Because sometimes all you really want is the myth. Sometimes you don't wanna go no further than half-coherent ramblins caught in fragments in the campfire glow, sometimes you never wanna discover that the fleece weren't all that golden, that Narcissus had a jaw-fulla acne most of his days, that Buddy Holly's sex limb was fairly average, truth be told.

The fuck wants to deal with information of the sort?

So you get knife-fights, grown men on street-corners cutting the flesh offa one another's teeth on account of "Actually, the Midas touch was really more of a light bronze."

So you get folks shudderin in the shadows in bars reekin a opium and disillusionment, folks huddling gainst the point where the two walls meet the floor, muttering something or other about "We couldn't have known, ain't really our fault, truth be told."

What couldn't you know? What ain't your fault, fucker?

And what they say is "It turns out Exorcist - The Beginning was the better flick after all. Dear Jehovah and the Infant Choirs, it turns out Schrader's version was fucking awful."

Nobody needs to know this, on account of we had a damn cause to defend, and it turns out the cause weren't really that worthy of defence in the first place.

How could we have known?

And the pagans at the mercy of crusading knights, they're screamin "How could we have known??? We were led to believe this was right!!"

Cause it all reeked a shameful cuntery, how Morgan Creek slapped poor ol' Paul Schrader upside the yap with talk a "No, fucker, not only do we not particularly like your Exorcist prequel, but we're gonna hire him what did Cliffhanger for to remake the damn thing and replace all that theological banter you got goin on with a buncha nonsense about possessed nurses and CGI hyenas rippin the limbs offa youngsters."

And lo, the howling and the gnashing.

The fuck do they get the nuts for to tell Schrader he's bein too heavy with the theological banter?

Chances are ain't no-one but a fella set on wankin himself to death in the next 12 minutes would expect anything other than heavy theological banter from a Schrader-carved Exorcist flick.

So we wanted spinnin necks and far-flung puke and hollers long the lines of "Your cunting daughter!" and no, the hell's this, Schrader, buncha balls about tortured masculinity and the nature of evil.

The hell did they expect, is what we all got to thinking.

What they expected, it turns out, was a nurse goin all green about the face and CGI about the legs, racing around in the dark squawking about "Fuck me!"

A whole buncha bullshit that Exorcist: The Beginning was, but dig this, aye, fuck my eyes if I wouldn't watch it every day for a decade and never once tire of its relentlessly tasteless genius.