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There’s a video of her talking to someone in a very un-L.A. She’s pretty, kind and from Los Angeles, for however that fits so it’s relevant. The name of the host is, you guessed it, Angela.
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The Basilica boots up a two-desktop workspace-a thing of M:I films, I tell you!-and watches a case of demonic possession from the United States. The film opens, as most exorcism films do, with the Host. You would think that’s what Neveldine will do, whose previous film is the notoriously campy Ghost Rider: Spirit of Vengeance. No luck in seeing that crazy wildfire here (that is, unless you count those Trinity Eggs-awful bargain!), but if and when it comes to a self-knowing exorcism film, I imagine myself channeling Fred Astaire and-spiritually-dancing. You almost know that Neveldine is excited to spin Friedkin’s infamous vomiting scene, and for a moment I was rooting for it, those potentially glorious b-movie moments that sadly has become such an unfortunate rarity these days. It’s strange sitting to watch him work on an almost eerie soundlessness that, while welcome, renders the viewer this sense of discordance. Stylistically, the film veers away from the manic energy that flurries through Crank, a film that Neveldine made with his creative partner Brian Taylor some years ago. However, the closest thing to technophobia that the film offers is a mere panning shot of multiple screens showing the rising Anti-Christ, babbling all sorts of ballyhoos that bring in, well, hell-raising book sales. And I had hoped this vision held true, because now is the timeliest of times. I can’t say the same for Mark Neveldine’s new film-called The Vatican Tapes, mainly because Lars von Trier has already taken Antichrist (and the world is better off!). For the most part it tries to become a stripped-down, technophobic iteration of the 70’s horror classic. This in my book is where Friedkin triumphs. The thing that underscores all three examples is their closeness to their religious themes despite their individual agendas. Tikoy Aguiluz, meanwhile, with his recent film Tragic Theater, makes parallel tales of body invasion-of both the physical and spiritual-but, for everyone who nobly endured it, ultimately fails. Post- The Exorcist, the sub-genre maintains only a shy list of films that actually carry weight: Scott Derrickson ponders on the subject in his 2005 quasi-doc The Exorcism of Emily Rose and Adam Robitel furthers the conversation on exorcism with an elderly woman diagnosed with Alzheimer’s showing signs of demonic possession ( The Taking of Deborah Logan). We snag exorcism films time and again-like toiletries from hotels.