Babette’s Feast

Originally published as part of the Arts & Faith top 100.

“Babette can cook.” It’s a seemingly simple sentence offered as an offhand suggestion in a letter to Danish sisters Martine and Filippa (Birgitte Federspiel and Bodil Kjer) as one way an unknown refugee from France could help them should they take her in. And yet, the understatement and simplicity of that line perfectly foreshadows the greatness of the gift that Babette’s titular feast will be.

The first time we see Babette (Stephane Audran), it’s not the image of her seeking shelter in the pouring rain, but preparing a simple meal while the two sisters with whom she lives host their weekly prayer service. When the small religious community begins singing, “Jerusalem, my heart’s true home,” there is a cut to Babette in the kitchen. Yet again, it is a subtle detail foreshadowing where Babette’s feast will lead those who partake of it.

Similar to those miniscule details, which escape the notice of most of the characters, the feast itself is almost not noticed for what it truly is either. Only one character knows and appreciates the value of the gift Babette is giving to the community which saved her from one of the French civil wars. The rest of the community is apprehensive of her foreign feast at best and downright convinced it will be diabolical at worst.

If a feast prepared for twelve people, who don’t fully understand what the feast is, and yet it transforms them as they consume it sounds familiar to a staple of Christian theology, it’s because in Gabriel Axel’s film adaptation of Karen Blixen’s short story, Babette’s feast is a metaphor for the Eucharist. That naturally makes Babette herself a Christ figure.

Many great films about religion and spirituality contain Christ figures—Ordet, Andrei Rublev, The Seventh Seal, and more. Almost all of those films involve a Christ figure who suffers in some way for the salvation of themselves or others. What makes Babette a unique Christ figure is not that she doesn’t suffer (losing one’s husband and son in a civil war certainly is suffering), but her similarity to Christ is in the joy and grace she brings others by offering a gift of her talents, which costs her everything she has, but brings peace to a community and to herself.

It’s the portrayal of that peace and joy that makes this film a masterpiece. Every shot of the feast and its preparation are mouthwatering, the Jutland coast is beautiful, each interaction among the small community is filmed with a familiar intimacy. The ways that Babette’s presence challenges and enriches that familiarity shows the spiritual growth that any great art should induce. In a community that had become complacent in their faith and daily routines, it was suspicious, discomforting art from an outsider that challenged them to grow. Again, the growth is subtle, but the subtlety makes the transformation all the more remarkable.

What’s even more remarkable is the one guest to realize the true value of Babette’s feast. None of the pious Puritans who know her appreciate her cooking beyond it being “a very nice meal.” But the worldly General Löwenhielm (Jarl Kulle) who has lived his life with doubt and uncertainty that he chose the right path is able to recognize the extraordinary quality of the feast. Once again, great art can work its inspiration anywhere and often not where our preconceived notions tell us it should be.

In Blixen’s short story, Babette explains to Martine and Filippa that she had to cook the feast for her own sake, as a great artist. This is less explicit in the film, in keeping with its style, but Babette’s final lines are the same in both versions: “Through all the world there goes one long cry from the heart of the artist: ‘Give me leave to do my utmost.’” That utmost is a partaking in the divine act of creation, to quote John Paul II’s letter to artists, and whether the recipients of that art realize it or not, it incites a change. It incites a change in the entire Jutland community, and as the general proclaims at the end of the meal, “Mercy and truth have met together. Righteousness and bliss have kissed.”

Personal recommendation: A+

Lourdes

Originally published as part of the A&F Top 100

Year of release: 2009     Directed by Jessica Hausner.      Starring Sylvie Testud, Léa Seydoux, Bruno Todeschini, and Elina Löwensohn.

A Catholic pilgrimage underscored by a Lutheran chorale, a nun abandoning her duties to have an affair, a skeptic receiving a miraculous cure ahead of more devout pilgrims. A cliché I can’t stand says “God moves in mysterious ways,” and while it is possible to take that away from Jessica Hausner’s Lourdes, I think what’s more striking are the paradoxes within which grace can work.

For anyone who doesn’t know, the grotto in Lourdes, France is a very famous Catholic pilgrimage site where Mary appeared to Bernadette Soubirous when she was fourteen, revealing a hidden spring with healing powers. Once the vision was approved by the Church, it quickly became a popular pilgrimage site.

Christine (Sylvie Testud), the paraplegic skeptic, expresses disappointment in how touristy the grotto has become, but is still grateful for the chance to travel somewhere. Maria (Léa Seydoux), the young nun assigned to be her caretaker, is glad she is mostly enjoying it and dutifully stays by her side.

One of the best aspects of Lourdes is how much of it is left to the viewer’s interpretation. The film is in no way a sermon, and whether Christine receives a miraculous cure is debatable. Jessica Hausner sets the scenes and allows each viewer and character to conclude what they will. It’s not that different from the evidence for belief in God: we can look at events of the world and see them as proof of His existence or not. And because it’s so personal, those who choose one view will probably not persuade those who choose the other.

The opening shot of the movie is the nuns setting the course for dinner, underscored by Schubert’s Ave Maria. It’s an example of Hausner’s unobtrusive observation of literally setting a scene, but during that dinner we’re reminded that the pilgrimage is an opportunity offered to the pilgrims for the grace to change spiritually, even if they’re not healed physically.

The most notable thing about Mary’s appearance to Bernadette in 1858 is that she identified herself as the Immaculate Conception. In Catholic theology, this preservation from original sin made her the perfect vessel of grace to serve as a mediator between God and humankind by carrying the New Covenant (Jesus) in a virgin birth. That is an entire series of paradoxes, but they’re all ones which bring grace to a fallen world. In Lourdes, it is the seeming contradictions through which grace and change occur within the characters.

Perhaps the biggest paradox is that the skeptic Christine appears to receive a miraculous cure, or a nun having an affair provides an opportunity to witness that cure, or the tradition to award the “best pilgrim” is based on outward appearances. Obviously, none of those things can be known for certain, and it is in that uncertainty that grace can flourish and Hausner’s directing excels.

It is worth noting that Seydoux’s nun is named Maria, and her charge is named Christine (Christ + ine). The relationship between them may initially appear as a mother caring for a child, but once again a skeptical Christ figure who baffles and inspires others and a Marian figure who abandons her child during her transformation (or passion) are a series of paradoxes that make the grace being offered to the characters stand out all the more.

The prominent use of Bach’s Ich ruf zu dir, Herr Jesu Christ (I call on you, Lord Jesus Christ) as underscoring is remarkable, not only for it being a German Lutheran chorale used during a French Catholic Marian pilgrimage, but as a reminder that most of the pilgrims are calling on God for a cure to some ailment, which makes it all the more mysterious that the one who does not do so apparently receives it.

I said I dislike the phrase, “God moves in mysterious ways,” and that is because it is so often used to minimalize some tragedy or severe disappointment, as if to suggest that God willed evil. There is obviously some truth in the phrase, because as St. Augustine said, “If you can comprehend, it is not God.” That is the truth Lourdes hauntingly explores. As the final shot makes clear, we and the characters will not know precisely what happened to Christine, and each interpretation will only be influenced by the faith that one possesses.

Yes, God, Yes

Year of Release: 2020      Directed by Karen Maine.  Staring Natalia Dyer, Francesca Reale, Parker Wierling, Timothy Simons, and Donna Lynne Champlin.

When the theology of a gay bar is sounder than the theology of a Catholic youth retreat, it’s one example of the deficiency of the Church’s ministry in recent years. In the case of Yes, God, Yes, a new coming of age comedy from writer/director Karen Maine, such a scene forms not only a pivotal moment in teenage Alice’s (Natalia Dyer) journey but also a welcome reprieve from the holier-than-thou competition from her fellow high schoolers.

After a sexist rumor starts circulating about Alice, she’s essentially knocked out of any holiness competition before one even starts. Making matters worse, she has no idea what the term her classmates are tossing around about her means. Worse still, the two school authority figures, Mrs. Veda (Donna Lynne Champlin) and Fr. Murphy, (Timothy Simons) seemingly accept the rumors at face value.

It goes without saying that the rumors are false, but as an insecure teenagers wrestling with sexual feelings for the first time in her life, Alice doesn’t know who to turn to for advice. Once again, to make matters worse, the sex-ed class taught by Fr. Murphy at her Catholic high school has a severely overly simplistic explanation of arousal that’s insulting to both sexes, but the obviously misogynistic qualities make Alice understandably reluctant to seek advice there.

What follows are Alice’s hilariously misguided attempts to learn about the type of sex act she was falsely accused of committing and her worry that she’s irreversibly hell-bound for having hormones. Most of this happens over a weekend retreat that her best friend (Francesca Reale) convinces her to go on so they can score holiness points.

If this sounds like a cruel over-exaggeration of Catholicism and youth group mentality, it isn’t. From the sexist bullying moments before a photo is taken in which everyone smiles and says, “Jesus Christ!” to the assumption that any sexual misconduct, if true, is all Alice’s fault and not the male classmate with whom she did (not do) it, it all conveys the dangers of a purity culture that treats women as commodities whose only worth is their sexual innocence.

The critique of Catholicism is unquestionably harsh, and while the sex-ed class grossly oversimplifies Church teaching on sexuality for the purpose of critiquing purity culture, the other details are spot on. The off-key singing of “City of God” is painful and hilarious. The use of a retreat to be in close proximity to one’s crush is too accurate. And most importantly, the worrying about eternal damnation from a legalistic and overly literal understanding of mortal sin, which despairs of God’s mercy, comes across perfectly.

When I was younger, I spent quite a bit of time at Catholic youth groups, and the details of Karen Maine’s script, loosely based on some of her own experiences, make it feel so familiar. For instance, there is a moment of sharing personal stories about feeling God’s presence during a difficult time. Alice makes something up, because she can’t think of something applicable to share. As an introvert, I hated those moments not only having to talk about something potentially highly personal, but also for the way so many of the stories reduced prayer to a magic spell that when said fervently enough caused God to wave his magic wand and fix all of one’s problems. When I tried to talk about Two Days, One Night being a reminder of God’s presence through the way everything turns out and how most of the characters are doing their best, it was not well received.

I share that anecdote to explain why Yes, God, Yes resonated so deeply with me. Ultimately, this is a film about saying yes to God and saying no to the ways that religion is perverted. Does it get every detail right? No, and I would have liked to have seen Alice take a little more responsibility for some of her actions. However, it makes it perfectly understandable why she would feel unsafe doing so given the sexist authority figures. The film also provides an authentic example of teenage insecurities and struggling toward the right path. And whatever path Alice chooses, God will be walking it with her.

 

Personal recommendation: A

Through a Glass Darkly

Year of release: 1961          Directed by Ingmar Bergman.          Starring Harriet Andersson, Max von Sydow, Gunnar Björnstrand, and Lars Passgård.

“Not that I am (I think) in much danger of ceasing to believe in God. The real danger is of coming to believe such dreadful things about Him. The conclusion I dread is not ‘So there’s no God after all,’ but ‘So this is what God’s really like. Deceive yourself no longer.

“Sooner or later I must face the question in plain language. What reason have we, except our own desperate wishes, to believe that God is, by any standard we can conceive, ‘good’? Doesn’t all the prima facie evidence suggest exactly the opposite? What have we to set against it?” – C. S. Lewis, A Grief Observed, chapters 1 & 2 respectively

In wrestling with the grief caused by the death of his wife, C. S. Lewis gave voice to some of the darkest fears and notions that anyone can experience in a life of faith: not that there is no God, but that He’s a cruel, heartless sadist. Ingmar Bergman’s “faith trilogy” wrestles with similar questions, wondering how an omnipotent being could also be all good.

Through a Glass Darkly serves as the opening film of the trilogy. The title is a very obvious reference to 1 Corinthians 13:12, indicating the (very slightly) more optimistic outlook of this film compared to the two that follow it—Winter Light and The Silence, the titles alone which suggest the dimming light and dying faith of their protagonists and their director.

However, Through a Glass Darkly holds onto hope of one day seeing face to face, acknowledging both the terror and joy of such a possibility.

The frightening potential of beholding God can be seen through Karin (Harriet Andersson), a mentally ill woman who believes her schizophrenic episodes are visions of God. Her final vision—a frightful and horrific analogy of God as an attacking spider that is further explored in Bergman’s subsequent two films, which led to them being labeled a trilogy along with this one—is starkly reminiscent of Lewis’ line, “Deceive yourself no longer.”

At the same time the arc of Karin’s younger brother Minus (Lars Passgård) shows the hope and joy of direct communication with God. After spending the majority of the film trying to please his emotionally and physically distant father David (Gunnar Björnstrand) and having his relationship with his sister fall apart in increasingly destructive ways, the final scene is a heartfelt face to face exchange with his father about the nature of God. Minus’ takeaway is one of the most startling lines in the film, which summarizes everyone’s need to give and receive love, not just with other people but with God as well.

The lone outsider to this dysfunctional family is Karin’s husband Martin (Max von Sydow), who has clearly understood the “for worse” part of his vows. He confides to David that after Karin was released from the mental hospital, the doctors told him she would never recover. Her illness takes an increasing toll on their marriage, and her family is not much support with Minus’ stony disgust toward his sister’s behavior and David’s selfish artistic desire to exploit his daughter’s illness for one of his novels. In spite of this, Martin’s loyalty to Karin never wavers, regardless of the pain outside forces and people bring into their relationship.

I believe that is an additional metaphor for faith. It is a relationship with God, and while outside factors and other people may attempt to poison it, it is still a relationship from which we should not flee. Even if those forces turn it into a burden, faith is still something beautiful and worth preserving.

As the son of a Lutheran pastor, faith and doubt is at the center of many of Bergman’s films, perhaps nowhere more explicitly than in this film, Winter Light, and The Silence. The necessity of doubt as a means to enrich one’s faith, or learning to see with clouded vision, is captured through the insecurities and harshness of the world which the characters here inhabit.

Karin’s mental illness compounds those insecurities, and her explanation that voices tell her what to do may seem as if Bergman is saying religion is a form of mental illness, especially since her final breakdown is caused by her encounter with her malevolent notion of “god.” However, Bergman follows that scene with a moment of salvation for all the characters, which can first be heard approaching in the midst of the Karin’s encounter with the spider god.

It is this moment of salvation where the notion that God is Love starts, but only starts, to become clear. Prior to that, any role of the divine in the lives of the characters was seen, in the words of the title, through a glass darkly. That darkness was intensified by the unhealthy ways Karin, as well as her lonely brother and workaholic father, sought love. In the end, Love wants her healthy and for the family to have a functional relationship.

A lakeside family visit that goes to hell is not an unusual premise for a film, but Bergman’s use of that setting to depict a literal walk through hell with all its doubts and uncertainties creates two parallel journeys about doubt and mental illness that coalesce at the same rock bottom moment. Both trajectories are beautifully captured by Sven Nykvist’s quietly observant camera, inviting us to reflect on what’s before us, but also reminding us there’s more out of the frame that cannot be easily explained.

To continue the Bible verse referenced in the title, for now, we and the protagonists know in part, and when faced with the evil in their lives, it may remain that way. However, there are tangible moments of goodness and grace, even if the coexistence of those moments with tragedy seems like a contradiction. Or as a quote from St. Augustine says, “If you are able to comprehend it, it is not God.”

 

Personal Recommendation: A+

 

Unplanned

Year of release: 2019              Directed by Chuck Konzelman and Cary Solomon.   Starring Ashley Bratcher, Brooks Ryan, Jared Lotz, Emma Elle Roberts, Andee Grace Burton, and Robia Scott.

Orson Welles famously said that the two things he always found laughably fake when depicted on screen were sex and prayer. Unplanned, being a Pure Flix production, obviously has no scenes of realistic or unrealistic sex. However, it does feature several scenes of prayer, which in my opinion showcase the wisdom of Welles’ statement.

The most preposterous prayer scene comes at the film’s climax, when members of 40 Days for Life pray over a container of aborted fetus parts about to be disposed, which is crosscut with Planned Parenthood clinic director Abby Johnson having her breakdown after witnessing an abortion firsthand, which ultimately led to her becoming a leader in the pro-life movement. It is such a neat and tidy culmination to the story threads that it feels more contrived than anything else, and the actors’ delivery of the lines with their hands outstretched makes the prayer seem like a sort of incantation, which is proved to work by the crosscutting to Abby.

That moment isn’t any less on the nose than the rest of the movie, but it probably best summarizes the weaknesses of the latest film from the makers of God’s Not Dead. Unplanned isn’t nearly as atrocious as the former movie from writers Chuck Konzelman and Cary Solomon, who also direct this time, but a similar preaching to the choir and lack of subtlety significantly undermines this film as well.

Unplanned tells the story of Abby Johnson (Ashley Bratcher) who went from being Planned Parenthood’s employee of the year and director of their clinic in Bryan, Texas to pro-life activist after she witnessed an ultrasound guided abortion. After an opening scene celebrating Abby’s picturesque family life with her husband and daughter—setting an unmistakable tone that this is a pro-life Christian film—the next scene is a depiction of that turning point in Abby’s life. Then the film flashes back eight years to show how she got there.

As a woman who undergoes a drastic conversion, Bratcher gives a fine, mostly believable performance. The conversion narrative is substantially weakened not only by opening the film with the catalyst for it, but also by the incessant voiceovers, reminding us roughly every five minutes that the conversion is going to happen. It is clear that Konzelman and Solomon do not trust their audience or their material and feel obligated to tell the easiest story for their target audience to hear, despite Abby’s voiceover to the contrary.

The movie is not completely devoid of merit. The lighting and cinematography are well above the average faith-based production. Two scenes stand out in particular for landing the dramatic punch that the filmmakers blatantly wanted the entire film to have. One is a flashback to Abby’s first abortion in college where the disorientation of the procedure to the recovery room is conveyed through skilled lens, lighting, and editing choices. The other is a scene when Abby lies about the blood on her sneakers to her daughter Grace (Andee Grace Burton) to the disapproval of her pro-life husband Doug (Brooks Ryan). The shot reverse-shot confrontation punctuated with the sound effects of Abby removing said sneakers is undeniably well crafted and underscores the moral seriousness the rest of the film could have had.

The flashback structure does not work on a purely dramatic level, because it gives away the denouement of the story from the beginning. When the movie attempts a flashback within a flashback, presumably before Abby started volunteering for Planned Parenthood her junior year of college, the timeline quickly becomes muddled, and it is not clear whether she had two abortions, a one-year marriage, and a divorce while in college before she started working at Planned Parenthood or after that time.

Dramatic license is obviously going to be taken in any adaptation of a true story, and I do not begrudge the filmmakers for streamlining events or choosing more dramatically exciting alternatives (such as taking the injunction Planned Parenthood filed against Abby all the way to a trial). However, enough events seriously stretch credibility (e.g. there is hardly any conflict between Abby and her staunchly pro-life parents over working at Planned Parenthood, Abby picks at a dissembled fetus seeing its human form but later is traumatized by the human-like features of an ultrasound picture of a fetus) that I several times questioned the reliability of Abby’s narration.

One thing I am truly surprised to read in praise of the film from pro-life circles is the “sympathetic” portrayal of Planned Parenthood employees. They are all either sneering, predatory, malevolent witches (such as Abby’s boss Cheryl, played by Robia Scott) or well-meaning, but naïve and moronic enablers of said witches. The best comparison I can think of would be to imagine a film about the sex abuse scandal that portrayed all Catholics as falling into one of those two categories. Would anyone say such a portrayal is respectful or sympathetic?

The movie is very slightly more successful in its challenge to the pro-life movement, depicting two instances of violence and harassment from pro-lifers. However, it immediately suggests that such antics are from fringe lunatics who are in no way a natural extension of the rhetoric of the movement as a whole, while simultaneously trotting out right-wing talking points (George Soros! Liberals only say they want to reduce the number of abortions) that were used by pro-life leaders to elect a sex predator who dehumanizes women, immigrants, and refugees much in the same way abortion dehumanizes the unborn.

I’ve heard accounts of pro-choice viewers watching Unplanned and changing their mind on abortion. Not to belittle those claims, but this movie so relentlessly preaches to the choir that I would be shocked if it changed anyone’s mind regarding abortion, unless they were already on the fence about it. I’ve seen more than one pro-choice viewer say it inspired them to donate to Planned Parenthood.

If one believes abortion is the termination of a human life, then the movie’s depiction of that will probably be a powerful and horrific reminder of the value of all human life. If not, those scenes will probably come across as cheesy CGI. Given how contrived the rest of the film is, it would be hard to argue with anyone who feels that way.

 

Personal Recommendation: C