One-hit wonders, we know about. They are entertainers, usually but not exclusively musicians, who achieve a burst of fame with a singular piece of work and then fade into the inglorious recesses of pop memory. The appellation is often unfair and can be pegged on reasons that have more to do with circumstance than with talent. “The Night of the Hunter” (1955), for instance, occasioned critical opprobrium upon its release, a response that put the kibosh on further directorial efforts by its auteur, Charles Laughton.

Other cinematic one-hit wonders include Barbara Loden’s “Wanda” (1970), Leonard Kastle’s “The Honeymoon Killers” (1970), and the ghostly mood-piece “Carnival of Souls” (1962), in which director Herk Harvey confirmed that the barest of budgets can be a vital coefficient of aesthetic integrity. 

William Friedkin, who died in August at 87, doesn’t belong in this company, having put his name to 20 films and numerous television programs over the course of almost five decades. Yet does anyone remember anything he did other than “The French Connection” (1971) and “The Exorcist” (1973)? Their respective grit and gore are, in Friedkin’s case, the stuff of immortality. Both pictures hold up half a century after their initial releases. This is especially true of “The Exorcist”: When won’t humanity need a sour meditation on the travails of adolescence?  The film’s currency is forever guaranteed.

Is Friedkin more than a two-hit wonder? There are those who swear by “Sorcerer” (1977), the remake of Henri-George Clouzot’s “Wages of Fear” (1953) and a film that had the bad luck of opening the same weekend as “Star Wars.” Although “Sorcerer” garnered some plaudits, the reviews, on the whole, were so-so. 

Why, it was asked, did Friedkin bother to remake a picture that was already considered a classic? The same question dogs Friedkin’s “The Caine Mutiny Court Martial” (2023), which recently had its premiere on Paramount+. Kiefer Sutherland is a capable actor, but, to paraphrase a late senator, Lloyd Bentsen, “Mr. Sutherland, you’re no Humphrey Bogart.”

The IFC Center is running a one-week retrospective of Friedkin’s corpus that ends October 26. “William Friedkin: Fate and Faith” takes a cue from a Variety critic, Owen Gleiberman, who wrote that Friedkin “stripped life down to something brutal and essential — something that, in his greatest movies, can still possess you.” Possess us, indeed: The territory mined in “The Exorcist” has continued through innumerable sequels, rip-offs, and parodies. Where on earth would we be without scatalogical demons, foul-mouthed teenagers, and doubting priests?

“Fate and Faith” doesn’t include Friedkin’s work before “The French Connection,” the film that won Oscars for Best Picture, Best Director, and Best Actor. Admittedly, the Sonny and Cher vehicle “Good Times” (1967) might not key into the series’ overriding motif, but you can’t help but be curious about “Off Season” (1965), Friedkin’s contribution to the final season of “The Alfred Hitchcock Hour.” 

Still, the director’s 132-minute cut of “The Exorcist” will be screened, as will the original theatrical cut of 122 minutes in a new 4K restoration. Obsessive cineastes can take in both versions and mull the import of those 10 telltale minutes.

Other films in the series include lesser-known efforts like “Rampage” (1987), “The Guardian” (1990), “Jade” (1995), and “Bug” (2006), in which the talents of Ashley Judd, Michael Shannon, and Harry Connick Jr. are wasted on the conspiracy-addled contours of Tracy Letts’s script. 

Considerably less pretentious but equally as dubious is Friedkin’s “Cruising” (1980). Movie-goers of a certain age will recall the hubbub occasioned by its story of an undercover cop seeking a serial killer amongst the S&M underworld of New York City. Activists at the time lamented the exploitative depiction of a particular subculture, the suggestion that violence was an inherent component of gay life, and that the picture could, foreseeably, occasion hate crimes. That the programmers at IFC felt “Cruising” was ready for a revival and reevaluation says something about a significantly altered social climate.

That is the only good thing about the film. Forget, for a moment, the cavils one might have about stereotyping: “Cruising” is terrible; I mean, really terrible. The plot is simultaneously overwrought and undernourished, and the script is so vague in its elisions that you can’t help but wonder if Friedkin had any kind of grasp on what he was setting out to do. Al Pacino walks through the movie with notable sullenness. Karen Allen does what she can with a thankless role and Paul Sorvino, may he rest in peace, adds a harried gravitas.

The only scene you’ll remember is a police investigation that features a towering, slap-happy African-American man, a non-sequitur of a character whose only raiment is a jock strap and a cowboy hat. You can’t help but be taken aback: What was that all about? 

This welcome moment of Surrealist japery is enough to make one realize just how drab, crabbed, and jaded a movie “Cruising” is. How today’s audiences will respond to its sensationalism will be interesting to see. Otherwise, should you want to sample “Fate and Faith,” stick with Popeye Doyle and the devil. They never let you down.