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New subtitles for ‘Diary of a Country Priest’ leave artistry intact
By John P. McCarthy
NEW YORK (CNS)—Director Robert Bresson’s “Diary of a Country Priest,” from the 1936 Georges Bernanos novel, qualifies as a masterpiece by any measure. It received numerous awards upon its 1951 release and has exerted tremendous influence over filmmakers and movie lovers ever since.
Because Bresson’s artistic sensibility so beautifully conveys the theological depth of the narrative about a young cleric’s physical and spiritual anguish, “Diary” also ranks among the best religious films ever made. And its place in the pantheon of Catholic cinema is equally secure, though not because it offers a tranquil portrait of the priesthood.
Unlike the devoutly Catholic Bernanos (1888-1948), Bresson (1901-1999) was an agnostic; and in the central figure of Bernanos’ tale—a sickly curate who, straight from the seminary, clashes with his parishioners in a French village near Calais—he found a strikingly contemporary case study for the idea that crippling doubt and empowering belief can go hand-in-hand.
On Feb. 25, Rialto Pictures released a new version of “Diary” with freshly translated English subtitles. Its premiere at Manhattan’s Film Forum is being followed by a run at the Los Angeles County Museum of Art. During the coming months, it will also unreel in Chicago, Boston, Washington and other major markets.
The new subtitles—intended to render Bresson’s script more precisely—have been re-synced to the original soundtrack, which features extensive voice-over narration by Claude Laydu, the 23-year-old lead actor whom Bresson cast in part because he was a practicing Catholic. The project succeeds, although the changes are often quite subtle. (For example, the townspeople are now called “mean-spirited” instead of “malicious.”)
Any measured attempt to make this profound movie more accessible should be applauded, yet it’s too bad a visual restoration wasn’t undertaken at the same time. Still, first-timers shouldn’t be deterred by the gloomy print, and aficionados have another reason to marvel at Bresson’s distinctive storytelling techniques.
The diary format allows the filmmaker to depict events and their corresponding states of mind in multiple ways. Throughout, the protagonist is shown writing in his journal, reading the relevant passages in voice-over, and acting out the scene described, not always in that order.
Bresson’s propensity for having sound propel the action is also brilliantly demonstrated, as is his knack for compressing the passage of time on screen. L.H. Burel’s black-and-white cinematography and the sparingly deployed music by Jean-Jacques Grunewald, serve Bresson’s goals, which, admittedly, require patience to fully appreciate.
Gradually, the film’s short vignettes begin to flow and cohere, evoking strong emotions in the viewer. Bresson’s habit of casting inexperienced or nonprofessional actors, whose performances tend toward the robotic, contributes to this delayed response. Eventually, however, it’s obvious that Bresson’s minimalist approach has found a liturgical rhythm that perfectly expresses the ebb and flow of religious faith.
The work’s austere form mirrors the priest’s asceticism. Bresson also frequently shoots the curate through the iron bars of gates or behind glass to underscore his isolation. Varied eucharistic metaphors offset the bleakness of his situation, most notably the stale bread soaked in wine that constitutes the only meal he can digest. Other symbols representing Christ’s blood include ink, coffee, mud, blackberries and the priest’s own blood.
Death looms for other characters as well, giving the suffering clergyman a redemptive purpose. Sad-eyed and shabbily attired, he’s obviously in torment, yet the villagers offer scant comfort; even the schoolgirl who excels in catechism class treats him with a cool wariness bordering on derision.
Still, he is shown to possess the gift of fortitude as well as holy simplicity. Much of the action concerns the priest’s traffic with the local aristocrat, a count whose affair with his daughter’s governess poisons his household. The countess—in mourning since the death of their toddler son years ago—tolerates her husband’s infidelity; their teenage daughter is bitterly angry.
“Diary’s” central scene—among the most famous in 20th-century French cinema—is a Miltonic dialogue between the countess and the clergyman during which she spurns God. Can he help save her soul? And what might an attempt to do so mean for his own?
After “Diary,” Bresson went on to make 1959’s “The Pickpocket,” arguably a secular companion piece, plus other estimable films, some with religious themes or characters such as 1962’s “The Trial of Joan of Arc.”
One quality that distinguishes “Diary” is how it transcends time and place while being plausibly grounded in history and in the material world. The film’s troubled hero calls this bridge between the temporal and the eternal “grace”—a word that’s virtually the same in French or English.
The Catholic News Service classification is A-II—adults and adolescents. Not rated by the Motion Picture Association of America.
John P. McCarthy is a guest reviewer for Catholic News Service. More reviews are available online at www.usccb.org/movies.
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