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To find out, having spent part of the evening drinking soup and the rest running in circles around Victoria Park, I put the DVD on, and had two hours of confusion ahead of me. Why is Keanu Reeves working as an exorcist? Why is he smoking? How come one of his friends lives inside a bowling alley?
None of these things seemed remarkable, out of the norm in 2005. Neither did the larval form of Shia LeBoeuf, still a novelty sidekick rather than the structural support of films about giant alien robots. Perhaps it even seemed quite normal to have a film where the best way to visit other astral planes is to top yourself, because as long as you die near a warm bath you can always come back.
Hmm. Perhaps that rather jolly, what-an-adventure attitude to suicide was why it got an R rating, and not the claimed-for demonic violence. Like anyone is concerned about demons being beaten up?
Keanu didn't seem half as wooden as in Point Break; I suppose 15 years of acting experience teaches you a thing or two. Rachel Weisz seems to have been employed mainly so they could get her to wear a wet t-shirt, and Tilda Swinton was just, well, the same sort of ethereal terror that she's always been.
By the end of the film I was a bit confused. Maybe it was all the beer I'd drunk that made the plot difficult to understand, or maybe it's the kind of film that rewards being shitfaced, because that confers some sense that the film has some deeper meaning than it really does. (See also: Angel Heart if you drink five pints and come back from the pub, thinking you've missed the first half hour when it was just the credits you'd not caught.)
Still, nostalgia is nice. Time to watch another Bond film this week though.
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