The Exorcist, Gordon Ramsay, and Narrative Tension

Kaylee Fowler

A common struggle for writers is sustaining emotional tension. One reason for this is that writers sometimes attempt to inspire an emotion in their readers directly by using associated imagery and telling the readers how they should feel, rather than letting the emotions simply happen. For instance, some writers will use a funeral scene to tell their readers to be sad, or they might use gore for shock value in horror. Visual media has this problem too. Many horror films rely on cheap jumpscares, but the most successful films use character relationships instead of visual tricks to create deep narrative tension. Reality TV operates on the same principle; the source of suspense isn’t the “plot” of a given show, but the arguments between the stars themselves. “Show, don’t tell” is cited as the fix to this problem, but what does that look like in action? As odd as the comparison may look, Gordon Ramsay’s hit TV show Kitchen Nightmares and William Peter Blatty’s 1971 horror novel The Exorcist are prime examples of how to use character interactions to create narrative and emotional tension.

The Exorcist has the reputation of one of the scariest stories ever told, but it’s a surprisingly slow-paced ensemble cast drama. For perspective, it’s a 363-page novel. The bulk of the theatrical demon possession and exorcism scenes only occur from page 305 on. The rest of the novel is spent setting up an intricate web of characters. It centers on Reagan MacNeil, her mother Chris, and Fr. Damien Karras, a Jesuit priest struggling with a crisis of faith after the death of his mother. Those 305 pages show them bonding and establishing their daily lives, and the real horror begins when that rhythm is disrupted. By the time Reagan’s life is in danger because of the demon, the audience has already grown so close to her and Chris that they feel like their own child is at risk. Likewise, one of the saddest scenes in the book is Fr. Karras immediately after his mother’s funeral, which lasts for exactly half a page. The brevity of the scene echoes the shock of his mother’s death and the speed at which life goes on. Both Fr. Karras and the audience are forced to reckon with Reagan’s possession while still reeling from that shock. All of that is achieved through letting the characters react to the situation at hand, rather than Blatty trying to gain a reaction out of his audience.

The jump in genre may seem strange, but this is how formulaic shows like Gordon Ramsay’s Kitchen Nightmares stay successful for multiple seasons. Reality TV show “plots” have a formula, and Kitchen Nightmares is no exception: a restaurant is failing, Gordon investigates, the kitchen is disgusting, and nobody is willing to change until the owner opens up about their personal life, usually set to soft piano music to build pathos. Once the owner achieves emotional catharsis, Gordon renovates the restaurant and updates the menu, and the episode ends with an optimistic outlook and Gordon talking to the camera about how proud he is of the owner for changing their ways and healing from old emotional wounds. It’s easy to copy and paste, but the interpersonal conflict between Gordon, the owner, the family, and the restaurant staff is what keeps viewers engaged. Each episode follows the same script. The difference lies in the stories of the people on the show. One episode features a family of Greek immigrants raising Another is the estranged son of an Australian crime lord trying to support his new family. As repetitive as the show gets (there’s only so many times you can look at a moldy lemon!), the real source of tension is getting to see how each family grows and evolves with Gordon screaming at them and calling them panini heads.

Both of these examples point to the larger principle of good fiction: true emotion often comes from watching others process and react to situations rather than the situation itself. The horror of The Exorcist and the catharsis of Kitchen Nightmares both come from the audience being just that—an audience. Tension and emotional engagement in stories both fall flat when the author attempts to break that fourth wall and tell the audience how they should feel about the scenario they’re looking at. It’s far better for the audience to watch the characters react to their own circumstances and just be along for the ride.