Saturday, 2 July 2011

Cistercian monks in Algeria

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I thought you would like the article on Of Gods and men.
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CultureWatch Update - 1 July 2011
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In CultureWatch Update this week:
127 Hours

Of Gods and Men

John Galliano

Culturewatch Podcasts

For other recent additions to CultureWatch, see the What's New page, or see what's new onother Damaris websites.

Welcome to this week's Culturewatch update, where we have three new articles for you.
The first, written by Richard Blakely before he finished his internship, looks at the Oscar-nominated thriller 127 Hours. Visceral, inventive, and with a gruesome climax that's not easy to sit through, the film explores the human will to survive. What is it that really makes life worth living?

New culturewatch intern Hannah Bottom has written about Of Gods and Men, a critically-acclaimed independent film which focuses on a group of Cistercian monks in Algeria. When violence rocks the country, they face a decision: will they stay or leave? Hannah's article looks into questions of community and sacrifice.

Finally, we have something a bit different - an article by Stuart Goddard on disgraced fashion designer John Galliano, who was suspended from Dior in February for alleged xenophobic outbursts.

In our usual podcasts, you can hear me and Tony talking about the latest DVD and cinema releases, from tearjerking dramaNever Let Me Go to noisy sci-fi sequel Transformers: Dark of the Moon.
Don't forget that The First Grader is still in cinemas, and Damaris' free resources are still available to help you think through the issues it raises.
Sophie Lister

Of Gods and Men - An article by Hannah Bottom on the drama about Cisterian monks in Algeria.

Death and freedom

Author: Hannah Bottom

Keywords: Life, death, martyrdom, sacrifice, community, religion, brotherhood

Film title: Des Hommes et des Dieux (Of Gods And Men)

Director: Xavier Beauvois

Screenplay: Etienne Comar, Xavier Beauvois

Starring: Lambert Wilson, Michael Lonsdale, Olivier Rabourdin, Phillippe Laudenbach

Distributor: Artificial Eye (UK); Sony Pictures Classics (USA)

Cinema Release Date: 3 December 2010 (UK); 25 February 2011 (USA)

Certificate: R (USA); 15 (UK) Contains infrequent strong violence

Click here to buy Of Gods and Men from Amazon.co.uk

Buy Of Gods and Men from Amazon.co.uk or from Amazon.com

Note: This article contains plot spoilers.

Xavier Beauvois’s film Of Gods and Men is, perhaps, embodied by one moment. Having adjusted the handle of the gun on his shoulder, the leader of a group of Islamic extremists thrusts his hand out in front of the prior of a Cistercian monastery. It hangs, solidly, under the electric light. Christian, the prior, looks from the hand to the man’s face, returning his gaze to the hand. And takes it. It is just a handshake, yet that moment of contact between these two worlds demonstrates something of the very core of this captivating film.

Set in a beautifully hazy landscape in North Africa, the film weaves its way around the humble lives of Cistercian monks as they enact their daily routine of prayer, meditation, singing and working. Led by Christian (Lambert Wilson), they plough the land, wash-up, make and sell honey. And whilst their religion may distinguish them from the locals, they are, in fact, an integral part of the community. Luc (Michael Lonsdale), the doctor, offers medical treatment, relationship advice and clothing; all the monks are invited to a local boy’s circumcision party, and several attend. It is a quiet, simple existence. The film stunningly amplifies this by silence: the only sound is often the gentle hum of people around the monks, or the bristling and brushing of objects as they work. Encircling them, however, is political turmoil. Loosely based on events in Algeria during the 1990s, radical Islamist groups are fighting to prise power from the government in an increasingly bloody war.[1] When they order all foreigners to leave the country, they make their threat frighteningly clear by killing a group of Catholic Croatian workers. The Cistercian Monks are faced with a decision: to remain or leave. It is the question on which the film hangs, a silent threat that presses in as it overshadows and begins to stifle the monks’ lives. However, whilst this provides the essential crux of the plot, in Of Gods and Men this simple question of physical movement is translated into an eloquent questioning of faith, humanity and community.

One of the real pleasures of the film is the way that it dances lightly between the spiritual and the physical, swinging between silence and song, manual labour and intellectual endeavour. For a film about religion, the French title, which puts Men before Gods, seems a more accurate reflection of its focus: it is firmly located within the physical, tangible world. The intense simplicity of the monks’ physical lives, however, masks the true depth of their spiritual lives. And yet it is also the tangible face of it: monastic life is shown to be one of reconciliation between these two aspects. This is beautifully embodied by the soundtrack, which exploits the tradition of choral hymns. Lambert Wilson, described singing as, ‘organic . . . a feeling, an emotion, a physical action.’[2] In the psalms and hymns, however, the characters are expressing some of their deepest spiritual beliefs and attitudes. The film displays a very closely integrated relationship between the spiritual and the physical, to the extent that the physical labours of the monks become part of their spiritual lives. Spirituality and physicality are neither distinguished nor separated, but are the same.

This relationship between the two helps to enlighten the film’s integral interest in suffering. With the possibility of martyrdom hanging over them, the monks question why they are in Northern Africa. They must decide whether their reticence to stay is cowardly fear, or legitimate. Is staying seeking the glory of dying for one’s faith, like the Islamic extremists who are threatening them? Or is leaving, as Jean-Pierre (Loïc Pichon) puts it, ‘to run away’? The film questions and explores the difficult balance between accepting suffering as part of a calling, and taking it merely because it seems like the holy thing to do: ‘weakness in itself is not a virtue.’ Every monk must decide this for himself, and some of the film’s most moving scenes are completely bereft of dialogue, as the monks pray and ponder their decision. In one, Michel (Xavier Maly), is collecting wood when he just stops, and sits back on the timber behind him, clearly overcome with the weight of the decision. The complete absence of any supernatural events in Of Gods and Men makes for an interesting presentation of God: is he completely absent in the film? Or is he everywhere, saturating the tangible, physical events of the film?

Through the monks’ dilemma, and the integration between the supernatural and the physical, the film beautifully questions what life actually is. As Célestin (Philippe Laudenbach) says, ‘I became a monk to live. Not to sit back and have my throat slit.’ The issue is far more complicated than this, however, as to the monks, life is clearly not just a question of the physical. When faced with the possibility they might be denied physical life, though, beliefs about any other life become acutely pressing. Of Gods and Men elucidates the Christian idea that in becoming a Christian, you begin to truly live. It is through Christ’s death that you are made alive again, as his death takes the punishment for the evil acts you have done and which have, essentially, killed you because of their evil. As a Christian, you are ‘baptised into Christ Jesus [and so are] baptised into his death . . . in order that, just as Christ was raised from the dead through the glory of the Father, we too may live a new life.”[3] When Christophe confesses his fear of dying for his faith, Christian reminds him that his sacrifice has already been made: ‘You’ve already given your life. You gave it by following Christ.’ In following Christ, however, the monks have been made truly alive, living the ‘new life’. They come to accept that life does not end with the death of the physical body. Though physical death is not, of itself, good, and therefore should not be desired, they know their physical lives have become merely an expression of their spiritual lives, not the other way round. Therefore they can afford to lose them, as it does not mean losing true life. Luc says he is ‘not scared of terrorists, even less of the army.’ He laughs, and then adds, ‘I’m not scared of death. I’m a free man.’ He realises that death has no hold on him; it is only a death of the body which, in following Christ, he accepted long ago.

All these issues come together to question the idea of tragedy. The Swan Lake music at the monks' last supper makes for an arrestingly moving final scene of them altogether. However, it also confronts the audience, challenging us to think about how we see our deaths. Swan Lake is tragic because the swan and her lover kill themselves to free themselves from a curse. They embrace death because life has become death to them. The monks die before their time, and so the ‘branch’ which holds the local community together, as one of the local Muslim women calls them, is cut off the tree. Yet is it a tragedy? The monks’ willingness to die for their faith, firm in the knowledge that it was not true death, but merely physical death, seems anything but a tragedy. This closely parallels Christ’s death, and our view of Christ’s death informs how we see the monks’ murder. Unjustly executed before his time, his death could easily be seen as a tragedy. However, it is only through his death that the Men of the monks, fallible, imperfect, sinful people that they are, can become like Gods, perfect and no longer tainted by the evil things they once did.

[1] Of Gods and Men Production Notes, p.2

[2] Of Gods and Men Production Notes, p.5

[3] Romans 6:3-4