In
the last 30 years of rewatching The Ninth
Configuration, something about the shock of my first viewing has never worn
off.
Like
Jake and Elwood Blues, screenwriter-director William Peter Blatty was on a
mission from God. If he left a few overturned cars or crushed motorcyclists in
his wake, it was a feature, not a bug. Wonder what was going on in his head? Too
late to ask now; he died last year. But we do have this book featuring the
original shooting script.
The Ninth Configuration remains little known in its own right, though it did win a surprise Golden Globe in 1981 for Best Screenplay. It followed one of the most famous horror movies of all time, The Exorcist, which Blatty scripted from his own novel for director William Friedkin. The Exorcist may be nuts, but not like this.
In
his introduction to the screenplay included in this edition, film critic Mark
Kermode calls Ninth Configuration “one
of the most genuinely bizarre offerings of modern American cinema. A work of
matchless madness, it has divided audiences like the waves of the Red Sea since
its opening in 1980, becoming a cult classic that continues to provoke either
apostolic devotion or baffled dismissal…”
No
doubt which side of the divide Kermode is on. He not only provides a running
string of marginalia throughout this book, but sat with Blatty two years later
for a DVD commentary.
Set
in a military insane asylum, The Ninth
Configuration follows the arrival of a new commander, Hudson Kane (played
in the movie by Stacy Keach). Kane’s mysterious, haunted background is echoed
by his new surroundings, a sprawling mansion crammed with baroque statuary and
assorted headcases, most of them decorated officers with combat experience in
Vietnam. A Marine guard calls them out:
GROPER: I’ve known
a lot of good men who didn’t like this war…Some of them were kids; scared,
confused. But they stood up, you sons-of-bitches. They stood up! Now, some of
them don’t have arms; or their legs; some of them are blind. [Pause] And most
of them are dead. And you play games in a goddamn castle in California! You
stinking, garbage-crawling scum!
Inmates whistle and hiss at him, demand he say “Simon Says,” pepper each other
with quotes from famous movies, and burst into “You Are My Sunshine” when
Kane’s car pulls into the driveway. It’s that kind of movie, and it’s just
getting started.
If
you are one of the few who has seen The
Ninth Configuration, you might have noticed something about the above
monologue from Groper: It doesn’t appear in the actual film. Blatty shot the
scene as written, but left it out because the actor playing Groper, decorated
World War II veteran Neville Brand, played the scene with so much conviction it
sucked the air out of the humor Blatty crafted around him.
There
are a lot of variances between the script as written and what made it on
screen. In his published script for The
Shawshank Redemption, which I reviewed for this blog, Frank Darabont
wrote of the value of having a record set down of what was in the minds of the
film’s creators before budgets and actors get involved. Shawshank was a meticulously developed project;
compared to Ninth Configuration it could
have been a NASA moon launch.
That’s
actually where the movie Ninth Configuration
begins, with an astronaut named Billy Cutshaw aborting his lunar mission in the
final countdown. There are differences, though, in what comes before that between
script and movie, dramatic differences which help us understand what Blatty was
trying to do and how he did it.
The
script opens on a different scene set in Vietnam. Marines are evacuating a village. One old
woman falls behind. A corporal gently leads her to a place where she can rest.
While he’s telling her everything will be alright, she reveals a grenade and
pulls its pin:
CORPORAL: (not an
epithet: a prayer) Jesus.
SIMULTANEOUS CUTS
OF:
The Corporal
flying upward, impelled by a soundless burst of air.
Gripping,
no? Yes, but like Groper’s tirade it feels wrong for the finished film. The
prelude’s only direct connection to the rest of the movie would have been via a
secondary character, an officer on the scene we later meet as Captain Bennish [not
a Marine in the film but an Air Force officer.]
In
the movie, Blatty opted to simplify: A few establishing shots of the
institution’s moody décor (Hungary subbing for California), a solitary man
(Cutshaw) alone in a room, a quiet country song. Credits don’t even roll until
we get to the moon shot sequence some minutes in.
Once
people start talking, what follows is a wave of profanity, weird jokes, and
non-sequiturs:
NAMMACK: What
country is this?
RENO: The Bronx.
THE MEN: Hail,
Caesar!
RENO: Just one
more thing, sir.
GROPER: What?
RENO: Stick a
pineapple up your ass and pretend you’re Hawaiian.
Reno
may strike you as being on edge; he’s enmeshed at the moment in a “labor of love”
directing Shakespeare’s plays for dogs, worried what people will think if he
casts a Great Dane as Hamlet.
Other
inmates at the institution are similar. One thinks he’s a doctor, another
Superman. Fairbanks is convinced he can walk through walls:
FAIRBANKS: Not
only me. Anyone. Cops. People. People in Nashville.
When
an angry Fairbanks sets to beating one wall with a hammer to punish its atoms
for refusing to play along (“Independent snots! Shape up or ship out!”), Kane talks
him down by suggesting his problem may not lie with the atoms in the wall but those
in the hammer.
The
centerpiece of the film, and of the script, involves Kane’s debates about what
it all means with Captain Cutshaw:
CUTSHAW: I don’t
belong to the ‘God Is Alive And Hiding In Argentina’ Club. But I believe in the
devil, all right. You know why? Because the prick keeps doing commercials.
Kane
counters that there may be a higher purpose to mortal pain:
KANE: You’re
convinced God is dead because there’s evil in the world.
CUTSHAW: Correct.
KANE: Then why
don’t you think he’s alive because of the goodness in the world?
This
juxtaposition of Christian existentialism and zany comedy takes getting used
to. But it works in the context of the film, as it does more fitfully in this
earlier script.
There
are things about the script that go too far in the direction of goofy
randomness, and which I am glad Blatty reconsidered using. One scene would have
called out Cadbury Fruit & Nut Bars, one of Blatty’s favorite snacks. There
would have also been a cameo from Joe DiMaggio, which Blatty told Kermode he
had all set up but opted not to use in the film, “a decision he now thoroughly
regrets.” Not me.
You
can see how this being a passion project could have messed up Ninth Configuration in so many ways.
This was a film dancing in a minefield throughout its production. Blatty was
co-financing it with his own money because no distributor wanted it, the two
original lead actors left the production mid-shoot, it was being filmed in
Hungary because the soda executive producing it was looking for a loss-leader (and
was also sleeping with Blatty’s wife.) It’s a freak movie all the way which appropriately
opened on a freak day: February 29, 1980.
But that craziness, and how well it is incorporated into the horror and the comedy, is why Ninth Configuration speaks so well to me, and I suspect to others who embrace it.
Craziness
is one of the film’s recurring motifs. Adapting Shakespeare for dogs, Reno asks
if Hamlet really crazy in the play, or just faking it? Scholars say one or the
other, he notes. Both are wrong:
RENO: Hamlet isn’t
psycho. But he’s hanging on the brink…So his unconscious mind makes him do what
keeps him sane – namely, acting like he’s not…’Cause acting nutty is a safety
valve. A way to let off steam.
It
is the operating principle behind The
Ninth Configuration, too: A controlled nervous breakdown designed to both penetrate
and encapsulate the craziness of the human condition. You can see from the
script how delicate an operation this was, and how close it came to falling
apart. But it didn’t. Do you believe in miracles?
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