Stream It Or Skip It: ‘The Pope’s Exorcist’ on Netflix, a Boilerplate Demonic-Possession Thriller Given a Goofy Boost by Russell Crowe

The Pope’s Exorcist (now on Netflix) has us wondering if Russell Crowe might’ve lost his mind a little. This grim-’n’-goofy horror escapade finds him brandishing an Italian accent like Maximus with his sword, playing the title character, a wisecracking, heavily caffeinated, Vespa-driving priest who ain’t afraid’a no demon. The story is based on the writings and experiences of real-life Vatican exorcist Gabriele Amorth, although having seen the film, I assume director Julius Avery employed artistic license generously, since it’s hilarious and nonfictional exorcism is surely NO LAUGHING MATTER. (Amorth said he performed tens of thousands of exorcisms during his 40 years as an Official Exorcist, a claim that seems either dubious or generous in its definition of “exorcism.”) Whether the comedy is intentional or not is beside the point; the real question here is whether it helps elevate the movie above the usual scary-flick nonsense.

THE POPE’S EXORCIST: STREAM IT OR SKIP IT?

The Gist: We meet Gabriele (Crowe) in his early days as [INSERT MOVIE TITLE HERE]. It’s 1987. Gabriele arrives with his assistant and a pig on a leash. A man in a bed looks like he has the entirety of Hell inside his guts – you know, yellowish-pale skin, horrid teeth, bloodshot eyes – and one assumes a demon is inside him, or maybe just some putrefactive Taco Bell. The man opens his mouth and an otherworldly overdubbed disembodied monster-voice comes out of it, stopping just shy of commenting on anyone’s mother’s sexual prowess. Gabriele taunts the beast, tricks it, outwits it. It leaps invisibly from the man to the pig, and the assistant blasts its brains out with a shotgun. Looks like pork chops for dinner, maw! Another day, another demon vanquished; time for Gabriele to take a celebratory swig of whiskey and be admonished by his young inexperienced stupid-moron superiors, who don’t approve of his tactics, and might not even believe in the existence of evil. They’re FOOLS, I tell you. FOOLS!

Meanwhile, in Spain: Julia (Alex Essoe) relocates the fam from America to the decrepit abbey left to her by her late husband. She’s having the building restored so they can flip it and make some dough, although considering it’s centuries old and surely historic as all hell, and probably requires specialized attention for unusual features like the torture crypt in the basement and the well full of skulls in the courtyard, one can’t help but wonder how high the banker was when they approved the home-improvement loan. Sullen teen Amy (Laurel Marsden) doesn’t want anything to do with this dump; her little brother Henry (Peter DeSouza-Feighoney) hasn’t spoken a word in the year since their dad died. So, quick inventory: Dead father, disturbed kid, creepy-ass building surely populated with ancient, not-very-nice evils. Does the exorcist come with the construction crew, or does it need to be ordered separately? 

And as the sun shall rise in the east and set in the west, poor little Henry becomes the vessel for Oogumboogumklagz or whoever, a monster from hell whose first otherworldly overdubbed disembodied monster-voice words are BRING ME THE PRIEST. And he wants not just any priest, but You Know Who. The lean, mean exorcisin’ machine. The priestest with the mostest. The cocky padre who saved your madre. Cue Gabriele in his fedora and frock, putt-putting his Vespa through the Spanish hills to the tune of Faith No More’s ‘We Care a Lot,’ a shot so hysterically surreal, Buñuel couldn’t have conceived it. Gabriele greets the traumatized family and flummoxed local priest (Daniel Zovatto), then drops in on Henry, who gurgles, spews threats and coughs up a dead bird. Diagnosis: Possessed! And so Gabriele rolls up his sleeves and arms himself: Crucifix? Check. Consecrated holy water? Check. One-liners? Check. “Do you know any jokes?” he asks Julia. “The devil does not like jokes.” Good thing we do though, huh?

What Movies Will It Remind You Of?: The Pope’s Exorcist could’ve been The Exorcist meets The Nice Guys if Avery didn’t indulge every cliche of the exorcism subgenre like he was trying to ape every generically grim Spanish-language horror-thriller urped up by Netflix.

Performance Worth Watching: Nutty as Crowe’s characterization can be, there’s room for it to be even wackier. Would his jumping even further off the rails have improved the film, or hindered it? Hard to tell. But with a sequel reportedly in the works, Crowe may have an opportunity to go more than, oh, about 68 percent shatbit next time.

Memorable Dialogue: Here’s a fun exchange: 

Oogumboogumklagz the demon, via Henry: My name is blasphemy. My name is nightmare!

Gabriele: Ah. My nightmare is France winning the World Cup.

Sex and Skin: Naked-lady T&A, sometimes fully covered with blood. 

Our Take: In horror films, mediocrity is often more difficult to endure than outright awfulness. And The Pope’s Exorcist is thoroughly and completely mediocre from concept to execution, with the notable exception of Crowe, who pretty much steadfastly refuses to take any of this crap seriously. He can’t make the movie “good,” per se; that’s too much of an uphill climb, especially when there’s little motivation to do so. Why nobody staged a sequence in which Gabriele irritates the demon with a schticky standup comedy routine is beyond me; the film is full of such missed opportunities.

But the veteran star does make it periodically entertaining, which leaves us scratching our heads over why Avery didn’t lean heavier into the glib tone Crowe injects into this slab of dead-serious foolishness. The film characterizes Amorth as a bad-boy cleric-rebel of sorts, haunted by World War II survivor’s guilt, but there’s nothing else to him; he knows his way around incubi and succubi and all the other misc. malignant spirits, and has a sense of humor about it, but this particular narrative doesn’t allow him to convincingly bring the deepest parts of his soul to his life’s work, even while facing down the granddaddy of all evil possessors, whose favorite meal is ham from the hocks of exorcists themselves. And boy does Crowe bring the ham.

Beyond that, there’s a tossed-off declaration that “the construction work must have freed the demon,” which implies what, that Julia’s attempt to capitalize on her acquisition of sacred real estate deserves severe punishment? Eh. Probably reading into it too much. So without any there there, we’re left with the usual grody makeup, haunted-house jump scares, bumpity-scratchity-screechy/disembodied-voice surround-sound design and other well-worn tropes of every demonic-possession flick ever. The film at least moves along quickly until it gets bogged down in Gabriele’s plumbing of crypts for clues, which involves pulling keys from the gas-bloated stomach of a dusty old corpse, and stuff like that (there’s some half-assed lip service given to the many buried sins of the Catholic Church, but trust me, it’s barely worth acknowledging). Without Crowe getting to deliver lines like “A demon once tried to put a crucifix through my eyeball” with a twinkle in his eye this movie would be DOA.

Our Call: SKIP IT. Is The Pope’s Exorcist worth watching for Crowe’s wacky performance? Gah – almost. But almost ain’t enough.

John Serba is a freelance writer and film critic based in Grand Rapids, Michigan.