The Art of Cinematic Failure: Why 'Boorman and the Devil' is a Must-Watch for Film Enthusiasts
There’s something profoundly human about watching a master reflect on their biggest misstep. Boorman and the Devil, David Kittredge’s documentary about the making (and unmaking) of Exorcist II: The Heretic, isn’t just a post-mortem of a cinematic flop—it’s a meditation on ambition, ego, and the unpredictable alchemy of filmmaking. Personally, I think this is where the documentary transcends its subject matter. It’s not about Exorcist II; it’s about what happens when a visionary director tries to wrestle with a project that fundamentally resists his vision.
The Wrong Man for the Job
One thing that immediately stands out is John Boorman’s candid admission that he was the wrong person to helm a sequel to The Exorcist. What makes this particularly fascinating is his openness about his disdain for the original film. Most directors would shy away from such honesty, but Boorman’s willingness to say, “I didn’t get it, and I didn’t care to,” is refreshingly raw. This raises a deeper question: Can a filmmaker succeed in a project they don’t fundamentally connect with? In Boorman’s case, the answer is a resounding no.
What many people don’t realize is that Exorcist II wasn’t a victim of studio meddling or budget constraints. Boorman had creative control, a massive budget, and a supportive studio. Yet, he still managed to create what’s often called one of the worst sequels ever. Why? Because he tried to make a film about the power of good in a franchise built on the allure of evil. If you take a step back and think about it, this was a recipe for disaster from the start. Audiences in 1977 didn’t want a counterpoint to The Exorcist; they wanted more of the same.
The Anatomy of a Flop
What this really suggests is that failure in filmmaking isn’t always about external factors. Boorman’s missteps—from the bizarre tap-dancing scenes to the sleep-inducing “synchronizer” sequences—were all born from his own creative choices. A detail that I find especially interesting is his critique of Richard Burton’s performance. Boorman admits Burton was cooperative but detached, a “gun for hire” who didn’t bring his own energy to the role. This highlights a broader truth: even the greatest actors need a director who can inspire them, not just instruct them.
From my perspective, the most compelling aspect of the documentary is Boorman’s humility. He doesn’t deflect blame or make excuses. He owns the failure, even going so far as to call his decision to re-edit the film for international release a “huge mistake.” This level of self-awareness is rare in an industry where egos often overshadow honesty. It’s a reminder that even the most celebrated artists can falter—and that’s okay.
The Silver Lining of Failure
What makes Boorman and the Devil so engaging is its celebration of Exorcist II’s flaws. Mike Flanagan, who’s currently directing his own Exorcist film, praises the movie’s cinematography and score, calling attention to its merits even if it fails as a sequel. This raises an interesting point: Can a film be both a failure and a work of art? Personally, I think the answer is yes. Exorcist II is a fascinating failure, a testament to what happens when bold ideas collide with mismatched execution.
If you take a step back and think about it, the film industry is littered with safe, forgettable movies that play it safe. Exorcist II may be a disaster, but it’s a disaster with ambition. Speaking for myself, I’d rather see a filmmaker swing for the fences and miss than watch another by-the-numbers blockbuster. This is why Boorman and the Devil resonates—it’s a love letter to the risks that make cinema great, even when they don’t pay off.
The Broader Lesson
What this documentary really suggests is that failure isn’t the opposite of success—it’s a part of the creative process. Boorman’s career didn’t end with Exorcist II. He went on to make Excalibur and Hope and Glory, films that cemented his legacy. This raises a deeper question: Do we learn more from our successes or our failures? In Boorman’s case, it’s clear that his biggest flop taught him lessons he couldn’t have learned any other way.
In my opinion, Boorman and the Devil is essential viewing for anyone who cares about film. It’s not just a documentary about a bad movie; it’s a reflection on the nature of creativity, the weight of expectations, and the courage it takes to confront your own mistakes. What many people don’t realize is that failure can be just as illuminating as success—if you’re willing to look at it honestly.
Final Thoughts
As I reflect on Boorman and the Devil, I’m struck by how much it has to say about the human condition. It’s a story about ambition, humility, and the unpredictable journey of creation. Personally, I think it’s one of the most important film documentaries in recent years, not because it celebrates a great movie, but because it honors the process of making one—even when it goes horribly wrong.
So, if you’re a film enthusiast, do yourself a favor and watch this documentary. It’s a reminder that even the greatest artists stumble—and that those stumbles can be just as fascinating as their triumphs. After all, as Boorman himself proves, it’s not the failure that defines you, but how you choose to reflect on it.
