Strongly agree. Immensely powerful movie, with a heart-achingly graceful ending; the whole thing was filmed with such maturity and subtlety. Another Year was my favourite of 2010, until I saw Of Gods and Men.
Ah, I really liked it and it’s been growing on me even more since I finished watching it last night. I liked what you said elsewhere Jazz about the film being about coming to terms with giving up your life, in a way the choice they face (to stay or to leave) acts as a metaphor for giving your life over to Christianity or not. As an agnostic I found that the film (without being condescending or didactic) was keen to make me understand why the choice to stay or to go was so difficult for these men, and though I still can’t claim to completely understand the film did seem to look at the issue quite rigorously. I love how you sink into the rhythms of the life in that monestary…
A beautiful film.
@Caligula
Cool, although I can’t helped but be amused at the irony. :)
@Cecil
Not sure if you’re familiar with passages in the Bible where Jesus mentions considering the cost of discipleship. Jesus says that an individual should consider the cost of being His follower—that it will require an individual to carry his cross (which signifies a death to one’s self, I believe)—and if one is not willing to pay this cost he/she should not be a disciple. (He gives some analogies, like a man who builds a tower, but then runs out of material after starting.) Jesus also says things like those who love their parents, children, spouses more than Him aren’t fit to be His disciples. So the film is a metaphor for this kind decision.
What surprised me a little is that I would have thought most, if not all, the Monks would have addressed this question before joining the monastery. My sense is that some of them didn’t really address this question, for if they did, I don’t think they would be so concerned with their physical life. In any event, I liked the fact that some of the Monks really feared for their lives. It suggested several things for me: 1) saying can that one will give their lives to God can be relatively easy when one is not faced with a physical death (and pain); 2) the Monks were human—death is scary, even for people who have a serious faith in God and an after life; 3) they didn’t have a romanticized view of matyrdom.
I love how you sink into the rhythms of the life in that monestary…
Yes, I really liked this aspect; I was doing a lot of worshipping while watching the film.
How did you guys like the ending?
I think in my younger days, I might have found the end a bit disappointing and satisfying. (Then again, maybe not.) But I didn’t find it that way. The fact that all the Monks got to the point where they accepted their fate; that they really gave themselves to God and His will—a beautiful moment for me—was what made me feel OK about the ultimate fate of the Monks.
Will be seeing this tomorrow night. Will post comments here.
Cool!
For whoever would save his life will lose it, but whoever loses his life for my sake will find it. – Matthew 16:25
At the heart of Of Gods and Men is this small quote from Jesus. Death and resurrection are the central motifs in Christian thought. As such, they are often the most difficult ideas to process in action. The monks in this movie have been living out their faith in very practical ways for some time before the movie begins. The decisions haven’t been too tough, though; help local people by giving them medical care, involve yourselves in the lives of the community, etc. I’m not saying that this sort of service is easy or that it should be taken for granted, but I do believe that it can become habitual (which is probably a good thing). The characters here are forced to break from their habits. They are forced to ask if they are truly willing to help their enemies, to love them. And then they are forced to ask if they should stake their own lives just to stay in the community. They ask practical questions: What good will it do to stay? I’m not here to die for Jesus, but to live; why then should I put myself in a situation where I will likely die?
The beautiful thing about Of Gods and Men is that it depicts Christians as a community. What is done is done together, and it is decided together, too. When the head of the order initiates a decision without consulting the rest of the group, he is chided for it even though everyone would agree with the decision he’s made.
This movie could’ve been a lame pat on the back for Christians, but it’s not. It forces us to accept struggle within the faith. It invites the audience to see these struggles and to recognize how difficult such seemingly obvious actions would be. On a totally subjective level, the men in this movie don’t seem like movie characters at all to me. This is what I would imagine a healthy monastery to be like. A group of people leaning on God and each other for strength while working to become an integral, uplifting part of a local community that needs all the help it can get.
This is the type of movie that I want to see more often.
@Nathan
The decisions haven’t been too tough, though; help local people by giving them medical care, involve yourselves in the lives of the community, etc. I’m not saying that this sort of service is easy or that it should be taken for granted, but I do believe that it can become habitual (which is probably a good thing)
Nice observations.
The beautiful thing about Of Gods and Men is that it depicts Christians as a community. What is done is done together, and it is decided together, too. When the head of the order initiates a decision without consulting the rest of the group, he is chided for it even though everyone would agree with the decision he’s made.
Yes, I loved the depiction, and I especially liked the humanity and respect for the differences between them. A slight disagreement though: when Christian initially decides for everyone I’m not sure if everyone would agree with him—as the first vote about staying or leaving indicates. Some vote to leave at that point. The larger issue may be that Christian didn’t consult the others (and again, I love the way the other Monks gently chide him for this).
This movie could’ve been a lame pat on the back for Christians, but it’s not. It forces us to accept struggle within the faith.
Yep. I really appreciated this.
It invites the audience to see these struggles and to recognize how difficult such seemingly obvious actions would be.
Did you think the actions (assuming you mean the decision to stay, the decision to help the terrorists, etc.) were obvious? Maybe from a Christian perspective, it was obvious, but I wonder if a non-believer would feel the same way. Even from a Christian perspective, I’m not sure the decision is obvious. In Ebert’s review, he thought the Monks’ decision to stay was selfish—because they could have served other people had they lived. There’s some truth to that.
Jazz – Maybe there was one vote for leaving…I don’t remember. But either way, Christian doesn’t see the big deal in having made the decision for them, because he thinks they all agree. Even if they all agree, they should make the decision together.
Ebert is crazy. Yes, on some hypothetical, practical level, they could have helped others, but they would’ve been abandoning the people that they’d been working with for years right in their darkest hour of need. In fact, this issue comes up in one of their sessions, where they mention that the Shepherd does not abandon his flock. That’s why it seems like the obvious decision, not just from a Christian perspective but from a dramatic perspective as well. I didn’t know anything about the true story going in, but just watching the characters it became apparent to me that there was no way these men could do anything other than stay.
It’s amazing to me, though, that the movie invites us into the struggle of making the decision to do the right thing with people who are so noble from the outset. We are able to see that their character and nobility are earned, not just mere functions of their position or religious affiliation. These people actually believe in the God of the Bible. And to act that belief out is painful.
@Nathan
There was more than one vote for leaving. (The Monk who had the most trouble with the decision—the one yelling at night. Btw, I loved that character and what he went through. There was at least another Monk—the one who told a story about seeing his family back in France—who wanted to leave initially. The oldest looking Monk, also was undecided.)
Yes, on some hypothetical, practical level, they could have helped others, but they would’ve been abandoning the people that they’d been working with for years right in their darkest hour of need.
Yeah, and this point is made clear when Christian and another Monk visit what seems to be the leaders of the town and suggest that they might leave. On the other hand, suppose the Algeria government promised to send medical assistance and military protection for the villagers if the Monk’s left? Still, I’m not sure that would make leaving OK. It still would be abandoning the community that they were a part of, I think.
We are able to see that their character and nobility are earned, not just mere functions of their position or religious affiliation. These people actually believe in the God of the Bible. And to act that belief out is painful.
Yes, their nobility—or I would say the peace, strength, and conviction—are earned. I loved that the film takes us through that process so that when we get to the point where they can make this kind of saintly decision, it’s believable. At the same time, even when they are convicted about what must be done, there is still a sense of fragility, there. I think that’s really great because often in books or films about saintly characters, you don’t get the sense their obedience or love is much of a struggle. To balance this sense of struggle with this kind of conviction and spiritual support they seem to receive is not easy to pull off.
What did you guys think about the “Swan Lake” scene? In some ways, I think it could have been heavy-handed, but it worked for the most part for me. Btw, I thought the film used the faces of the actors and the close-ups of their faces very effectively. There was a lot conveyed through those shots (in a way reminiscent—although not as searing, perhaps—as Dreyer’s Passion of Joan of Arc.).
(On a side note, I don’t know about you, Nathan, but I found the viewing to be akin to worship. I found myself praying quite a bit, and even nodding in affirmation at some of the scenes.)
Beautiful thread, thanks for that. You may have convinced me before I’ve even seen it twice to take it from the initial 8/10 I was giving it to a 9/10.
@Persona
In another thread, you said that you thought the film got a little too slow at times. Are you think of the scenes where some of the Monks go out for a walk into nature?
That sounds about right, in fact I think that is exactly right.
I am OK with some forms of more contemplative cinema, but I am not the King of watching this kind of film. Most recently I have loved films like Sweetgrass, Alamar, Revanche, The Wind Journeys… I really liked Battle in Heaven as well. I think the greatest problem with Of Gods and Men is that I feel like I’m supposed to like it, and maybe I will more on second viewing, but really I’m ambivalent about the film. I find the story itself interesting, I find the historical event fascinating indeed. I’m just not certain how well it translates for me personally. I rate it high because I can find no fault with it, nothing to pick on except that it drags in the section we talked about a little too much. But compared to other Catholic films like The Song of Bernadette or even the recent Lourdes, there’s not enough heart to draw me in. I like the monks, I know they are honorable men, but they don’t have the kind of emotional pull that’s found in Bernadette or Lourdes. I think they come off a little bit flat.
The film is a drama, I guess we will never know what they really thought and the Swan Lake scene was over-the-top.
The message seemed straight forward: if they can’t continue their paternalistic ways, they become Messianic.
Not a very flattering portrayal of the faith.
@Robert
I can understand your criticism of the Swan Lake scene. It was a borderline for me, but fell on the right side of the border.
if they can’t continue their paternalistic ways, they become Messianic.
Are you saying that the threat of death turns the paternalism of the monks into a kind of messianic complex?
I didn’t mind this film but I will say it was probably the weakest of the five Oscar nominees. I agree with you Jazz that it dealt with the monk’s humanity is a very respectful way. This is what I appreciate most about the film – their roundtable discussions about what to do and how to handle the situation (very reminiscent 12 Angry Men). But there was something missing for me; I’m not really sure what it was but when it was over I felt like I wanted something more out of the story. Of course, that might be my problem and in fact, that might be what the director intended (which is fine).
A nice movie and certainly powerful because it’s based on fact
They want to get to heaven, right?
The film was a huge opportunity lost – instead of a insightful debate over suicide-by-terrorists, we get the guyz getting bumbly on vino. Another issue, not in the film per se, is the desire to make Christ’s teachings concrete. I think the film has been popular because the contemplative style works with the monks motif, but for, me it was a waste of a potential to explore the complexity of faith.
Wait, nevermind. I’m retarded. Of Gods and Men wasn’t nominated for Best Foreign film. I was thinking of Incendies.
@ Santion dealt with the monk’s humanity
Yes, and that is partly due to the style of filmmaking. But with the history of the two religions involved and everything else, what was missing was some sharper insights – maybe like 12 Angry men.
@Robert
They want to get to heaven, right?
I’m sure that is a concern of theirs—but it might not be the primary one. In any event, I’m not sure what you’re driving at.
The film was a huge opportunity lost – instead of a insightful debate over suicide-by-terrorists, we get the guyz getting bumbly on vino.
Do you mean you wanted the Monks to discuss the nature of terrorism? They’re focused on their mortality and their calling—can they continue to follow God and their calling even if it means they might be killed.
Another issue, not in the film per se, is the desire to make Christ’s teachings concrete.
Wait. Did the film succeed or fail to do this in your mind? And was that attempt/success/failure a good or bad thing to you?
I think the film has been popular because the contemplative style works with the monks motif, but for, me it was a waste of a potential to explore the complexity of faith.
What complex aspects of faith did you think the film missed out on exploring? I thought it did a good job of showing the cost of one’s beliefs and the way real human beings wrestle with these costs—specifically the difficulties of faith come to light when one’s life and mortality is an issue—whereas faith is relatively easy when its not. I can’t think of many films that deal with this, let alone deal with this issue very well.
@Santino
Good point about 12 Angry Men. I liked that there were debate, discussion and an evolution of the Monk’s thinking and feeling on the issue. These scenes were some of the most riveting ones for me.
I definitely don’t think the film has much of a story. It’s more about faith and what it means to die to one’s self (among other things).
“What was missing was some sharper insights – maybe like 12 Angry men.”
I think that might have been it. Like I said, it might be my fault for wanting more meaning or insight than existed but I feel like had there been a bit more heft, the ending would’ve effected me more. Still, a decent flick.
But I think the insights involved the way different people handle the cost of one’s faith—not the similarities or differences between Muslims and Christians or the roots of Muslim extremism and other Muslim reactions. Insights about both would have been interesting, but I would suggest the film wasn’t concerned about those questions. The film was about personal Christian faith—not geo-politics, imo.
On the Edge of the West: a Close-Up of Of Gods and Men is a review from Duncan Gray in the Notebook section.
But then, if you look closely at the classical westerns of Ford and Hawks (before the genre was rewritten by the stylish nihilism of Leone and Peckinpah), you can see that they were not simply defined by cowboys, gunfights, homesteading, and the American frontier. They were also about insular communities at the edge of the modern world, and how the harmony of these communities is challenged or maintained with the arrival of outsiders. Perhaps it’s not such a counter-intuitive comparison after all. Because Of Gods and Men is very much about community and harmony—and the forces that could shatter it.
The comparison to Westerns is definitely interesting one, but I’m not sure I buy it. I do think the notion of community and harmony are ideas the film explores, but I’m convinced that it is central to the film—nor the forces that may shatter community. I could very well be imposing my own views and personal issues onto the film, so let me say that at the outset. Having said that, the focus of the film seems to be the way the Monks come to terms with the continuing their callling—in spite of threat of death. Part of this includes their role in the community and what would happen to the community if they left. Of course, if they stay they could die and that probably wouldn’t help the community so much (although the message that staying would have sent might have been really meaningful to the people in the village).
But I do think the outside threat to the community and the way individuals in (our outside) of that community deal with that treat. I’d be interested in hearing in how the decisions of the Monks affect the community and harmony of it. And maybe what the end says about these two issues. I think most Westerns deal directly with how the community and individuals deal with this outside threat—and some maybe deal with the inner turmoil that the characters face—but here the film seems to focus on the conviction of the Monks and the challenge the outside threat poses to this conviction and faith.
Strange to say, then, that Of Gods and Men is not a particularly spiritual film—at least not in the way we think of when we look at the films of Robert Bresson or Carl Theodor Dreyer. These were directors who could take stories about prisoners or vampires and turn them into parables of divine presence and absence; here, such existential crises are viewed primarily from the outside.
Whoa, whoa, whoa. I’d like to hear you go into this a little more. I thought the film was extremely spiritual, and I also think it did a good job of getting to the interior states of the Monks. (The use of close-ups were extremely effective in this regard—as I mentioned early in the thread, something that reminded me of the way Dreyer shot Falconetti.)
@ Jazz
Sure thing, I’ll be happy to answer and elaborate.
The comparison to Westerns is definitely interesting one, but I’m not sure I buy it. I do think the notion of community and harmony are ideas the film explores, but I’m convinced that it is central to the film—nor the forces that may shatter community. I could very well be imposing my own views and personal issues onto the film, so let me say that at the outset. Having said that, the focus of the film seems to be the way the Monks come to terms with the continuing their callling—in spite of threat of death.
I should begin by saying that, for the most part, I don’t disagree with what you say. I think Of Gods and Men is a very rich film that presents a wealth of material in a very understated manner, which means it’s practically crying out for multiple interpretations, or at least different angles/themes that could take center stage. I agree that the film is focused as much on inner turmoil as outer turmoil—to follow up on the Western comparison, it’s about nonviolent, saintly, nearly faultless monks rather than an “never start a fight but always fight back” John Wayne-type figure. In other words, it’s about the choice to be passive (which as you’ve noted is a difficult decision) rather than to take action—which is another reason I think it’s interesting to compare the film to old westerns, because old westerns are usually the opposite.
But as for harmony and community, they do strike me as central issues in the film. The first half hour is devoted almost exclusively to the routine and balance that the monks and the townsfolk have between them, both in their routine at the monastery. (Brother Christian studies the Koran, and one of the townsfolk has family that moved to Le Havre.) So I see it as an image of harmony between different cultures that’s challenged, as the monks—who are as saintly and faultless as any characters in cinema history—get caught in the crossfire. One of the things that interested me about the film, and bumps it to the level of masterpiece, are the details (some subtle and some overt) about the western complicity in this violence. It’s there in the line about French colonialism. But one of the most intriguing details to me is that at the end, the monks aren’t initially executed, but held hostage in exchange for other prisoners. The implication (open to debate) as they’re led away to get shot is that the French government didn’t respond, or didn’t think these saintly, faultless men were more than collateral damage. The tragedy is that these men, who have never hurt anybody and spend their lives trying to do the opposite, are forced into a conflict they can’t avoid.
Again, this is a political reading of a film that is personal as well as political, and an essay could just as easily focus on their inner turmoil and search for spiritual guidance.
Whoa, whoa, whoa. I’d like to hear you go into this a little more. I thought the film was extremely spiritual, and I also think it did a good job of getting to the interior states of the Monks. (The use of close-ups were extremely effective in this regard—as I mentioned early in the thread, something that reminded me of the way Dreyer shot Falconetti.)
Here, I may be in friendly disagreement, but probably due to a different perspective. :-) Of Gods and Men is very much about spirituality and spiritual crises, but it doesn’t strike me as the same as being a spiritual film. That is, we feel the spirituality to the extent that the film captures life in a monastery and empathizes with Brother Christian, but I don’t feel that god’s silence weighs on the director’s mind the way I do in anything by Bergman or Bresson. Despite the use of Dreyer-esque iconography and that amazing “last supper” sequence, the film’s approach often strikes me as closer to the contemporary social realism of the Dardenne brothers (albeit more subdued and set in the countryside) than to Dreyer’s transcendental style. My reason for feeling this probably has to do with having just seen Beauvois’ previous film, The Young Lieutenant, which has a similar formal approach and is more clearly a work of social realism—which is to say, more journalistic than spiritual. I really do feel, when watching the film, that Beauvois is less interested in the existence of god and the possibility of divine grace at the end of life than he is with what men choose to do with their faith, and why.
Last but not least, thank you for the detailed comments on the essay! I’m a big fan of your many threads, and I’m happy if I could add to the conversation.
@Duncan
*to follow up on the Western comparison, it’s about nonviolent, saintly, nearly faultless monks rather than an “never start a fight but always fight back” John Wayne-type figure. In other words, it’s about the choice to be passive (which as you’ve noted is a difficult decision) rather than to take action—which is another reason I think it’s interesting to compare the film to old westerns, because old westerns are usually the opposite.
First of all I want to comment on a specific phrase, one you mention a several times in your post, namely, “saintly, nearly faultless monks.” The thing I loved about the film was the way it portrayed the weaknesses and faults of the characters. I mean, compared to the average person they probably are nearly faultless, but I was surprised at the faults and weaknesses I did see. The fact that some of considered leaving—because of fear and desire to live—surprised me in a way. I just thought that if you’re willing to live a monastic life, you’ve pretty much given up your life. Also, as monks, maybe I expected their faith to be stronger. In any event, I really appreciated seeing their faults, their humanity. (Stories about saintly characters can be a bit disappointing if the character doesn’t display real foibles.)
Second, as I mentioned I do think the film’s different response to the outside threat is interesting, but the comparison seems to be a bit of a stretch. In Westerns that use this trope, the conflict between the outside threat and the protagonist(s) and the eventual confrontation and resolution are central to the film. Maybe I’m wrong, but, here, I feel the outside threat is not really significant. In a Western the outside threat would be developed and maybe a backstory of the villains would tie into the village or protagonists in some way, heightening the drama. It’s been a while since I’ve seen the film, but the outside threat doesn’t seem so central to the film.
The first half hour is devoted almost exclusively to the routine and balance that the monks and the townsfolk have between them, both in their routine at the monastery. (Brother Christian studies the Koran, and one of the townsfolk has family that moved to Le Havre.) So I see it as an image of harmony between different cultures that’s challenged, as the monks—who are as saintly and faultless as any characters in cinema history—get caught in the crossfire.
You mean, the terrorists challenge and threaten the harmony between the two cultures? Are you thinking this is one of the main dramatic arcs in the film? What is the resolution or conclusion of that arc? (I don’t really see it as a significant dramatic arc.) What does the film say about the harmony between these two cultures? What happens to the harmony?
The tragedy is that these men, who have never hurt anybody and spend their lives trying to do the opposite, are forced into a conflict they can’t avoid.
It is definitely tragic, but you feel as if it is an example of the liability of the West? If I recall correclty, I thought the lack of response was due to a policy of never negotiating with terrorists, which, makes some sense, althought the ramifications to the hostages are awlful.
The Western complicity angle is interesting, and I wish I could remember more details.
That is, we feel the spirituality to the extent that the film captures life in a monastery and empathizes with Brother Christian, but I don’t feel that god’s silence weighs on the director’s mind…
So you’re saying that God’s silence is the critical ingredient for a spiritual film? If so, that seems a bit narrow. Even if you don’t believe in God, couldn’t a spiritual film also include someone wrestling with matters of faith and their relationship to God (among many other things)?
Despite the use of Dreyer-esque iconography and that amazing “last supper” sequence, the film’s approach often strikes me as closer to the contemporary social realism of the Dardenne brothers (albeit more subdued and set in the countryside) than to Dreyer’s transcendental style
Hmm, are you thinking of the formal differences between Beauvois and Dreyer or are the differences broader than that? I can see partly understand your comparison to the Dardenne brothers, but that’s more in the type of acting and realistic tone—whereas Dreyer’s films feel more theatrical, staged and formally composed. Still, in terms of the feeling in this film and Dreyers, in my opinion, they’re very similiar.
I really do feel, when watching the film, that Beauvois is less interested in the existence of god and the possibility of divine grace at the end of life than he is with what men choose to do with their faith, and why.
But why is the former spiritual, while the latter is not? Or are you saying that the film felt clinical—emphasizing the psychological process of wrestling with one’s faith—rather than the characters and scenes exuding a genuine spiritual feeling? (For what it’s worth, I felt the spirituality and it felt completely authentic to me.)
First of all I want to comment on a specific phrase, one you mention a several times in your post, namely, “saintly, nearly faultless monks.” The thing I loved about the film was the way it portrayed the weaknesses and faults of the characters.
Yes, I do believe I misspoke here—the monks are certainly not entirely without fault or humanity (one goes with the other and they have them both), but that they are as faultless as human beings get, at least in my experience. I particularly think of Michael Lonsdale as Brother Luc, who I didn’t have the space to mention in the piece, but who did an incredibly poignant job of portraying a man who’d lived through life and made peace with it. (His past is hinted at only in glimpses—being in love when he was young, encounters with the Nazis during the war). I agree: perfect characters, in the Romantic sense, aren’t very human, and are downright boring.
You mean, the terrorists challenge and threaten the harmony between the two cultures? Are you thinking this is one of the main dramatic arcs in the film? What is the resolution or conclusion of that arc? (I don’t really see it as a significant dramatic arc.) What does the film say about the harmony between these two cultures? What happens to the harmony?
The harmony is threatened by the extremists, certainly, but the movie makes sure to mention French colonialism as well…it would be a very different film without that scene. So the chance of harmony is interrupted by an identifiable force (extremists) and the specter of the past. I would say this is a, though not the, central arc for the film. As for how this arc resolves or concludes, I think it very pointedly does NOT conclude, because it’s a timely enough film to understand that this tension between the West and the Muslim world is still going on. The film’s final speech, which asks the audience (presumably made up mostly of westerners) for empathy and understanding that Islam is not the same as “a certain Islamism” (a political force under the banner of the religion) shows that the resolution of this conflict is yet to come, both for us and for the world of the film.
So you’re saying that God’s silence is the critical ingredient for a spiritual film? If so, that seems a bit narrow. Even if you don’t believe in God, couldn’t a spiritual film also include someone wrestling with matters of faith and their relationship to God (among many other things)?
I wouldn’t say that—the theme of “god’s silence” is the first thing that came to mind, as we were talking about Bresson and Bergman. A spiritual film can include such characters (Bresson’s often do), or it can also be about the ecstasy of feeling god’s presence—just look at passages of Tree of Life, or if memory serves the end of Ordet.
This may be a largely semantic issue, as I would say that Of Gods and Men is more “religious” than “spiritual”. It is about religion, very openly and sincerely. It is certainly not iconoclastic, atheistic, or sociological. But watching it, it struck me that whether or not there is a god—and if so, whose—was practically irrelevant to the story, which is not something I’d say of Dreyer. Of Gods and Men explores religion and Christianity on a very human and concrete levels, concerning itself with the actions that it can inspire in mere mortals. That’s why I point to the brief speech Brother Christian gives, about how the nature of Christ’s divinity is the way it can manifest itself in their own human actions.
Hmm, are you thinking of the formal differences between Beauvois and Dreyer or are the differences broader than that?
I guess the word I’d choose would be philosophical differences, and form is certainly a part of it. Like the ending of Vampyr for instance, with the hero walking off into shafts of light, or the way Tarkovsky and Malick film nature. The difference is that Bresson’s and Dreyer’s films seem more explicitly about grand philosophical themes, and the way these themes can be abstracted.
Are you saying that the film felt clinical—emphasizing the psychological process of wrestling with one’s faith—rather than the characters and scenes exuding a genuine spiritual feeling?
I definitely wouldn’t say clinical—this isn’t Kubrick, and Beauvois has too much sympathy for his characters. I also wouldn’t say that the scenes of spirituality (particularly Brother Christian’s prayers) feel inauthentic. I would say it’s a film of empathy, and truly can make you admire the people who’ve given up their lives for religious duty. I understand that I myself view such a crisis of faith from the outside, and I’m sure the film has a different impact depending on one’s level of religion. I remember seeing Au Hasard Balthazar being called a prayer, which feels apt, but I’m not sure I’d say Of Gods and Men is a prayer—or if it is, it’s a prayer directed chiefly at the audience.
I particularly think of Michael Lonsdale as Brother Luc, who I didn’t have the space to mention in the piece, but who did an incredibly poignant job of portraying a man who’d lived through life and made peace with it. (His past is hinted at only in glimpses—being in love when he was young, encounters with the Nazis during the war).
I really liked those details because it made him so human and normal—and I found that so refreshing: seeing the human in the saint. (I think compare that to something like documentaries about Mother Theresa. I really admired her, but you don’t see the same sort of humanity and human weakness. She seems more like an angel from heaven—but I’m sure this is misleading. As terrific a person as she was, I’m sure she’s just as human as those characters in the film. It would have been great to see a film that showed that part of her.)
So the chance of harmony is interrupted by an identifiable force (extremists) and the specter of the past.
I think I see what you’re saying. I guess, I think of this aspect as tangential, a kind of commentary about one aspect of the film.
This may be a largely semantic issue, as I would say that Of Gods and Men is more “religious” than “spiritual”. It is about religion, very openly and sincerely.
Yeah, I suspect the differences or disconnect stems from semantics. The film is about religion, but I also thought it was very spiritual—in the sense that the film’s treatment of religion was very spiritual or soulful.
I remember seeing Au Hasard Balthazar being called a prayer, which feels apt, but I’m not sure I’d say Of Gods and Men is a prayer—or if it is, it’s a prayer directed chiefly at the audience.
Interesting you should say this because I thought the film was very “worshipful”—I felt myself worshiping God while watching the film, even praying for the characters (which is a bit silly, but I felt for them). But the experience was very much like worshiping in other contexts.
The difference is that Bresson’s and Dreyer’s films seem more explicitly about grand philosophical themes, and the way these themes can be abstracted.
I can see that with Bresson. And Tarkovsky and Malick definitely deal more with grand philosophical themes. I agree this film isn’t like that.
By the way, I forgot to thank you for the kind words and for responding. (I need to check out the Notebook section more often, I guess. :)
Jazzaloha
“I can’t recall the last film that so wholly, honestly and movingly explained what it means to be a Christian.” That’s what one critic said about the film, and that’s what made me want to see it. At the very least, I was curious to see what the critic’s notion of Christianity was all about. In the end, I agreed with him. In a broad sense, this film could be seen a depiction of the way people deal with death. More specifically, it deals with the issue of dying to one’s self, carrying one’s cross and becoming a suffering servant like Christ—all very crucial components for following Christ; moreover issues that Christians don’t always take seriously (at least, I don’t). Here are some other thoughts:
>I really liked the film’s depiction of the Monk’s humanity. These Monks are people—and like normal people dealing with death is a struggle. My favorite scenes involved the Monks discussing the way they would handle the imminent danger to their community. I especially loved the heart-to-heart talk between Christian and Christophe.
>I’m curious to know what Christophe wrote on a sheet of paper right before he says he feels (God) surrounding him, etc. Anyone?
>The film had a very devotional quality to it for me. I found myself praying or nodding my head at certain lines.
Anyway, I thought this was a beautiful and spiritual movie—along with The Illusionist, probably my favorite film of 2010.