Posts Tagged religious films
Year of Release: 2016 Directed by Anne Fontaine. Starring Lou de Laâge, Agata Buzek, Agata Kulesza, and Vincent Macaigne.
This review will not spoil the central plot point around which the story of The Innocents revolves. That plot point is revealed about twenty minutes into the film; however, even though it is technically not a spoiler, it is still something I believe should not be known going into this film. Consequently, there may be a few places where I am more vague than I would otherwise like to be.
A few months ago, several of my friends and fellow film critics started praising The Innocents enthusiastically. Most frequently, I heard comparisons to Of Gods and Men and Ida. While both comparisons are apt, the comparisons that most struck me were to three novels: Song at the Scaffold by Gertrude von le Fort, The Scarlet Letter by Nathaniel Hawthorne, and Silence by Shusaku Endo, which has a film adaptation by Scorsese coming out in one month.
As a story about a convent of nuns suffering various forms of persecution as the result of a war, the similarities with Song at the Scaffold struck me immediately, with the main difference being The Innocents is set in Poland in the aftermath of World War II, rather than the reign of terror during the French Revolution. Some of the nuns’ decisions may be baffling to a contemporary viewer, but if one remembers how badly they have been victimized and as a result no longer trust the outside world, the fear which grips this convent should be more tragic than perplexing.
The main similarity with The Scarlet Letter was something I noticed toward the end. In high school, I read that novel like most American students, and for the paper I wrote I chose the topic how God can bring good out of evil, focusing on the ways in which the community and Hester’s life improved after the affair and public branding. (Don’t ask me for details; that was over ten years ago. I just remember the general gist of my essay.) Likewise, after horrific tragedies and suffering on the part of innocent victims, The Innocents suggests a way in which hope can grow from the darkness, making the world a better place.
Finally, Silence is Endo’s famous novel about faith in the midst of feeling abandoned by God’s silence in the face of extreme suffering. As Sister Maria (Agata Buzek) says roughly halfway through the film, “Faith…at first you’re like a child, holding your father’s hand, feeling safe. Then a time comes…when your father lets go. You’re lost alone in the dark. You cry out, but no one answers.” That feeling of isolation permeates The Innocents, and several of the nuns and novices question their vows and their faith as a result of their sufferings.
Into the midst of this convent in turmoil comes Mathilde (Lou de Laâge), a communist and atheist who has little to no respect for the nuns’ beliefs, especially when those beliefs interfere with the work she has come to do. (I said I’m being vague.) However, through Mathilde’s commitment to the promise she made, she does find a way to work with the nuns. The film may be more sympathetic to Mathilde than the nuns; however, Mathilde’s final climactic idea affirms the primary vocation of the nuns and brings a heartfelt joyful conclusion to the sorrowful events that had preceded it.
Laâge convincingly portrays Mathilde’s sympathy for the nuns, even as she clings to her secular worldview. Her confrontations with Sister Maria’s raw yet steadfast faith overshadow the film, and the two actresses complement each other’s screen presence beautifully. As the cold and steely Mother Abbess, Agata Kulesza (from Ida) serves as a reminder of the dangers both of overly zealous piety and of rationalization for a noble goal. Mathilde may have the least amount of sympathy for the Abbess, but the film refuses the easy temptation to vilify her, even as she makes some appalling choices, one of which slightly stretches her character’s credibility.
Director Anne Fontaine beautifully evokes the cold, desolate landscape of post-war Poland with slow moving, long takes and a bleak, blue-gray color palette, only briefly splashed with reddish browns for dance scenes. The winter setting reinforces that Poland is now controlled by the Communists, a hell possibly worse than the Nazis, and Fontaine does not shy away from those details: from the danger the nuns feel, to the outright contempt that other characters have for them, and to the dangerous encounter Mathilde suffers for helping the nuns.
The Innocents opens with the nuns singing Creator of the Stars of Night, an Advent chant in which one verse says: “In sorrow that the ancient curse/Should doom to death a universe,/You came, O Savior, to set free/You’re own in glorious liberty.” Those words may sound bitterly ironic to the nuns at the film’s beginning, but through the course of this story the hope reflected in the following verse of the hymn becomes apparent to the convent: “When this old world drew on toward night,/You came but not in splendor bright,/Not as a monarch but a child/Of Mary blameless mother mild.”
Personal Recommendation: A-
Content Advisory (spoiler-free version): Non-graphic sexual assault (ends quickly), themes of spiritual abuse, horrific off screen deaths, and some gruesome surgical procedures. Not rated
Suggested audience: Teens and up with discernment
Directed by Cyrus Nowrasteh. Starring Adam Greaves-Neal, Sara Lazzaro, Vincent Walsh, Finn Ireland, Christian McKay, Lois Ellington, Agni Scott, Sean Bean, Jonathan Bailey, and Rory Keenan.
How does one go about creating a story centered on the untold life of the child Jesus? There is no evidence in the Gospels about what happened between the flight into Egypt and His Baptism almost thirty years later, other than the finding in the temple when He was twelve. And furthermore how does one believably and compellingly portray a child who is fully God (and thus perfect and omniscient) and yet also fully human with a human mind (and thus has limited knowledge and must learn like any other child)?
It’s a balance which The Young Messiah pulls off brilliantly. The imagination initially sparked by Anne Rice in her novel Christ the Lord: Out of Egypt is preserved and developed by director Cyrus Nowrasteh along with his wife Betsy, who co-writes this adaptation with her husband. From the diligent work of Rice and the Nowrastehs, The Young Messiah emerges as a thoughtful, original, and theologically sound story which provides reflection on an often un-thought about period of Jesus’ life.
The very first scene of The Young Messiah demonstrates that the film is the hands of skillful and sensitive storytellers. The seven year old Jesus (Adam Greaves-Neal) is playing with his cousin Salome (Lois Ellington) in the streets of Alexandria, only to be bullied by two older boys. Jesus does not fight back, but only defends himself from the blows. As one of the boys prepares to chase after Salome, Jesus orders him to leave her alone. As the boy ignores him, a sinister cloaked figure tosses an apple on the ground which the boy trips over, hitting his head on a rock and dying.
That sinister figure then convinces the other boy to accuse Jesus of murdering the child. At this point, the film cuts to the perspective of the bystanders, revealing that Jesus is the only one who can see this demon or the apple.
When Jesus’ family arrive, the portrayal of Mary and Joseph (Sara Lazzaro and Vincent Walsh) is wonderful. Neither one doubts the innocence of their son, both being fully aware of his divine nature as told to them by the angel. However, they have not told him, being afraid of how the world would receive him and unsure how to “explain God to His own Son.”
At the same time, as a curious and alert seven year old, Jesus knows he is different, and at Salome’s request he does that “special thing he did with the dead bird” for the bully, namely, brings him back to life.
From this sequence alone we see a child who refuses to sin, is conflicted regarding his identity, has a supportive family who helps him grow in holiness and whom he obeys, who extends compassion to his enemies, and who is haunted by a demonic figure. In other words, the filmmakers have created compelling characters and a theologically fascinating conflict to drive the narrative. Additionally, there are clever references to later events in the life of Jesus from the Gospels. All of these elements will feature throughout the remainder of the film, and it is to the credit of the Nowrastehs how seamlessly the story blends these defining aspects of the young Jesus’ life.
The overall story is very episodic, flowing from one segment to another as the Holy Family (both immediate and extended) returns to Nazareth from Egypt. The episodes all contribute to the overarching narrative of Jesus’ human nature gradually coming to understand his divine nature, and all the episodes are intriguing in their own right as well. Indeed, the one conflict which overshadows the film at times feels a little forced. Sean Bean (whom I’m always happy to see in a movie) plays a centurion ordered by Herod (a wonderfully creepy and immature Jonathan Bailey) to find the rumored seven year old miracle worker and repeat what his father Herod the Great did in Bethlehem. The conflict gives the film an added sense of urgency, and on paper its resolution makes perfect sense, but in execution it felt slightly forced, even if it did give the film two great performances.
The other performances are all equally fantastic. As the seven year old Jesus, Adam Greaves-Neal perfectly captures a sense of reverence, curiosity, playfulness, and kindness without becoming supercilious or obsequious. As Jesus’ cousin James, Finn Ireland conveys the resentment of an older child who knows why Jesus is special, but deep down still loves his cousin and wishes to help him. As Cleopas and Miriam, James and Salome’s parents, Christian McKay and Agni Scott successfully round out the ensemble with variants on the enthusiastic uncle and supportive aunt. Finally, Rory Keenan maintains a sinister air as the devil who knows the child Jesus is destined for greatness, but is unsure why.
One of my favorite aspects of The Young Messiah is the portrayal of the Holy Family. Mary and Joseph trust God so thoroughly, and they love their son so completely that it is easy to see why the Holy Family should be a model for all families. Even when threatened, they always maintain their virtue and their trust in God. I honestly cannot think of a single movie about Jesus which has a better portrayal of the Holy Family than The Young Messiah.
The movie soars with its inspired dramatic and theological reflections on the childhood of Christ. References to incidents in the Gospels like the Baptism in the Jordan and the Wedding at Cana strengthen the storytelling prowess, and they add a profundity to the depiction of Jesus’ human nature becoming more aware of his divine nature. For more information about the growth of Jesus’ human knowledge, make sure to read this excellent piece by Steven Greydanus, and check out his fantastic review as well.
The Young Messiah‘s reverence for the Scriptures which inspired its story is on full display through the entire film, and the wonderfully imaginative narrative makes this one of the best films about Christ that I’ve seen in years.
Content Advisory: Several non-graphic shots of crucifixions, an out of frame stabbing, violence between Roman soldiers and Jewish rebels, and a potentially creepy satanic figure. MPAA rating: PG-13
Suggested audience: Kids and up with discernment
Personal Recommendation: A-
Directed by Robert Eggers. Starring Anya Taylor-Joy, Ralph Ineson, Kate Dickie, and Harvey Scrimshaw.
Everyone should see The Witch.
Okay. That’s a hyperbolic opening sentence which neither takes into account differences of tastes and sensibilities nor describes what makes The Witch a compelling, thought provoking viewing experience vastly different from most other films. Of course not everyone should see The Witch, but anyone who appreciates thoughtful, challenging works of art which wrestle with faith based questions should give this film a chance.
The Witch is a powerful work of art about faith gone badly wrong and the horrific consequences thereof. While those consequences unquestionably make The Witch a horror film, it’s hardly one I would call scary. Rather, the creepy and unnerving atmosphere, achieved through a perfect blend of fantasy and tragedy, gives the themes of religion, fundamentalism, and destruction of the family a fresh vitality. In other words, both horror aficionados and those who rigidly eschew horror films should throw out any expectations and allow The Witch to unfold in its unusual and spectacular manner.
The story itself is fairly simple: a Puritan family is exiled from their colonial village because the father has been challenging the ways of the towns’ elders, whom he claims are heretics. After they set up their farm on the outskirts of the woods, the infant disappears one day while the oldest is playing peek-a-boo with him. Not long after that, increasingly unusual events begin to plague the family, creating rifts between all the relationships: siblings, spouses, and parents and children.
With its masterful recreation of superstitious, seventeenth century, colonial New England, The Witch transports its audience to an era long since passed where characters behave in ways that make little sense by modern standards. Regrettably, several screenings have had a few audience members’ laughing in shock because they are unable to accept the perspective of characters whose mentality is completely foreign to twenty-first century America. However, the unapologetic immersion in seventeenth century Puritan New England by writer/director Robert Eggers is what makes The Witch so thoroughly engrossing.
Eggers’ script is full of archaic language which would be right at home in a Shakespeare play, and his dialogue frequently focuses on sin and the fear that one might die in sin and thus go to hell. That fear naturally applies to children and infants, and it is a pressing concern for the family, especially young Caleb (Harvey Scrimshaw), who cannot comprehend what his baby brother did to deserve to go to hell. While his father (Ralph Ineson) acknowledges God’s mercy as a possibility, the strict sect of Puritanism to which the family adheres places an extreme focus on sin and damnation, almost to the point that sin is greater than God’s mercy, a warped perspective which will feature prominently later in the film.
At the center of the story is Thomasin (Anya Taylor-Joy), on the verge of becoming a woman, suffering from guilt for losing her infant brother while she was playing peek-a-boo, her mother’s scapegoat for anything that goes wrong on the farm, and increasingly uncertain about the rigid fundamentalism of her faith. The opening shot of her silently staring wide-eyed into the camera portrays a young girl who sees her family’s future jeopardized as her father is banished from the village community. That young girl gradually becomes more assertive through the course of the film, but since her family and religion both devalue her, her journey to adulthood hardly follows a normal trajectory. The two other scenes when she stares directly into the camera frame her mental and spiritual journey. If the eyes are the windows to the soul, then the film unnervingly captures a very troubled and lonely soul.
Overshadowing Thomasin’s coming of age and the family grief is the omnipresent threat of a witch in the woods that border the farm. It goes without saying that Thomasin and her family believe in witchcraft, and a very early scene shows the audience the witch. However, the overarching question is whether or not the witch is really a threat or if there is another demonic presence haunting this family. The answers are skillfully suggested throughout, particularly in an early tracking shot which distorts its subject in a brilliant fashion. The final answer will seem perfectly natural to viewers who have bought into the characters and world on display. For those who haven’t, the denouement will probably be the biggest head scratcher in the film. Either way, it pays off in spades.
As a director, Eggers brilliantly chooses what to show and what not to show. He times the cuts to leave just enough room for doubt so that the tragic, fantastic atmosphere is greatly heightened. He places Mark Korven’s visceral, textural score against Jarin Blaschke’s bleak cinematography so that the world of the film is immersive. Finally, his Bergmanesque wrestling with faith, doubt, and isolation suggests a cross between Winter Light and Hour of the Wolf.
It’s very rare to see a film that demands to be seen multiple times to fully digest it. With The Witch, first time feature film director Robert Eggers has crafted such a film.
Content Advisory: Fleeting depictions of disturbing satanic rituals, some gruesome violence, shadowy nudity, and horrific unusual deaths. MPAA rating: R
Suggested audience: Adults with discernment
Personal Recommendation: A
Year of release: 2016 Directed by Joel and Ethan Coen. Starring Josh Brolin, George Clooney, Alden Ehrenreich, Tilda Swinton, Ralph Fiennes, Channing Tatum, Scarlett Johansson, and Michael Gambon.
If there is one thing that the Coen brothers have proven throughout their entire career it is that they are masters of assembling oddball ensembles and intertwining their lives in ways that are both funny and/or tragic. Hail, Caesar! lands firmly on the funny side, and it is an intelligent and enjoyable tribute to the Golden Age of Hollywood, impressively balancing one of the largest ensembles the Coen brothers have created.
At the center of Hail, Caesar’s! eccentric ensemble is Josh Brolin’s everyman producer Eddie Mannix whose job is to clean up messes which the stars get themselves into and make sure all productions for Capitol Pictures roll along smoothly. After seeing Brolin as the idiotic Llewelyn Moss in No Country for Old Men and the dimwitted but menacing Tom Chaney in True Grit, he turns in an equally impressive performance as the quick-thinking straight man who must balance all the flailing comic acts which surround him.
Those acts include: George Clooney’s bender-prone megastar Baird Whitlock who gets kidnapped; Alden Ehrenreich’s stuntman cowboy Hobie Doyle whom the studio is determined to turn into a serious actor; Ralph Fiennes’ self-serious drama director Laurence Laurentz who can’t abide the lousy acting of Doyle; Tilda Swinton’s busybody reporter; Channing Tatum’s tap-dancing and singing Burt Gurney, the studio’s other megastar; Scarlett Johansson’s DeeAnna Moran, the scandal-prone megastar who must maintain a pure, innocent public persona; and Frances McDormand’s hilariously crusty film editor.
That’s not even all the characters, and as much fun as it is to watch the Coens juggle all the acts successfully, some of the stretches in between are not nearly as inspired. However, the series of extended cameos are delightful, and they alone make the film worth watching at least twice. Ralph Fiennes proves once again that he is brilliant comedic actor, continuing the success he had in The Grand Budapest Hotel. Channing Tatum and Tilda Swinton both steal every scene they are in. Aldren Ehrenreich’s southern drawl fits the Coen’s dialogue perfectly, and Michael Gambon’s narration sets the mood for a tribute to an era of storytelling now past.
At the center of all the shenanigans is the filming of Capitol Pictures’ prestige Biblical epic Hail, Caesar! – a tale of the Christ (a tagline originally from Ben-Hur). And Christ features into this movie in several ways. From the opening shot of a crucifix looking down on the audience, to Mannix’s frequenting the sacrament of Confession, to a dispute about the nature of God among a Catholic priest, an Orthodox patriarch, a Protestant minister, and a Jewish rabbi, and to the filming of the titular tale of the Christ, the Son of God and faith are what tie the film together.
Even more remarkably, this is one of the most straightforward, sympathetic, non-cynical portrayals of faith that the Coens have ever done. There are some lighthearted jabs at the difference of opinions among various denominations, but those are in a spirit of laughing with the characters not at them. The overall attitude is one of respect for faith, which is integral to Mannix’s work in maintaining the movie business which the Coens so obviously love. A scene toward the end drives home the idea of vocation in a way that is both dramatically satisfying and spiritually rewarding.
In addition to the good natured jokes about religious differences, Hail, Caesar! also intelligently plays upon and subverts classic film stereotypes from the ’50’s. The foolishness of egotistical actors is the main concern of Mannix’s job and a frequent source of humor. A subplot involving a MacGuffin is handled with a brilliant dose of the Coens’ trademark dark humor, showing the characters involved that they are not in control like they think.
Mannix also believes he is in control of his life and all the studio’s productions. However, the film is framed by shots which remind the audience that no one is in complete control of his or her own life, a theme which has shown up in nearly every Coen film from Blood Simple to Inside Llewyn Davis. However, unlike the unrepentant, self-centered league of morons from Burn After Reading, some of these characters take notice of the grace which surrounds them, and the religious imagery that overshadows the film can affect anyone who chooses to allow it to. With a large cast of eccentric characters, skillful tributes to the filmmaking industry, and the idea that grace is available for any fool who seeks it, one thing that is quite simple is that Hail, Caesar! is a Coen brothers’ movie through and through.
Content Advisory: A fleeting, mildly suggestive dance move; mild comic violence. MPAA rating: PG-13
Suggested audience: Teens and up
Personal Recommendation: B+
Year of Release: 2016 Directed by The Paz Brothers. Starring Danielle Jadelyn, Yael Grobglas, and Yon Tumarkin.
Here’s a quiz as to whether or not you should even consider watching JeruZalem.
What do the words: Plan 9 from Outer Space mean to you?
A. Um, I have no idea. Is that some sort of sci-fi thing?
B. Good grief, that’s that terrible Ed Wood movie.
C. A classic example of what not to do in making a movie. Like Zardoz, young film buffs should watch it as a rite of passage, and then promptly try to erase it from their memories.
D. Cult classic, so bad that it’s hilarious. I watch it at least once a year. Zardoz is great too, now that you mention it!
If you answered A, B, or C stay far, far away from JeruZalem. If you answered D, you might (never mind, inappropriate joke about bad movie taste redacted). If you answered D, and if you like cheesy, dumb horror films with absurd premises and a fair amount of gore, then maybe, and I mean maybe, you would enjoy JeruZalem. (For the record, my answer to the above quiz is C.)
After a “found footage” opening of several decades ago, in which an exorcism in Jerusalem goes horribly wrong and the exorcist shoots the possessed woman, who turns out to have been a demon in disguise, the film cuts to two naive, young American women planning a vacation to Jerusalem. Actually, they are planning to go to Tel Aviv, but after landing in Israel they change their destination to Jerusalem, because they decide it will be more fun, thus setting up the women as classic horror film damsels in distress: cavalier and foolish.
The film’s central gimmick, which is an interesting though unsuccessful idea, is to show the entire story through the perspective of Sarah (Danielle Jadelyn) by having her wear a pair of glasses which act as a computer, phone, and video. Since the glasses apparently never need to be recharged, for the entire film, the camera is placed to capture the perspective of Sarah’s glasses, usually whatever she’s seeing when they are on her face, but occasionally a side view from a table when she takes them off. The latter is mostly so the filmmakers have an incredibly stupid and lazy excuse to show her breasts when she has sex with Kevin (Yon Tumarkin), a cool guy she meets on the trip (another horror film cliché in a film overstuffed with them).
The bigger reason that the gimmick does not work is that the glasses are a distraction. First of all the lens width that the directors and cinematographer chose is too narrow to give an accurate feeling of periphery vision. Secondly, whenever Sarah falls or gets hit the glasses briefly short out, and the screen goes black until they reboot. Thirdly, whenever the glasses are searching for a Wi-Fi connection (which is more often than you would expect) a pop-up menu appears onscreen. Finally, since this is a horror film, there’s a lot of running from zombie like monsters, and when you run, your glasses bounce. Consequently, the image becomes an out of focus, shaky mess, which makes it impossible to be scared or care for the characters, as you spend a third of the film unable to see them.
As to the rest of the plot, there’s an opening title card which claims one of three gates to Hell is in Jerusalem. On Yom Kippur that gate opens, and Jerusalem undergoes a sort of Night of the Living Dead, which makes the fleeting cameo of a Godzilla-like monster jarringly out of place.
The biggest problem with JeruZalem is that it’s too gruesome to enjoy as stupid fun like an old Godzilla film or Plan 9 from Outer Space (if you enjoy those), but it’s too stupid and shallow for any of its half-baked theological ideas to have any resonance at all.
Content Advisory: Gruesome horror violence, a brief sex scene with nudity, potentially blasphemous acts (one to Jews and one to Catholics), disturbing creatures, and some occasional rough language. MPAA Rating: R
Suggested Audience: Adults with discernment
Personal Recommendation: D