We may joke that teenage girls are possessed, but the creators behind “Exorcism of My Best Friend” take the concept very seriously. Based on Grady Hendrix’s book, director Damon Thomas’ adaptation centers around a pair of inseparable close friends dealing a fatal blow when one of them is overtaken by a demonic spirit. Although this ’80s horror comedy takes an old-school approach to capturing the horrific events, the stunts are lackluster and the comical rants are boring. With very little interest invoked from the filmmakers to properly develop their characters, there is little incentive to stay interested.
Abby (Elsie Fisher)’s biggest fear in life is losing her best friend Gretchen (Amiah Miller). Little does she know that their relationship will be put to the test, and not just because Gretchen is set to move in over the summer. The couple are in a world of their own, a late ’80s dreamland filled with Aquanet fumes, explosive fashion and pop stars. But they sometimes make way for their classmates, including agonizing glee (Kathy Ang), fanatical fanatic Margaret (Rachel Ojishi Kano) and her obnoxious boyfriend Wally (Clayton Royal Johnson).
Everything changes for the worse as soon as Margaret invites them to her parents’ secluded cabin in the woods where, on a dark and frightening night, everyone falls acid. Abby and Gretchen explore the convict house across the lake infamous for being the site of a satanic ritual that killed a former high school student. When Abby starts to go out, Gretchen literally stumbles trying to escape from the haunted house and is kidnapped by a demonic entity. However, when she returns, Abby notices that Gretchen is not her nature and begins a quest to save her friend.
When it comes to aesthetics, Thomas and his collaborators craft the film with an artistic flourish that harnesses the power of homage, but doesn’t collapse into excessive style. Rob Givens’ cinematography draws on a muted influence from the films of the ’80s. The practical effects also give it a throwback quality—a noteworthy and endearing, if not terribly complex, feature. Rob Lowry’s vocal selections (which include Tiffany, Culture Club, A-ha, and Blondie) and the animated score from Ryland Blackinton transport us straight to the old suburbs, serving as a sounding board for the characters’ anxieties.
Narratively, flashes of substance sparkle when brought into the light, but their brilliance dazzles for a very brief time. The moment Gretchen and Glee defy the inherent misogyny behind teen magazine auditions, which only look at women in relation to men, makes for a thoughtful snapshot. But ironically, Gina Lamia’s text is undermined by presenting a few female characters in a similar light in relation to male characters such as Wali, who becomes a pawn; Brother Morgan (Cameron Bass), who witnesses Abe’s public humiliation; and Christian Lemon (Christopher Lowell), a devout, low-rent fitness guru, whom Abby turns to to fire Gretchen. (The wordplay in “Exercising/Exorcism” is enough to elicit one groan.)
Even worse, the filmmakers attempt to address the sensitive issues of self-harm, showing Gretchen’s distraught doing in a bathroom stall, and disordered eating, as Margaret is influenced by Gretchen’s sinister diet-inspired “Mean Girl” advice. These serious and traumatic illnesses are not used for anything meaningful (commentary or otherwise), but exclusively as plot tools. The same can be said about taking out a queer character and letting that thread go with impunity for the offender, Gretchen, who is dependent on the audience’s rooted interest. You may be a monster in that moment, but there is no turning back from this disgusting behavior.
Perhaps most surprisingly, the two lead actresses are visibly capable and ready to handle many of the undercooked ingredients in the combo. Fisher, who provided compelling action in “Eighth Grade,” and Miller, who was captivated in “War for the Planet of the Apes,” have beautiful, simple chemistry. Fisher’s suffering, specifically in his pivotal betrayal scene, feels tangible. Miller shows off some impressive gymnastics, mutilating her body in every way when the devil is announced. But the material often fails the characters, giving them a superficial sense of insecurity with a deep-seated sway that the actors struggle to live up to through their performances.
With a film as sassy, innovative, and feminist as Jennifer’s Body (a clear influence on this story), it’s a wonder why anyone would create an inferior and more frustrating repetition. Even in the most general terms, it fails to hold together. One halves wish that the spirit of another movie would own this one, which ends infuriatingly in “Animal House” in the form of definitive credits to characters who never really earn our admiration, let alone respect. The power of Christ, Satan, or any other force is forcing you to turn away.
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