Mark Reviews Movies: BENEDETTA

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Review by Mark Dujsik | December 2, 2021

The problem with Benedetta Carlini, a contemporarily infamous nun during the 17th century in Italy, wasn't necessarily Benedetta herself. That's the assertion of co-writer/director Paul Verhoeven's sensationalistic but thoughtful biographical film Benedetta, which depicts a time and place of existential desperation, looking for any sign of comfort, protection, and meaning. If it has to come from a nun who probably has some mental health issues and is possibly a con artist and definitely is engaged in a relationship that is doubly frowned upon by the Catholic Church, so be it.

The question of Benedetta, played by Virginie Efira, is not her belief. She is a genuine believer from a young age, when her parents (played by David Clavel and Clotilde Courau) bring their daughter to a convent in Pescia. She was, according to the father, a miracle baby of sorts, who likely should have died soon after birth. Since she survived, the parents made a pact that Benedetta would become a nun—a bride of Jesus, as the tradition goes.

One of the main questions about Benedetta's belief, though, is whether or not it is actually answered by some divine power. As a child (played by Elena Plonka), Benedetta stops some marauding thieves from stealing her mother's necklace, informing the highway robbers that she will request divine intervention if they don't stop. She does. A bird cries from a nearby tree and proceeds to fly right over one of the thieves, leaving a sloppy gift on his face. It's enough of a sign for them.

Signs keep appearing for Benedetta when she arrives at the convent. A statue of the Virgin Mary falls and nearly crushes the girl as she prays to it. This is a miracle, according to some of the nuns, although Sister Felicita (Charlotte Rampling), the convent's abbess, isn't as convinced.

She, played with sternness and underlying angst by Rampling, is an intriguing one, by the way—a woman who has devoted her life to serving the Church, her fellow nuns, and, in theory, the higher power of her faith. It's fascinating how much of the abbess' work, though, seems to forget or overlook that third part. Felicita finds herself in charge of a prestigious institution (Hundreds of girls and women want to enter the convent each year, but she gets to decide the two or three who do) and a profitable enterprise. As to-be brides, the Church expects a dowry from a potential candidate.

Reputation, money, and the politics that come from such worldly matters are of central concern for Felicita, the local priest Paolo Ricordati (Hervé Pierre), and Pescia's provost Alfonso Cecchi (Olivier Rabourdin), who is trying to become a bishop. The most recent one for the area died of the plague that is decimating the rest of Italy. Pescia has been spared so far, but it is, perhaps, only a matter of time.

That's the world into which Benedetta enters—a place of supposed faith, constantly at odds between its divine purpose and the pragmatism of being of the world. The screenplay, written by Verhoeven and David Birke (based on Judith C. Brown's book Immodest Acts), isn't cynical or judgmental about this apparent hypocrisy, and that's one of the film's strengths. It sees the tension between the divine and the world as a basic fact of reality for these characters—except, possibly, for Benedetta, who ultimately finds a way to unite those two realms, if only to her own religious satisfaction. Besides, there are much worse acts than such relatively miniscule hypocrisy on the horizon.

The possibility for a union of the divine and the corporeal comes 18 years after Benedetta's entrance into the convent, with the arrival of Bartolomea (Daphné Patakia), a woman who has been physically and sexually abused by her father and brothers. Benedetta, who recently has had vivid visions of Jesus (Jonathan Couzinié), guides Bartolomea. After some confusion regarding the priest's assertion that suffering is the only way to Jesus and a few more alleged miracles that lead to a big change in the convent's hierarchy, the two women enter into an intimate relationship. Benedetta is convinced that her love for Bartolomea is a reflection of divine love. Those who suspect or discover the affair don't have the same opinion.

Despite the story's lurid potential (which is fulfilled in a couple of intentionally and successfully enticing scenes) and melodramatic leanings (all of those visions, political machinations, the chaotic climax, and portents of doom, such as a comet that seems to hover over the convent), this film does take itself, its exploration of faith, and the uncertainty of its main character seriously. This isn't to say that the film isn't a provocation, aimed at systemic hypocrisy and moral tyranny (The nuns have assorted pasts, for which, according to the Church, they apparently must suffer) and outright cruelty (Alfonso, a representative of the Pope in Florence who's played by Lambert Wilson, eventually arrives at the convent to enact an inquisition). It is to say, though, that Verhoeven and Birke actually take the time and make the effort to dissect all of these problems.

As for whether the eponymous figure of Benedetta is a real solution or false prophet, the film offers no concrete answer, except that she represents what other people—the provost looking to turn Pescia into a pilgrimage site, nuns looking for proof that their devotion means something, a population terrified of the plague and desperate for protection—want. In a way, that's a form of faith, and if it works, what mortal person can judge that?

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