Twelve Angry Men (William Friedkin, 1997)

Cast: Courtney B. Vance, Ossie Davis, George C. Scott, Armin Mueller-Stahl, Dorian Harewood, James Gandolfini, Tony Danza, Jack Lemmon, Hume Cronyn, Mykelti Williamson, Edward James Olmos, William Petersen, Mary McDonnell. Screenplay: Reginald Rose. Cinematography: Fred Schuler. Production design: Bill Malley. Film editing: Augie Hess. 

William Friedkin's Twelve Angry Men is not so easily dismissed as an unnecessary remake of Sidney Lumet's classic 1957 film, itself a remake of Reginald Rose's 1954 television drama. Forty years of change have taken place, and although such a jury today would almost certainly have women on it, at least Friedkin's version includes four Black men. One of them, strikingly, is the most virulent racist on the panel: a former Nation of Islam follower played by Mykelti Williamson, who delivers a vicious diatribe against Latinos. Which incidentally brings up another anomaly: There are no Latinos on this jury, even though it is impaneled in New York City, which certainly has a significant Latino population. Oddly, one of the actors, Edward James Olmos, is Latino, but he plays an Eastern European immigrant. The rant of the juror played by Williamson has perhaps even more significance today than it did in 1997, after an election campaign tainted by racist taunts against immigrants: The speech sounds like it might have been delivered at Donald Trump's infamous Madison Square Garden rally. As for the film itself, it retains the 1954 movie's power to entertain, if only the pleasure of watching 12 good actors at peak performance (and in George C. Scott's case, a bit over the peak). It also retains the tendency to preachiness, like a dramatized civics lesson, though maybe we need that more than ever.  

Deal of the Century (William Friedkin, 1983)

Chevy Chase in Deal of the Century

Cast: Chevy Chase, Sigourney Weaver, Gregory Hines, Vince Edwards, Wallace Shawn, Richard Libertini, William Marquez, Eduardo Ricard, Richard Herd, Graham Jarvis. Screenplay: Paul Brickman. Cinematography: Richard H. Kline. Production design: Bill Malley. Film editing: Jere Huggins, Ned Humphreys, Bud S. Smith. Music: Arthur B. Rubinstein.

Chevy Chase, Sigourney Weaver, and Gregory Hines stumble through the chaotic screenplay of Deal of the Century, not trying very hard to help it tell a coherent story or even be funny. Ostensibly a satire of the Reagan-era arms race, it was a critical bomb and a box office dud, and unlike many such double failures hasn't even made it to cult-movie status. Too much of it fails to make sense, like the marriage of the characters played by Weaver and Wallace Shawn, the religious conversion of Hines's character, or Chase's character getting repeatedly shot in the foot. Cheesy special effects don't help, either. 

Cruising (William Friedkin, 1980)

Al Pacino in Cruising

Cast: Al Pacino, Paul Sorvino, Karen Allen, Richard Cox, Don Scardino, Joe Spinell, Jay Acovone. Screenplay: William Friedkin, based on a novel by Gerald Walker. Cinematography: James A. Contner. Production design: Bruce Weintraub. Editing: Bud S. Smith. Music: Jack Nitzsche. 

Is Cruising deliberately or only accidentally inchoate? It could hardly be anything else, having been attacked before, during, and after its production by the queer community. Its star, Al Pacino, has never been comfortable discussing it, while its creator, William Friedkin, remained on the defensive. At its best, it overturns any expectations we may have about detective thriller movies. When we see cops harassing gay men in the opening of the film, we probably expect those cops to get their comeuppance in the end. When we learn that it's about a serial killer preying on the leather community, we expect the killer to be found and disposed of, probably violently, at the end. When we see a straight cop (Pacino) chosen to go undercover in that community, we expect him to solve the case but stay straight. That would be the course of the conventional movie. But none of that quite happens. Instead, we are left with ambiguities, inspiring a small industry of commentary that persists today. It's probably best to regard Cruising as a period piece: a document of attitudes, from outrage to ambivalence to acceptance, toward gay men in America just before the outbreak of AIDS. 

Sorcerer (William Friedkin, 1977)

Cast: Roy Scheider, Bruno Cremer, Francisco Rabal, Amidou, Ramon Bieri, Karl John. Screenplay: Walon Green, based on a novel by Georges Arnaud. Cinematography: Dick Bush, John M. Stephens. Production design: John Box. Film editing: Robert K. Lambert, Bud S. Smith. Music: Tangerine Dream.  

The Exorcist (William Friedkin, 1973)

Linda Blair, Max von Sydow, and Jason Miller in The Exorcist

Chris McNeil: Ellen Burstyn
Father Damien Karras: Jason Miller
Regan McNeil: Linda Blair
Father Merrin: Max von Sydow
Lt. William Kinderman: Lee J. Cobb
Sharon: Kitty Winn
Burke Dennings: Jack MacGowran
Father Dyer: William O'Malley
Karl: Rudolf Schündler
Willi: Gina Petrushka
Karras's Mother: Vasiliki Maliaros
Demon's Voice: Mercedes McCambridge

Director: William Friedkin
Screenplay: William Peter Blatty
Based on a novel by William Peter Blatty
Cinematography: Owen Roizman
Production design: Bill Malley
Film editing: Norman Gay, Evan A. Lottman
Makeup: Dick Smith

From classic to claptrap, that's pretty much the range of critical opinion about The Exorcist. I tend toward the latter end of the spectrum, feeling that the novelty of the film has worn off over the 45 years of its existence, revealing a pretty threadbare and sometimes offensive premise. It was at the time a kind of breakthrough in the liberation from censorship that marked so much of American filmmaking in the early 1970s. Audiences gasped when Linda Blair growled "Your mother sucks cocks in hell" with Mercedes McCambridge's voice. Today it's little more than playground potty-mouth behavior. The pea soup-spewing and head spinning now draw laughs when they once had people fainting in the aisles. We can argue that there was something noble about those more innocent times, and that we've lost something valuable in an age when the president of the United States can brag about pussy-grabbing and denounce shithole countries and still retain the loyalty and admiration of a third of Americans. But isn't it also true that the move from a horror film based on religious superstition to a horror film like Jordan Peele's Get Out, nominated like The Exorcist for a best picture Oscar, represents an improvement in our taste in movies? Get Out at least has a keenly satiric take on something essential: our racial attitudes. The Exorcist makes no statement about the value of religious faith, unless it's to suggest that it's based on a desire to scare us into believing. To my eyes, The Exorcist is slick but ramshackle: William Peter Blatty's Oscar-winning screenplay never makes a clear connection between Regan's possession and Father Merrin's archaeological dig in Iraq. (The opening scenes of the film were actually shot in the environs of Mosul, which today has succumbed to a different kind of evil.) There are some scenes that make little sense: What's going on when the drunken film director taunts Chris's servant Karl with being a Nazi? What's the point of introducing the detective played by Lee J. Cobb with his usual self-absorption? Some of the plot devices, such as Father Karras's guilt over his mother's death, are pure cliché. And who the hell names a daughter Regan? Was Chris hoping for another kid she could name Goneril? For thousands of moviegoers, however, these objections are nitpicky. For me the flaws are the only thing that remain interesting about The Exorcist.