In 17th century Portugal, two Catholic priests — Sebastião Rodrigues (Andrew Garfield) and Francisco Garrpe (Adam Driver) — receive word that a fellow Jesuit, Father Cristóvão Ferreira (Liam Neeson), has committed apostasy following months of torture. In order to save him, the two priests risk persecution and certain death, as they travel to Japan within the time of Kakure Kirishitan (“Hidden Christians”), to search for their mentor.
As expected of a Martin Scorsese picture, Silence is a film which surpasses a running time of 150 minutes. For many weary critics, films of this length can prove to be an endurance test – one which isn’t always passed with flying colours. For myself however, the experience of Silence (an adaptation of Shusaku Endo’s 1966 acclaimed novel) provoked a profoundly unique appraisal, of my own faith. Upon its end, I didn’t rush to leave the screening room. I simply reclined into my seat and reflected, “And I thought my faith had been challenged.”
Considering my Christian faith, it was utterly impossible to view such a tale of intolerable torment without calling to mind the contemporary form of persecution throughout the entire world, faced by my fellow brothers and sisters in Christ. It is easy to forget that persecution is not only limited to Christians within unsettled regions of the Middle East. It also encompasses escalating assaults upon religious groups such as Yazidis, Jews, Ahmadis and Baha’is.
As I witnessed barbaric acts of violence inflicted upon so many innocent lives, I frequently asked myself, “Would my spirit be strong enough to proclaim Christ as my Lord and saviour, despite the threat of violence being inflicted upon me?” Of course, I would like to believe that my spirit would endure. In actuality, I am not sure that it could. Yet Silence possesses a screenplay which admirably honours the sacrifices of various martyrs, who remain devoted until they take their last breath upon this earth. Even for those without faith, I am certain that Silence is liable to provoke many people to question the mission and dedication of Jesuit priests, but also the very essence of faith. Whether they grant the subjects with hostility or respect, is entirely up to them. For Scorsese, he has described the process of making this film as an extension of his own pilgrimage as a “lapsed (Roman) Catholic”. One who – through the journey of this filmmaking process – has tried to venture deeper into faith with only the essentials, so that he may grasp an “understanding of what compassion is about”.
In return, Scorsese has said that the experience of Silence forced him to “contemplate” his own spirituality. Therefore, the motifs of such a theologically rich screenplay only support the theory that Scorsese himself may be using this opportunity to channel his own questions of faith.
Interestingly, it is apparent that Scorsese has boldly explored his faith in and throughout the making of Silence. Some critics may see this as him just taking the opportunity to discuss theology once again (see Kundun, The Last Temptation of Christ), but I see it as a passionate and daring revelation of a filmmaker whose mind may be frustrated with questions, and appears to be continually inspecting his own faith, in the only way that can bring him peace or satisfaction: writing/directing film.
But when specific questions of faith arise from the narrative (Does anyone actually hear my cries? If God is “on mute”, are we able to truly place our trust in him? Should we as Christians, deny our faith to save our life?), they seem to not only derive from Scorsese and the source material, but all walks of life. At times the questions seem raw or deeply personal, but the responses are always intellectually advanced and wholly inspiring. This is not an openly evangelistic film, nor is it 100% pro-Christianity. Similar to an intellectually stimulating debate, Cocks and Scorsese allow both sides of an argument to be heard. With such a lengthy (testing, but necessary) running time, the narrative is able to spend ample time with both the Jesuit priests, an apostatised priest (Neeson’s Ferreira), a villager with a faith in crisis (Yōsuke Kubozuka’s fascinating Kichijiro) and their captors – led by the outstanding Issey Ogata. Surprisingly, the group of antagonists possess believable or rational reasoning behind their convictions, which a lesser filmmaker would have deprived them of. Yet the answer to this horrifying dilemma that the priests find themselves in, is never satisfyingly clear-cut. The complexity of the film’s central debate will either enthral viewers, or simply become a trial within itself. Without spoiling the film’s denouement, I am pleased to divulge that a resolution of sorts, does occur. Whether one can class it as positive or negative, is difficult to say.
Aside from its rich theological elements, Silence fully realises such a visually stunning historical period. Whether the camera is focused upon a villager’s hut or a Catholic church, the meticulous attention to detail allows the setting to feel lived in. This ultimately aids the narrative once the persecution begins, as the jail cells (in which certain characters spend much of their time) and various other buildings never seem like sets built for the production. They possess a sense of authenticity, which allows the film and the horrors within it, to seem all the more real.
The same can be said for that of various dialogue which derives from the Japanese villagers. A conscious decision seems to have been taken to not translate large portions of it, or offer many subtitled sequences. This is a bold decision, as it often caused me to feel frustrated with the film. Yet it is evidence that the film strives for authenticity at every turn, as it places audiences into the very shoes of the Jesuits – considering most audience members are unable to interpret Japanese, similar to the Jesuits. Scorsese and Cocks take the notion of travelling to a foreign land, with no concept of what to expect, but allow it to remain realistic.
For all of the film’s technical achievements (sumptuous cinematography, Kurosawa-esque framing), its most interesting element is the first-rate portrayal of Jesuit priests by Andrew Garfield and Adam Driver – as Sebastião and Francisco, respectively. Whilst so many films represent priests as morally pure, the cast of Silence reinforce the idea that men/women of the cloth are, first and foremost, human beings. In fact, they are often deeply troubled human beings, like us, who are prone to doubt and questioning. Whether it be our faith or trust in our identity, religion or political systems, we can often become shaken. These performances retract the pretension behind organised religion and re-establish the fact that even priests have crises of faith – a decision which ultimately humanizes them and prompted me to feel genuine empathy for these characters.
Silence not only marks the culmination of a 28 year endurance test for Martin Scorsese, but the certified maturation of an American auteur – one who no longer dances around questions of faith, but faces them head on, in a distinctly challenging, thrilling and profound cinematic experience.
Silence is out 1st January
