Mark Reviews Movies: PROCESSION

Follow on Facebook | Follow on Twitter | Become a Patron

Review by Mark Dujsik | November 18, 2021

We can't really know the pain and trauma experienced by another human being. Procession, a stunning and empathetic documentary from director Robert Greene, doesn't attempt to explain the specifics or rationalize the consequences of what six men, all of them survivors of child sexual abuse, went through and continue to suffer on account of the crimes committed against them. That experience belongs entirely to these men, and the film simply allows them to tell their stories in whatever way and to whatever degree they need to.

Greene is only an objective observer here. Even though he devised the basic concept of this documentary, he doesn't interfere, interject, or become involved in any direct way.

There is one notable exception to that, when the director believes he has discovered the location of the house where one of the men was raped by at least two Catholic priests. The man and his brother, who was also a childhood victim of sexual abuse by one of the same priests, spend the entire day exploring the site, trying to figure out if it's the right place, wandering around on foot and by car and in a boat looking for signs and help, and just driving away from the scene as darkness falls.

This was supposed to be man's big moment, when he would finally confront the place where all of his trauma originated, and for whatever reason, it has been denied to him. One of the other survivors doesn't hide his disappointment in and anger with Greene. He can't do this them. If a promise as a severe as that is directly made or even implied, it has to be spoken with absolute certainty. Greene may be an observer of this whole process, but he has a responsibility to these men.

To be fair to the filmmaker, the incident is resolved and, ultimately, reveals just how shattered these men are by what they have experienced. The inclusion of the confusion and the resulting confrontation, though, allows us to further understand just how high the emotional and psychological stakes actually are in this process. Everyone here has some kind of responsibility—to each other and to themselves—to ensure that this process is not made more difficult than it already is. It's a multi-part responsibility that no one here takes lightly.

Greene has a responsibility to these six men and the entire plan he has devised. After watching a press conference on television, in which a few of these survivors publicly spoke about the abuse they had suffered from Catholic priests as children and the systematic way in which the Church hierarchy in Kansas City covered up that abuse, the filmmaker had an idea. He would contact these men and others, by way of a local attorney who represents multiple survivors and has identified a couple hundred abusive clergymen.

With their permission and direct involvement, Greene would provide them with an outlet through which they could tell their stories. A drama therapist would guide and counsel them through this process.

Essentially, all six men would write and direct a short scene, based directly on their abuse or the nightmares that have haunted them for decades or a hypothetical scenario in which they would be able to say what they really wanted to say during an "independent" review board meeting. Anything could be said or shown or suggested, as long as it didn't interfere with any legal procedure currently underway (It's discouraging that only two or three survivors have to follow these stipulations, because it means the cases of the others have either been dismissed or expired—on account of the statute of limitations or because the abuser has died before he could face any actual justice). The documentary follows each of them—individually and, with a level of camaraderie that provides the film's most powerful and affecting scenes, together—as the men write, prepare, stage, and shoot these six short films.

As for the survivors themselves, their initial and primary responsibility is for each one's safety and well-being in exploring, re-living, and dramatizing the abuse he suffered. It's incredible to witness how quickly, though, that becomes a secondary concern or less for each man. They feel responsibilities, too, beyond their individual selves: to tell their stories, so that other victims might come forward and/or feel some sense of being understood, and, more immediately, to support each other through this entire process.

We meet and get to know all of the men. Dan Laurine already works in the film industry. He feels at home looking for locations to shoot these scenes, and through the work of visiting multiple churches, he starts to reclaim the power of those spaces in his own mind (The fact that he's the one who can't find or recognize the location of his own abuse is despairingly ironic). Ed Gavagan was abused when he lived in Wyoming. A return trip to his childhood church—the first time he has stepped foot in the place in about 30 years—allows him to take back the memory of ringing the church bell, which reverberates through the whole of Cheyenne and to the fields beyond—in a moment of particularly haunting real-life metaphor.

Michael Sandridge works as an interior designer, is soft-spoken, and seems the most in tune with what the other men are thinking and how they're feeling at any given moment, and that makes his confrontation with Greene over the apparent mistake all the more impactful. Tom Viviano can't tell his story for legal reasons, but he wants to help by acting in the other men's scenes (The child actor hired by the team is a wise-beyond-his-years trooper, treated with complete respect and awareness of his own well-being).

While filming one scene in a confessional booth, he punches the wall after noting a lock on the door, so when Joe Eldred, a man who mentally disassociates with frightening quickness, asks Viviano to play the priest with more anger, the unexpected actor just has to look at the lock (That entire scene, watching as Sandridge and Viviano keep offering support to a shaking Eldred, is overwhelming). Anger, meanwhile, is the go-to response for Mike Foreman, who spends his days working alone, stewing in rage, and his downtime occasionally listening to music in dark rooms, rocking back and forth to keep unknowable anguish at bay.

The basic idea, as imagined by Greene and put forth by the therapist, is that the scenes themselves will allow these men to transform their abstract thoughts and deeper feelings into something they can logically comprehend. Whether or not that kind of catharsis is achieved in that specific way is irrelevant for us. It belongs to them, and Greene is respectful enough to allow his subjects that degree of privacy. Procession allows us to see these survivors working and moving toward that goal, and it's the sense of unity in pain and in healing that ultimately matters here.

Back to Home

Buy Related Products