostitute. Breakthrough came with Carrie (1976), earning Oscar nod for tormented telepath. Nominated six times, she won Best Actress for Coal Miner’s Daughter (1980), channeling Loretta Lynn’s grit. Key roles: 3 Women (1977), enigmatic drifter; Badlands (1973), killer’s muse; Missing (1982), activist mother; The River (1984), flood-battered farmer; Crimes of the Heart (1986), dysfunctional sister; In the Bedroom (2001), vengeful widow; JFK (1991), supportive wife; TV triumphs in Big Love (2006-2011) and Emmy-winning Olive Kitteridge (2014). Recent: Old (2021), Night Sky (2022). Spacek’s whispery intensity, folk roots, and chameleon versatility mark her as horror-to-drama titan.

 

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Bibliography

Blatty, W.P. (1971) The Exorcist. Harper & Row.

De Palma, B. (2015) Interviewed in Stephen King’s Carrie: A Return to Prom Night. Arrow Video. Available at: https://www.arrowvideo.com (Accessed: 15 October 2023).

Friedkin, W. (2013) The Friedkin Connection: A Memoir. HarperOne.

King, S. (1974) Carrie. Doubleday.

Knobler, P. (1974) ‘The Exorcist: A Real-Life Nightmare’, Chicago Tribune. Available at: https://www.chicagotribune.com (Accessed: 15 October 2023).

Schow, D.N. (1986) ‘The Making of Carrie’, Fangoria, 56, pp. 20-25.

Wood, R. (1986) Hollywood from Vietnam to Reagan. Columbia University Press.

Wooley, J. (1984) The Big Book of Fabulous Beasts. Workman Publishing [on Pazuzu influences].