BENEDETTA Review – ****

I knew that protests had greeted Benedetta at other screenings, but I hadn’t expected to see The American Society for the Defense of Tradition, Family, and Property (the TFP), or at least a dozen or so representatives, gathered in front of my local independent theater when I went to see it. One held a sign saying, “The movie Benedetta is the Gate to hell!” Others held banners declaring the film a blasphemy against the Virgin Mary. They didn’t ask me what I was going to see (a disappointment), and they weren’t there when I got out of the film a couple of hours later – a greater disappointment, as I could have at least told them that the film is a far more thoughtful and intelligent depiction of faith and religion (and the difference between the two) than just about any mainstream American religious film I’ve seen, excepting First Reformed.

I doubt they would’ve listened, and I really doubt any of them will give the film so much as a look. Their loss; a glance at a TFP article about the film’s supposed blasphemy betrays how little they actually bothered to learn about it, just as reducing the film to the story of a lesbian nun glosses over the complexity of the story and the nuances of that lesbianism.

Pescia, Tuscany, the early 17th century. As a child, Benedetta Carlini (Elena Plonka) is taken by her parents to become a “bride of Christ” at the local convent. Her own devotion is obvious from the start, and events suggest that devotion is reciprocated: when bandits try and rob her family as they stop at a shrine, Benedetta invokes Mary, and a bird defecates on the face of one. Later, during her first night in the abbey, she sneaks out of bed to pray to a large statue of Mary, which topples from its pedestal, trapping Benedetta but not injuring her. When the possibility of a miracle is mentioned, the abbess (Charlotte Rampling) notes that miracles are often “more trouble than they’re worth.”

18 years later, Sister Benedetta (now played by Virginie Efira) is a devoted member of the convent, but she’s given to ecstatic visions of Jesus (Jonathan Couzinié) which trouble her fellow nuns. One day, Bartolomea (Daphne Patakia), the daughter of an abusive shepherd, runs into the convent seeking asylum; Benedetta convinces her father to pay for Bartolomea’s admission. Benedetta takes Bartolomea under her wing but is troubled by the young woman’s unrestrained behavior – including a secret kiss on Benedetta’s lips. Told that suffering is the way to know Christ, she forces Bartolomea to retrieve bobbins of yarn from a pot of boiling water, for which the abbess rebukes her.

Benedetta’s visions continue, during which her behavior becomes increasingly disturbing, leading the abbess to seek a volunteer to be her constant companion and protector. Bartolomea is the only volunteer and continues to behave suggestively toward Benedetta. One night, after another vision, Benedetta cries out and is found to have stigmata on her hands and feet, along with a wound on her side. The head priest of the convent, Alfonso Cecchi (Olivier Rabourdin) is impressed, but the abbess remains skeptical, noting that there are no wounds on Benedetta’s brow (in imitation of the crown of thorns). Moments later, Benedetta collapses and is found to have wounds on her brow and speaks in a deep voice which seems to channel Jesus – but a shattered candle-holder lies nearby.

Cecchi is convinced, and the people of Pescia begin to venerate Benedetta, but the abbess’ daughter Christina (Louise Chevillotte) is convinced Benedetta is a fake. The abbess urges her not to make trouble, especially because she has no direct evidence of the fakery. But then the abbess is demoted, and Benedetta is made Mother Superior of the abbey, leading Christina to openly accuse her. Because she has no direct proof, she is forced to flagellate herself, and later, when a comet appears overheard – provoking questions as to what it portends – Christina leaps off the roof of the convent to her death.

Meanwhile, after Benedetta moves into the abbess’ apartment, she and Bartolomea now have the privacy to consummate their relationship – or so they think, but the former abbess uses a spyhole (which she put there) to catch them in the act. This includes using a small wooden figure of Mary as a dildo, a blasphemy committed by Bartolomea to facilitate Benedetta’s pleasure. The former abbess goes to Florence to seek the help of the nuncio (Lambert Wilson), but the plague has begun to ravage Florence, and Benedetta has ordered the gates of Pescia closed, claiming that the city will be spared if her word is obeyed. She later collapses, seemingly dead.

The nuncio and former abbess return to Pescia and face great difficulty in entering the town, but Cecchi admits them, telling them of Benedetta’s death. The nuncio, learning that she never received the last rites, decides to perform them – during which her eyes spring open, and she reveals that she had been in Heaven and seen the fates of every human soul. The nuncio, unconvinced, reveals that she is to stand trial on the former abbess’ charges. The rest of the film follows Benedetta’s fall from official grace and the question of what her true motives are.

It’s been a while since I’ve written such an extensive plot summary, but in the case of Benedetta, I think it’s justified. The story, and the motives of the characters, are much more complex than those who reduce it to an act of blasphemy or a slice of sapphic nunsploitation would admit. Yes, the film has explicit sex and nudity (it’s very much a Paul Verhoeven film), and its depiction of Jesus, especially Benedetta’s devotion to him, is provocative and will make some viewers deeply uncomfortable. But its provocations are anything but flippant, and from the very start our assumptions and expectations are challenged.

What to make of the notion that Mary intercedes on behalf of the Carlinis by making a bird crap on a bandit’s face? Well, God works in mysterious ways, no? What to make of the abbess’ gently-but-firmly stated demand for a sufficient “dowry” from Benedetta’s father – or, indeed, the abbess’ pragmatic attitudes throughout much of the film? She knows what it takes to run a convent – as she tells the desperate Bartolomea, “a convent is not a place of charity.” But she also decides to play along once Cecchi becomes committed to Benedetta’s status as a prophetess, noting that after Francis was canonized, Assisi prospered. Her devotion is debatable, but her savvy is not.

What to make of Benedetta and her visions? As far as we are shown, her sincerity is absolute; even when challenged by Bartolomea, she never suggests that she is (at least consciously) faking her stigmata, her “possessed” voice, or what she claims to have seen and heard. As for the visions themselves, to me they reflect the unintended consequence of calling the nuns “brides of Christ”; Benedetta, who has failed to internalize the notion (told to her shortly after her arrival) that “your body is your enemy,” has instead combined her sexual longings and her devotion into a longing for Jesus which reaches their climax in the scene she embraces him on the cross (they are both nude), and acquires stigmata, presumably as she orgasms.

Provocative? Absolutely. But I never felt like Verhoeven was treating the matter lightly, even though the audience chuckled and the film itself is leavened with a good deal of humor. Because Benedetta never backs down, and because the film itself doesn’t hold her up to ridicule, it becomes all the harder to write her – or the film – off. You may still consider it blasphemous, but for my money a film like Kirk Cameron’s Saving Christmas is the far greater offense to moral decency. And where were the protestors then?

And then there’s the matter of the relationship between Benedetta and Bartolomea. What to make of Bartolomea herself? She reveals that she was abused by her father and her brothers; is her attraction to Benedetta rooted in an inherent lesbianism, a reaction against her abuse by men, or a romantic reaction to Benedetta’s compassion? She has a provocative streak, talking frankly about using the bathroom, cheerfully farting when does and saying, “I hope that’s allowed,” and defiantly grabbing the bobbins out of the boiling water – an act which doesn’t turn her against Benedetta.

Their relationship is the more complex because Bartolomea instigates it throughout, taking the dominant position when she and Benedetta finally make love. Benedetta is quite receptive, but how exactly does she feel about it? Does she regard it as an expression of spiritual love? Does she draw a connection between the dark-haired Bartolomea and the dark-haired Jesus of her visions? She never questions her place in the abbey – there’s no suggestion that she longs for a life in the outside world – so her motives and goals in the relationship are, by and large, left to the viewer to unravel.

The script, based on the book Immodest Acts by Judith C. Brown, was written by Verhoeven and David Birke, who’d written Verhoeven’s previous film, the brilliant Elle. Like that film, this takes a complex, challenging view of female sexuality and autonomy in a society which mercilessly scrutinizes it. In Elle, the heroine is vilified for her father’s crimes, despite having no part in them; when she assaulted, she takes her revenge in a singular fashion, even drawing her assailant into her life when she discovers his identity. Here, the ostensible spiritual and physical chastity of the Catholic clergy is contrasted with Benedetta’s romantic visions of Jesus, her romance with Bartolomea, the greed and vanity of Cecchi, and the obvious worldly experience of the nuncio. Hypocrisy is everywhere, and our protagonists, simply by following their desires, defy it.

The thematic depth of the script is obvious, but hopefully I’ve suggested something of its dramatic depth as well. The characters throughout are carefully drawn individuals; I’ve only mentioned Christina, who at first seems a self-righteous snitch and later proves tragically devoted to her mother and her own values, and I haven’t mentioned Sister Jacopa (Guilaine Londez), painfully aware that she is judged for having been born Jewish (the film touches upon the anti-Semitism of the era), and battling breast cancer, which she calls her “secret lover,” viewing her physical agony as simply a part of her spiritual journey. The film grows richer and more complex as it goes, making it all the more satisfying.

The acting, by and large, more than rises to the occasion. For much of the film, I felt Efira was just a bit flat as Benedetta, but by the third act, her handling of Benedetta’s resilience in the face of persecution – and her devotion when presented with the possibility of escape – redeemed her performance. I never had any such doubts about Patakia, who fully embodies Bartolomea’s daring, unaffected nature, but also convinces us that her devotion to Benedetta is sincere – probably, by far, the most loving relationship she’s ever known. Even better is Rampling, whose work here nicely contrasts her turn in Dune; with her sad, knowing eyes and commanding voice, she’s both a compelling voice of authority and a sage pragmatist who knows when to set righteousness aside to get results. Near the end, she regains her righteousness, with piteously effective results. Also strong are Wilson as the sleazy, vindictive nuncio (his final line is a gem), Rabourdin as the scheming Cecchi, Londez as the tragic Jacopa, and Chevillotte as the eternally suspicious Chrisina.

Oddly, it’s the technical side of things which lets the film down a bit. Jeanne Lapoirie’s cinematography is a mixed bag, with some effective images but an oddly artificial, even digital look throughout. The scene with the comet, the night sky unconvincingly tinted red, is especially disappointing, but other scenes, like Benedetta’s visions, also look distractingly fake. If ever a film cried out for practical effects and to be shot on film, this was it. The sets and costumes likewise tend to look just a little too clean, a little too fresh from the costume shop, to be entirely effective. (On the other hand, the makeup, especially when depicting the ravages of the plague, is excellent.)

Job ter Burg’s editing is solid, and Anne Dudley’s score is suitably hymnal; Verhoeven’s direction is generally quite good – his handling of the cast is hard to fault – but it’s hard not to roll one’s eyes just a bit at the use of nudity. Sometimes, it’s used quite effectively, but other times it feels like showing off Efira and Patakia’s figures for the sake of doing so, and one remembers that this was the man who made Basic Instinct and Showgirls. For me it didn’t cross the line into being distasteful, but it felt like Verhoeven was indulging himself. And in a film which mostly avoids feeling indulgent, which justifies its provocations, that’s a disappointment.

But its occasional missteps are hardly enough to keep Benedetta from being a great film. I don’t know if the protests will help the box-office, harm it, or make no difference, nor do I know if my own review will convince anyone to give it a chance, whatever their religious inclinations. I should note that, while the film is based on a true story, it seems to have taken many liberties; take it for the fascinating, thought-provoking drama that is, and you should be amply rewarded.

Score: 89