Of Gods and Men

When the Oscar nominations were announced for the most recent Best Foreign Film award, the one left out that caused the most hue and cry was Of Gods and Men, from France, directed by Xavier Beauvois. It did win the Cesar for Best Film. I've just seen it and can testify that I liked it better than the two nominees I saw, Dogtooth and Biutiful. It's a quiet, contemplative film about the power of faith and the tense intermingling of religions in the modern world.

The film is set in a monastery in Algeria in 1996. Eight men live there, most of them old, and they tend to their crops and give medical aid to the villagers. The monks and Muslims have lived in harmony for generations, but a new strain of Islam has taken hold in the area. The old-time Muslims, who regularly meet with the monks, bemoan the situation, pointing out that the Koran forbids one man from killing his brother. "They haven't even read the Koran," one village elder complains.

The monks are led by Christian, Lambert Wilson, while the doctoring is done by Luc (Michael Lonsdale), who is in his eighties. The others are less defined, but over the course of the film we can fill in certain gaps, even if by use of the imagination. One looks like he might have had a life as a tough guy, while another speaks of his life as a plumber and volunteer fireman back in France.

The local officials urge the brothers to avail themselves of military protection, because the terrorism has ramped up. They refuse, and one night are visited a brigade of extremists. It happens to be Christmas night, and Wilson manages to avoid bloodshed, even establishing a mutual respect. Later the extremists bring a wounded man for help, and the brothers give it to him, determining they will give aid to anyone, regardless of affiliation.

This gets them in trouble with the Army, and the brothers are now between a rock and a hard place. A few suggest leaving the monastery behind, but in the end they decide to stay, mainly out of their strong faith. As for their ultimate fate, well, it's a true story, so you may have heard, but I won't spoil it here.

The first thing I noticed about the film was the lack of a music soundtrack. All of the music heard is practical, and it's mostly chants, or the ringing of the prayer bells. The film is quiet and slow, but never boring, and maintains both a tension and a sense of wonderment. I've always been intrigued by monastic life--the lack of desire for material possession is the exact opposite of the way I lead my consumerist life, and it's something that might be good for me, except for my being a nonbeliever. And I wouldn't care for the celibacy, either.

There's one scene at the end of the film in which Beauvois takes a risk and goes kind of Hollywood. The brothers gather for a kind of Last Supper, breaking out the wine and a tape-player, and they break bread to the accompaniment of Swan Lake. The camera moves from face to face, and tears stream down their faces. I see that critics have responded both positively and negatively to the scene. I liked it (and what a year for Tchaikovsky's ballet this year at the cinema), but I certainly recognize how nakedly manipulative it is.

I would imagine the best audience for Of Gods and Men would be an audience of the faithful, especially Catholics. The monks are never presented as anything but noble, although each our allowed their frailties. The film is also very positive toward Islam, clearly delineating the good guys from the bad. The only bit of cynicism we get is when Lonsdale quotes Pascal, who said: "Men never do evil so completely and cheerfully as when they do it from religious conviction."

My grade for Of Gods and Men: A-.