Olivier Rabourdin as Christophe in Xavier Beauvois’ Of Gods and Men.
– Sony Pictures Classics
Xavier Beauvois’ sublime Of Gods and Men is that almost unheard-of film that you do not judge — it judges you. To one degree or another it defies every attempt to put it in a box, to reduce its challenge to a political or pious ideological stance to be affirmed or critiqued.
Whoever you are, whatever you bring to it, it will not tell you exactly what you want to hear, unless that is all you are willing or able to hear. Seldom have I read so many reviews justly genuflecting to a film amid such inability to explain why, or with such unconvincing rationalizations for critical discomfort.
The film is based on the true story of nine French Trappist monks of the Monastery of Our Lady of Atlas near the village of Tibhirine in Algeria’s Atlas Mountains, about 60 miles from Algiers, most of whom were beheaded in a 1996 incident during the Algerian Civil War. In late March the monks were taken hostage by the Armed Islamic Group (GIA), which demanded the release of prisoners held by the French government. Two months later the GIA claimed responsibility for the monks’ deaths, although the circumstances remain unclear.
Of Gods and Men is not about how the monks died, but how they lived and why they were willing to die. It tells the story of nine imperfect men who made a difficult choice to stay in a war-torn foreign country that countless citizens would gladly have fled if they could. Caught between a corrupt military government and violent extremist Muslim groups, the brothers’ choices are defined by two other relationships. One is their relationship with the Muslim villagers of Tibhirine, who regard the monks as their friends and benefactors. The other relationship is the crucial one, with an unseen Beloved.
Filmed in Morocco in French and Arabic, the film brings an almost documentary quality to how the Trappists live, pray and work, recalling Into Great Silence and the more recent No Greater Love. But here the pealing of monastery bells alternates with the adhan (the Muslim call to prayer). This is not sinister or threatening to the monks, who are truly part of the local community. The villagers invite them to family celebrations, such as a boy’s khtana (circumcision) party, and they attend. On the desk of Dom Christian (Lambert Wilson), the abbot, a copy of the Quran sits next to the Fioretti of St. Francis. Brother Luc (Michael Lonsdale, Munich) runs a free medical clinic for the villagers and all who need his services — even wounded insurgents. In a touching scene, Luc offers avuncular advice to a teenaged Muslim girl curious about falling in love, and mentions his own youthful loves — and the love to which he finally gave his heart.
The first gathering clouds are reports of violence against both Muslims and Christians. A teenaged girl in the port city of Mostaganem has been murdered in broad daylight for not wearing the hijab. Imams are being killed for speaking out against the violence. Then tragedy strikes the local community, and a number of Croatian Catholics — friends and coworkers of the Muslim villagers — are butchered on the job. “They say they’re religious,” a villager frets, meaning the insurgents. “They’ve never read the Quran.”
This is a convenient thought, but not a true one. The insurgents do know the Quran, as we learn on Christmas Day when a GIA band led by one Ali Fayattia (Farid Larbi) break into the monastery demanding to see “the Pope,” meaning Christian. That confrontation is one of the film’s most riveting and astonishing scenes, and puts to an excruciating test the Gospel ideal of not resisting evil, particularly in the absolute form of the evangelical counsels. Christian insists that the monks are called to be brothers to all, but can a Christian extend a hand of fellowship to a terrorist? Government officials accuse Christian of being “overindulgent” to the terrorists, as if the monks had weapons and prisons, and stare incredulously when the abbot prays over one of their corpses, as if there were no treason worse than praying for one’s enemies.
The film’s heart is the brothers’ soul-searching debate about whether to stay or to go — a remarkably nuanced debate that raises questions about the nature of community, authority, mission and sacrifice. At first it’s unclear whether anything is at stake other than an abstract sense of commitment, but relationships and obligations are more complex than that. From the outset neither point of view is uncompromised: Christian is stubborn and unyielding, and jumps the gun with a peremptory decision that is, the others object, contrary to the spirit of community. But some are too eager to minimize the obstacles to departing. Everyone agrees that they aren’t called to pursue martyrdom or collective suicide, but danger of death, both abstract and concrete, elicits varying levels of fearfulness and courage.
It’s remarkable how well we get to know the individual monks, from young Christophe (Olivier Rabourdin), racked with doubts, to frail, elderly Amédée (Jacques Herlin), with his beatific simplicity. As the rest argue their points of view, Amédée opens his mouth, hesitates, and closes it again, eloquent in his silence. Pressed for his opinion after the others have spoken, he gives the best answer of all: “I don’t know yet. We need to think, and pray together.” The dialogue and acting are utterly naturalistic; the film never strikes a false note. One of my favorite moments involves a four-letter word thrown out in a moment of anger by one of the monks. What I love is the gentle response of the recipient of the attack.
Of Gods and Men is a remarkably uncompromising film: uncompromising in its depiction of the challenge of Christianity, of the sharp divisions within Islam between the peaceful villagers and the bloodthirsty insurgents. It is profoundly engaged in political realities, yet it transcends politics. It is thoughtful, yet many of its best scenes are dialogue-free, from the routines of manual labor to the luminous emotional climax.
It is luminously beautiful, suffused by beauty natural and manmade, sacred and secular, moral and spiritual. Veteran cinematographer Caroline Champetier takes in the grandeur of the landscape and the seemingly haphazard architecture of the village in lingering takes and tracking shots. Christian climbs a lightly wooded hill amid a flock of sheep, a good shepherd with sheep beyond his own flock. A gunman lying supine with his feet in the foreground visually echoes Mantegna’s Lamentation Over the Dead Christ, challenging us to see Jesus in a terrorist. And when Luc presses his cheek to a large wall painting of Christ, the monk’s head and the Savior’s side become a single image of spiritual intimacy, a cinematic icon, a window into heaven.
Of Gods and Men is deeply theological and liturgical — I can think of no other film that combines so much chant and hymnody with such in-depth discussion of the Incarnation and the meaning of vocation and martyrdom — yet its theology and liturgy are utterly practical and relevant to the real-world crises outside the monastery walls. (The film’s title ties into an opening epigram from Psalm 82: “I have said, Ye are gods; and all of you are children of the most High. But ye shall die like men, and fall like one of the princes.”) It is meticulously authentic. The actors spent two months with a choirmaster learning the music and at least a week on retreat at the Tamié Abbey in France learning to live and behave as monks. The writings of the actual monks of Tibhirine informed the production, and the film’s consultants included Henry Quinson, who lived for six years at a Cistercian monastery in France and knew two of the monks in the film.
More than once, the Tibhirine monks speak to us in their own words. There is Luc’s letter to a friend, in which he quotes Pascal’s Pensées (“Men never do evil so completely and cheerfully as when they do it from religious conviction”) and expresses his resolve to continue his duties to the end. Above all, there is Christian’s spiritual testament, in which he reflects frankly and magnificently on the possibility of his murder. I could dissent theologically from a word or two here, but before the depth and integrity of the martyred author’s Christian spirit, from his acknowledgement of his own complicity to his embracing even the unknown “friend of the last minute who knew not what you were doing” and looking hopefully for their reunion as “happy thieves in paradise,” I can only place my hand over my mouth.
Content advisory: Brief graphic violence, a few disturbing images and references; a single obscene expression. Subtitles. Teens and up.
When and where can I see it? See release dates and locations.
Steven D. Greydanus is the Register’s film critic.
Steven D. Greydanus: Parents: Your kids can do better at the movies!
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See also Of Gods and Men in 30 seconds.
I went to see the film with four of my children, 13 and up.
Magnífico. Impresionante. I can only compare watching it with the impact of The Passion of Christ. The film is so deeply moving, excellent cinema (magistral), spiritually gives an authentic experience which leads to fervor and conversion. May God bless Xavier Beauvois for this work. He is an unbeliever but has searched and recognised Truth, que Dios se lo pague.
Thanks for this review, Steven.
I heard that some traditionalist critics do not like the film because it seems to endorse the heresy of indifferentism (that it does not matter what religion one is) or subjectivism. In light of what you said about the Quran being on the Abbot’s desk, do you have an opinion about this? Did the original monks make any attempt to introduce their neighbors to Christ? Perhaps you will say that they did through their example, but I mean, did they seem to think Islam was just as good as Christianity? A positive depiction of evangelization would be delightfully politically incorrect these days.
Last night I watched “Of Gods and Men”. While I think that SDG’s review is spot-on and excellent as per usual, I really wouldn’t have arrived at the A+, must-see rating. Maybe it is an A+ for lenten reflection material, but its going to disappoint if you are going to the theater with expectations to be entertained. The “Of Gods and Men” experience is more likened to reading lives of the saints, in my opinion, than to watching a ‘movie’. If I’m judging, points are coming off for that.
This film seemed as though somebody watched “Into Great Silence”, decided to remake it, and insert a plot. And that plot moves as slow as molasses. Shots are held about 4 times too long. Scenes are redundant - almost like they are showing you the same thing over and over again, and using stock footage. That is probably to build an intended effect, but it was lost on me. Maybe I wasn’t watching the final cut, because I was left wondering if there could possibly be any deleted scenes; seems like they just decided to leave all their material in there, and use some of it twice. Then of course, there’s no pretence of suspense, as the ending is about as obvious as “Titanic”.
Finally, as long as I am criticizing stuff, then be warned of the litany of indie-film previews that you’ve got to endure beforehand. On that note, I present this indie-film-trailer adaptation of Ferris Bueller’s Day Off: http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=MAe5P_xYoKg
@ David Mammola:
I started to write a reply to you, but it got so long that I’m turning it into a blog post. Stay tuned.
@ GMcFLy:
Thanks for your kind words about my review. FWIW, it seems to me your caveats about the film have a lot less to do with the film than the narrow, shallow status quo of Hollywood cinema. Your final comments “warning” about indie trailers are almost over the top; are you punking me?
Of Gods and Men is engrossing, overwhelming, magnificent, transcendent; anyone who comes to such a film with “expectations to be entertained” deserves to be disappointed. Is Mozart’s Mass in D Minor “entertaining”? Is Saint Peter’s Basilica “entertaining”?
Of Gods and Men is a film. Not a “movie.” Far from being like reading any kind of book, it is highly cinematic, highly visual, making full use of cinematic grammar and expressive power. It is not about “plot.” It is about men: individuals and community, love and violence, struggles of faith and calling.
Yes, the shots are long, by the hyperactive ADD editing style common in Hollywood films. Long shots give you a chance to breathe, to embrace the reality of the world on the screen. There is a long history in Catholic film criticism, going back to the great Andre Bazin, of embracing long shots for their truthfulness (“Every cut is a lie” - Godard). Watching Of Gods and Men the second time, I found myself wishing that practically every scene and every shot were longer.
SDG: No punking intended; if I could post the comment again, I’d find a way to tone down my snarkiness, but in general, my expressed distaste for the previews was sincere. Obviously, I am missing some of the finer qualities of the art of film. There is hope. I told a friend earlier that I liked “Of Gods and Men”, just not as a “movie”. I was embarrassed when he laughed off my comment and said that’s like saying I “like Ferraris, but just not as cars”. After reading your “film” vs “movie” comment, I feel vindicated. So I’ll build on that. Thanks for the reply!
Finally got to see this last night. It reminded me of an older movie, the kind they don’t make anymore, something Gregory Peck would have been in 50 years ago. Real human drama, with a lot of cinematic metaphor (your comment on Mantegna’s Lamentation Over the Dead Christ is a perfect example) and I was also impressed with the naturalistic acting and rich and realistic characterizations, giving each character, no matter how small their role, rich depth and believable life beyond the scenes they were in. I was amazed that a movie like this was made in this day and age, much less coming from France and actually receiving acclaim! That gives great hope not only for the representation of faith in film, but of positive, meaningful stories restoring an art form from mere entertainment.
I do agree that some of the indie trailers were pretty insufferable. Robert Redford’s “Conspirator” looks like it might be good, and “Incendies” could be interesting, but then there were trailers about disfunctional families, drug and sex addictions, sexual predators/stalkers, etc. The usual “indie” “artsy” crap.
Let’s see some more like “Of Gods and Men.”
I saw this excellent film in France in November and am still affected by it. For me it was a movie about “discernment,” trying to figure out God’s will. We are all called in this crazy challenging world of ours to sort out for ourselves what God wants us to do. Whatever religion or belief system we may have, this is a daily process and isn’t easy. It surely wasn’t easy for those nine monks. I highly recommend “Of Gods and Men.”
@ David Mammola: I’ve posted part 1 of a 3-part blog series on the question “How Catholic is Of Gods and Men?” with particular attention to questions of indifferentism, Christian uniqueness and evangelization.
@ GMcFly: If I was at all helpful to you in calling out the (admittedly loose and colloquial) distinction between “movies” and “films,” I’m glad; and if I came down too heavily on your snark, I’m sorry! As for the trailers, I have no trouble believing you; if I thought you might be yanking my chain, it’s not because those trailers can’t be obnoxious, but because it would never occur to me to raise such a complaint, possibly because I myself forget about most trailers 10 minutes after I’ve seen them.
@ the_tof and @ Dan: So glad you’ve seen the film and appreciated it!
If every cut is a lie, it’s equally true that every long unbroken shot is a lie. When we look at the real world, our attention really does shift from one object to another in a manner similar to cinematic cutting.
Beyond this, I don’t see that characterizing any of the visual strategies used in movies as a “lie” is meaningful or helpful. Scenes are often filmed from a vantage point that, if the scene was real, an actual observer would never be located (such as up in the air), or with the camera moving in a way that a real observer would be unlikely to move (such as in a circle around a group of people). A film that duplicated the visual experience of real life - that is, one that used only POV shots - would be unwatchable.
This comment is of course late and tangential, but I’d just like to say that while valuing long shots for their tranquility and thoughtfulness is all well and good, to call them somehow more truthful than rapid cutting doesn’t make sense to me.
The phrase “Men never do evil so completely and cheerfully as when they do it from religious conviction”, much quoted by atheists (Dawkins), is not really from Pascal, but from an english bad translation: Trotter 1909; probably malevolent - it wasn’t present in older translations http://books.google.com.ar/books?id=7Q5IAAAAMAAJ&pg=PA305. The original text from the Pensees: “Jamais on ne fait le mal si pleinement et si gaiement que quand on le fait par conscience” (and neither the context nor the mind of Pascal justifies the introduction of the religion theme there). It’s ironical that a french movie, with a religious character that supposedly quotes his own (french) reading of the Pensees, retrotranslates this. Original pdf: http://www.ub.uni-freiburg.de/referate/04/pascal/pensees.pdf
Thank you for your beautiful review of this amazing film. I’ve seen it twice so far—may see it again before it leaves the cinema near my home.
I don’t even have language to describe it—it is just beautiful, profound, poetic, lovely, true.
As a Catholic, it made me remember the bracing truth and power of Christianity—that there is nothing “ianity-lite” about it. We have to be willing to give our lives for the truth if circumstances call us to do so.
Even in the normal course of our life, trials and tribulations will come.
Sometimes we will have to wait on the Lord for, seemingly, unendurable lengths of time.
We will find the Cross. Will we have the courage to carry it, or will we keep trying to set it down?
Powerful stuff…
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