Review
Culture
Fun & play
4 min read

Silly fun, serious question

The Pope’s Exorcist ask viewers what is it to have faith in the face of true and terrifying inexplicable evil. Priest Yaroslav Walker reviews.
A priest holds a cross up in his hand in a chaotic environment while a colleague looks on
Father Amorth in action, played with commitment by Russell Crowe.
Sony Pictures.

It goes without saying that all contemporary films about demonic possession and exorcism are seen in the light of the great masterwork. 1973’s The Exorcist is pretty much a perfect encapsulation of what an exorcism film needs to have: believable characters, a strong script, proper pacing, and a genuine respect for the concept of the supernatural – all culminating in an opportunity for the viewer to wrestle with their faith. Exorcism films rise or fall by the metric this cinematic cornerstone inaugurated. I’m pleased to say that The Pope’s Exorcist does a reasonably decent job. 

Let’s be clear: it’s silly fun, and a bit of candy-floss fluff, which allows Russell Crowe to launch an assault on yet another accent. Yet, sugary-sweet fun is no bad thing, and underneath the loving horror-genre-cliché surface, there is something of substance to consider. The plot is standard: afflicted family – Julia and her children Amy and Henry – arrive in Spain to oversee the restoration of an old Abbey Julia’s late-husband left the family. Boy is possessed. Boy cannot be saved by medical science, so the exorcist saves the day.  

The performances are all committed, and you can tell the performers are having a great time, Crowe especially.

The possession is quick and effective with scenes suddenly cutting from the horrifying to sanitised medical procedures (an homage, I think, to the great original). Attempts to explain matters away scientifically are attempted and quickly abandoned, and the film is proudly unambiguous. The Holy Father knows of this Abbey, and its dark history, and personally tasks Crowe’s Amorth with uncovering the truth. The film’s pacing is excellent in the first half, and wastes little time in introducing the main players. The script is sharp and lean (for the most part), with minimal exposition, allowing details to emerge naturally. The performances are all committed, and you can tell the performers are having a great time, Crowe especially. The final third is tremendously silly and overblown, and probably could have been cut down dramatically, but one can forgive it its excess for the themes it raises. 

Purportedly based on the autobiographical writing of the late Father Gabriel Amorth, sometime exorcist for the Diocese of Rome, The Pope’s Exorcist could be viewed as shifting the burden of the question posed by the 1973 classic (what does it mean to have faith in the face of true and terrifying inexplicable evil?) to the institutional level. It is 1987 and the winds of modernity are blowing hard. Amorth (Crowe) is a contradiction of a priest – he rides a Vespa scooter, jokes around with nuns, and demonstrates a relaxed attitude with those in authority, and yet his faith in God and his belief in the supernatural is solid. He works tirelessly in a world and a Church that balks at him: expecting rigidity and conformity in outward appearance, yet sceptically admonishing him for his belief. It could’ve just as easily been set in 2023. Such themes resonate in the context of a Western Church still struggling for self-definition in a modern world of which it is ‘in’ but never meant to be ‘of’.

The film is very much speaking into the moment. What is the supernatural, and does the Church even believe in it? 

The question the film raise (whether it means to or not) is how will the Church see itself and its mission in the coming decades. Early on Amorth is admonished by an American cardinal who is intent on making the Church more ‘relevant’ to the modern sceptical generation. He sees little use for the office of exorcist, and seems to disregard the supernatural as fantasy. As Amorth investigates the possession he learns the dark truth of the Abbey and its role in the Spanish Inquisition. He is confronted with the pernicious persistence of sin – his sins, the sins of those around him, and the historic sins of the Church. 

The film is very much speaking into the moment. What is the supernatural, and does the Church even believe in it? What is evil, and what does it mean for a man and for the Church to truly deal with sin? How can the Church speak into a world that does not believe, and yet is not equipped to confront the reality of evil?  

As the film reaches its conclusion it becomes clear that the Enemy does not wish to simply possess a child, but wishes to possess the Church. Watching the film in view of the present struggles the faith faces – a struggle over the very definition of sin, evil, redemption, etc – one can read the demon as a stand-in for the Spirit of the Age. Whether it means to or not, The Pope’s Exorcist asks the viewer to genuinely tackle the question of who ought to direct the Church – contemporary mores or the eternal truth of Christ? The final scene gives a hopeful answer while also hinting at the possibility of sequels. It is camp, it is silly, but it affirms life, goodness, truth, and faith, and I wouldn’t say no to another outing for Crowe as Amorth. 

 

Article
Culture
Music
5 min read

Jack White’s breaking the biggest rule in rock 'n' roll

What if the greatest cultural moments were the ones barely anyone saw?
A close-up of the black label of a blue vinyl record

If one of the most famous rockstars on the planet is playing the best shows of his life, and no one is there to witness it – is he really playing them?  

I ask because Jack White, one of the most celebrated and iconic musicians of the 21st century, is playing the best shows of his career. The thing is, barely anyone knows that they’re happening. Not because they don’t care, but because he’s made it that way.  

This is White’s ‘No Name’ tour: a critically celebrated string of shows that almost nobody is going to.  

And therein lies the magic.  

In the summer of this year, he released his ‘No Name’ album with no press, no marketing, and no apparent plans for a tour. Instead, Jack released this body of work into the world and simply told his fans to tell their friends about it – ah, word of mouth, the marketing strategy of old.  

It must have worked, because the nameless album was incredibly well received by critics and fans alike. Apparently, the ever-enigmatic Jack White has still got it. And now finally – finally - some live shows are being announced.  

Kind of. 

Each show is being announced only days in advance, the marketing is non-existent, the venues are tiny, and the tickets are… affordable.  

What is this? Some kind of cruel trick? 

It’s all so odd, so seemingly illogical, that Jack has had to confirm that this is it. This is no trick, no gimmick. This is, in fact, the tour. Reassuring his fans via social media, he wrote 

‘Lotta folk asking about when we are going to announce ‘tour dates’, well, we don’t know what to tell you but the tour already started at the Legion a couple of weeks ago… People keep saying that these are ‘Pop up shows’ we’ve been playing, well, you can call them whatever you want, but we are on tour right now.’ 

He added,  

‘These are the ‘shows.’ We won’t really be announcing dates in advance so much, we will mostly be playing at small clubs, back yard fetes, and a few festivals here and there to help pay for expenses.’ 

And that’s exactly what he’s been doing. One such show recently took place in Islington Assembly Hall in London – and it’s been hailed as some kind of ‘off-the-cuff wizadry’. That’s quite the review, isn’t it? What’s more impressive: it’s pretty much the only kind of review he’s been getting. I’ve dug deep, and I’m yet to find someone who was in that hall who didn’t leave it completely bewildered by how dazzling of an experience it was. Jack is disobeying all the rules, and it seems to be working in his favour. While on stage in Islington, he told the crowd,  

‘This is the kind of rock’n’roll you’re not gonna get at Wembley stadium for £400’ 

This is an obvious swipe at Oasis’ reunion tour, which will take place next year in stadiums across the country. The tickets to these shows caused somewhat of a storm, as fans were simply priced out of what will no-doubt be a momentous string of events. And this isn’t the reality for Oasis fans alone, ticket prices across the board rose 23 per cent in 2023, which sits on top of the 19 per cent rise in prices since the pandemic. And we in the UK and Europe still have it far cheaper than those in the US. While I was at Taylor Swift’s (not at all cheap) Era’s tour earlier this year, I met a girl who had flown from New York to Cardiff, she explained that doing so was cheaper than trying to watch the same show in New York.  

It’s utter madness. 

Live music shows are becoming bright and shiny sensory extravaganzas, and the amount it costs to witness them is reflecting that. And listen, I’m not bashing these mega-sized shows. I go to my fair share of them. I look forward to one day telling my grandchildren about that time I nearly got Oasis tickets.  

But I can’t help but feel that the real magic is happening elsewhere. It’s happening in the tiny venues, witnessed by tiny audiences, who have paid (comparatively) tiny prices. And I think Jack White’s intimate ‘No Name’ tour might be proving me right.  

In 1975, Bob Dylan similarly defied all the ‘rock-star’ rules and embarked upon the now-mythic ‘Rolling Thunder Revue’ tour. For eight months, Dylan drove a tour bus (yes, he actually drove his own tour bus) full of his friends into small towns with small venues. The marketing for each show consisted of paper flyers that were handed out mere days before the event, as if a travelling carnival was about to rock up. It was unusual, to say the least. These shows were notoriously messy, and long, and changeable, and odd.  

In short, they were great. Truly great.  

The modesty and mystique of it all meant that these shows have passed into legend – the live recordings of these performances are regarded as some of Dylan’s very best work. And so, surely, both Dylan’s and White’s defiant tours teach us something - they teach us that there’s a good kind of small. Indeed, there is a great kind of small. They suggest that ‘big’ doesn’t necessarily (and certainly doesn’t exclusively) equate to ‘success’.  

What if rumours, reviews, and recordings of a show played to 2,000 people could have more impact than a show played to 100,000? What if the intimacy and connection formed in town halls and tiny clubs rippled into the decades to come? It’s an upside-down way to think of things, but what if the greatest cultural moments were the ones barely anyone saw? What if (and stay with me here, especially you swifties. I’m one of you) these mega-tours are actually quenching creative mastery? What if the smartest thing an artist could do was defy all the rules? What if humility is the source of all greatness?  

We seem to have got to a place where we’re surprised that Islington Assembly Hall could be the backdrop to Jack White doing something truly special. And so, I wonder - it’s proper counter-cultural stuff, but do we need to learn to not despise the small things?  

Are Jack and Bob the odd ones, for kidding themselves into thinking that small can still be successful? Or are we the odd ones, for ever assuming otherwise?