Rated PG-13 for some disturbing images, brief language and a momentary scene of startling wartime violence
Cast: Lambert Wilson, Jean-Marie Frin, Jacques Harlin, Philippe Laudenbach, Michael Lonsdale, Xavier Maly
Director: Xavier Beauvois
"Of Gods and Men" is set in Algeria during the country's civil war during the 1990s. It tells the story of seven Roman Catholic French Trappist monks who were ultimately kidnapped from their monastery after refusing the leave the country following a threat from the Armed Islamic Group of Algeria.
The decision to stay, of course, was not an easy one. "We're not here for martyrdom," reminds one monk to his spiritual brother, shining a light on their mission to help the sick and needy in the dilapidated village of Tibhirine. True, but nobody is ever there for martyrdom. That's what makes it martyrdom.
(It is, after all, a confounding concept whose meaning exists solely in the postmortem. Of course we don't understand martyrdom. Neither do martyrs.)
This is a quiet, thoughtful, deliberately-paced, deeply meditative film that probably won't resonate with viewers expecting to see a movie punched to life with plot points in all the usual places. Essentially, the story is little more than the monks struggling to come to terms with a decision that will have consequences extending beyond what they know, entrenching into what they believe.
The movie spends a large amount of time simply observing the daily routines of the monks as they serve the needs of those in the village. Things like providing medical care, education, performing construction, selling food at the market. The dangers of war do gird their peaceful plot of land, though the missionary efforts seem to be paying off. That is, until word comes that a group of Croatian workers was massacred nearby. The miasma of civil war that has been choking the air for years has now drifted its way to their door.
The Algerian government advises them to depart, and even offers support. They are rebuffed by Brother Christian (Lambert Wilson), though many of the other monks question his rather immediate refusal of assistance, including Brother Luc (Michael Lonsdale), the eldest member. The group continues on with their work and their prayers, while meeting sporadically to discuss their options. They can either leave all at once, or leave one or two at a time in an effort to keep the villagers at arm's length from the reality that they'll be left behind. Of course, there is also the option to stay and continue their work, and face some potentially deadly consequences.
Religion is ubiquitous in this story. That's a given. Yet the movie treats its approach to spiritual devotion with a refined elegance that is quite refreshing. Most films today dare not involve religion unless it is married to the word "fanaticism" in some form or another. Here we see religious devotion as an all-encompassing spiritual entity that works both as a blessing in the comfort it affords, and as a curse in the danger it invites. The contrasting perspectives are given equal consideration. (One extended shot has Luc gently kissing a canvas painting of Christ. Another scene has a frightened, faith-tested monk crying prayers of desperation in the night... "Please God, don't abandon me!")
The film is in French with English subtitles, though has a sparse supply of dialogue. It's remarkable how much meaning is conveyed in simple scenes showing the day-to-day life of these committed missionaries and the needy souls who surround them.
Writer/director Xavier Beauvois makes the wise decision to refrain from forced, extended dialogue scenes that spell out the thought processes of certain characters as they struggle with the impending decision. Instead, he allows the delicately observant cinematography of Caroline Champetier to do a lion's share of the work.
The most powerful scene takes place at a dinner following the group's final decision. They dine to a tape recording of Tchaikovsky's Swan Lake ballet. The camera glides from face to face as they feast. No words are spoken. A content smile blesses a few faces. Some monks stare into the distance, deep in thought. A couple wipe freshly-formed tears from their eyes. There's a cognizance of meaning in the manner in which the scene is handled. The camera feels free to linger on certain faces. Nothing is rushed. Nothing forced. It's a haunting, hypnotic sequence...
These devoted spiritual followers know what's coming.
I've heard the film described as a subtle yet powerful depiction of heroism. It is, but a unique kind of heroism. One defined not by actions, but through acceptance. By the movie's conclusion, I realized the most challenging thing about sacrifice also happens to be the one thing that affords us the inner-peace we so long for...
It's in coming to terms with it.
* * * out of * * * * stars
