The woman who shook religion

  Norwegian director Mona Fastvold, who co-wrote The Brutalist with her husband, Brady Corbet, goes all in stylistically on The Testament of Ann Lee, an exploration of the life of the founder of the Shaker movement. 

  A bit of background: Shakerism began in the 1740s in Manchester, England, moving to the US in 1774, where it attracted some 6,000 members at its peak.

  Departing from the Protestant Christianity of its day, Shakers recognized sex as the source of all evil, resulting from animalistic urges released when Adam and Eve copulated in the Garden of Eden. 

   Beyond that, Shakers believed God had a masculine and feminine nature. Jesus manifested God's masculinity. Ann Lee proclaimed herself the manifestation of God's feminine nature. She was the Second Coming.

    I'm no expert on Shaker theology. Much of what I've just said comes from research, but I offer it here by way of introducing a movie that's deeply rooted, as was its main character, in what might be called "radical expression." 

   Although Fastvold's movie covers much of Lee's life,  it can't be viewed as a traditional biopic. Testament bills itself as a musical -- albeit not the kind that leaves you humming on the way out of the theater.

   Fastvold's musical numbers stem from the way Shakers prayed. Public confessions were followed by quaking and shaking, speaking in tongues, and other ecstatic movements that were thought to lead to purity. 

   Choreographer Celia Rowlson-Hall gives the movie's dances a rhythmic, ritualized quality inspired by Shaker worship. Incorporating the influence of Shaker hymns, composer Daniel Blumberg's score occasionally strikes harsh chords that seem intended to shock us out of complacency. 

   I begin by describing the movie's tonal atmosphere, greatly helped by the work of cinematographer William Rexler, because The Testament of Ann Lee speaks in its own voice, and its musical numbers sometimes make it feel like an extended art piece.

   None of that obscures the power of Amanda Seyfried's vigorous, committed performance as Ann Lee. Seyfried embeds Lee's charisma in religious commitment rather than in showy displays of oratory. Seyfried's deeply physical portrayal of a woman who renounced the flesh grounds a portrait that easily could have drifted into an ethereal haze.

   The movie quickly gets some basics across: Ann Lee had been married prior to her revelations about sex. Intimate, arduous scenes of sexual intercourse with her husband (Christopher Abbott) are followed by agonizing scenes of childbirth. 

     Lee lost four children before any of them reached the age of one, a fact some cite as motivation for her advocacy of celibacy. Abbott's James is sympathetic and supportive of Ann's beliefs until he can no longer abide her celibacy -- or his own.   

    Fastvold brings rawness to her early scenes, which have a graphic quality. Blood and sex underscore the carnality of the world that Lee would reject. The movie then assembles bits of Ann Lee's life like pieces of austere Shaker furniture, which -- by the way -- receives no mention until late in the film.

    A prison sentence Lee served in England for her pacifist views provides an opportunity for surrealistic flourishes that underscore the jailhouse visions that cemented Lee's newfound beliefs and her need to propagate them. 

     Mostly, though, Testament remains earthbound, assembling bits of Ann Lee's life like pieces of austere Shaker furniture, which -- by the way -- receives no mention until late in the film. 

    As the story progresses, it becomes less internal, focusing more on the world Lee encounters. New segments are marked by title cards that set up events or establish a mood.

   When Lee leads her followers across the Atlantic, shipboard scenes roil with turbulence, perhaps the equal of the shock of the earlier birth scenes. Her movement would be reborn in the New World -- albeit not without obstacles, including violent attacks by some who saw her as a heretic.

    The story culminates in 1784 with Lee's death at the age of 48, leaving it to us to remember that the 18th century wasn't known for the kind of fierce female leadership embodied in Seyfried's work.

   Now, for some critical cautions. I respected what Fastvold accomplished, but my involvement became increasingly intermittent as the movie wore on. Running voice-over narrations delivered by several of the movie's characters, as well as production designer Sam Bader's period recreations, sometimes made it feel as if the story were taking place in an alternate universe, cinema in a bubble.

    Centering the movie on major events in Lee's life, almost a chapter-and-verse approach, can create a draggy, episodic quality. I wouldn't want to discourage anyone from giving the movie a try, but at times during the film's 136-minute run time, boredom fogged my mind.

     Still, I can't bring myself to harsh rejection. Fastvold and her team are as committed to their approach as Lee was to hers. She makes few concessions to crowd-pleasing even if her movie sometimes feels trapped by the same formality and rigor that defines its best moments.

    

A desert foray among the irresponsible rich

In The Forgiven, Ralph Fiennes displays his mastery as a contemptuous alcoholic physician whose bill for negligence may finally come due. Director John Michael McDonagh teams Fiennes with Jessica Chastain, who plays the other half of a battling couple who’ve been invited for a party weekend at an isolated villa in Morocco. Fiennes laces his performance with rueful cynicism in a movie that, among other things, takes aim at the cultural bigotry of the irresponsible rich. The key event: Driving through the desert at night, Fiennes David runs over and kills a Moroccan boy who's trying to sell fossils to tourists. No one at the villa seems overly concerned when David and his wife, Jo, show up with the dead boy in the back seat of their car. Complete with a pool and Moroccan servants, the villa belongs to Richard (Matt Smith), who shares the place with his aggressively boorish lover (Caleb Landry Jones). Based on a novel by Lawrence Osborne, The Forgiven eventually brings David into  contact with Abdellah (Ismael Kanater), the father of the dead boy. Abdellah wants to reclaim his son's body and insists that David accompany him to his home for the boy's burial. A man of few words, Abdellah travels with Anouar (Said Taghmaoui), an affable fellow with whom David is instructed to communicate. During David's trip with Abdellah, Jo keeps the laissez-faire approach to morality rolling,  sleeping with an American financial analyst (Christopher Abbott). The Moroccan landscapes add mystery and exoticism to an obvious takedown of Western decadence and elitism. David's tense encounter with Abdellah gives the story dramatic weight that almost saves the movie. Almost.

Bob's Cinema Diary: 2/12/21-- 'Minari,' 'Land' and 'The World to Come'

     Like most reviewers, I'm being inundated with streaming opportunities. In a normal moment, it would be possible to give more space to the movies that you'll find in these cinema diaries. But I've decided that it's better to call attention to these movies than to ignore them and sometimes, a special movie -- in this case Minari -- finds its way into a diary post. 

 I've included Minari in this edition of the Cinema Diary because the movie was a hit on the festival circuit, has turned up on many 10-best lists, and already has received considerable attention. I gave it honorable mention status.

Minari

In Minari, writer/director Lee Isaac Chung tells the story of a Korean family trying to start a farm in Arkansas during the 1980s. In his warm but realistic endeavor, Chung focuses on family dynamics. Dad, a deservedly praised Steven Yeun, dreams of making a go of farming, which -- for him -- means taking a stab at being his own man. Mom (Yeri Han) goes along but is more skeptical about the chances for success. Grandma (a scene-stealing Yuh-jung Youn) arrives to help young David (Alan Kim as the couple's son) and Anne (Noel Cho as the family daughter). Chung astutely avoids rising-immigrant cliches. Mom earns money in a chicken processing plant and Dad receives help from a strange Pentecostal neighbor (Will Patton). Youn and Kim play a perfect and often unexpected grandma/grandson duet and Yeun delivers a performance that brims with both frustration and hope. Don't expect a Rocky-style aspirational pep talk. Fair to say, then, that Minari eschews nostalgia and, though set in the 1980s, feels very much alive in the present.

Land

Watching Land, a movie marking the directorial debut of actress Robin Wright, I kept asking myself what might have motivated Wright to pick this story about a woman who withdraws into nature's harsh isolation. Edee (Wright) moves into a remote cabin in Wyoming with little experience in how to negotiate life in the wilderness. We'll eventually learn what prompted Edee's withdrawal from society, but it's not too difficult to guess where her motivation lies. Before heading for the hills, Edee tells her sister (Kim Dickens) that she no longer can bear life around people. Most of the movie involves watching Edee struggle to survive. She must learn to hunt, gather enough wood to keep from freezing, find ways to feed herself and adjust to taking care of bathroom needs in an outhouse. At one particularly low point, Edee is rescued by a native-American woman (Sarah Dawn Pledge) and another wilderness denizen (Demien Birchir). Watching Edee nearly freeze to death gives you the shivers, but Land never seems to gather the kind of thematic momentum that would have justified Edee's battle with unforgiving nature. It doesn't help that Edee has moved into the wild less for purposes of discovery than for what can seem like a punishment. 

The World to Come

In The World to Come, Vanessa Kirby portrays Tallie, a 19th- century farm woman who lives an emotionally Spartan existence with her husband Finney (Christopher Abbott). The movie focuses on a friendship between two women that quickly blossoms into love. Abigail (Katherine Waterston) plays another resident of this unforgiving environment. She's married to Dyer (Casey Affleck). They've lost a child and evidently whatever passed for love in their relationship. The men in director Mona Fastvold's movie are a sour lot. Finney is an unapologetic chauvinist who tries to guide his wife's behavior with Old Testament pronouncements. The morose Dyer seems lost and lugubrious. The women ultimately realize their passion for each other but it doesn't take much foresight to know that things won't proceed toward a sunny conclusion.  An atmosphere of hardship and deprivation serves as a backdrop that heightens the  longing both women experience. A surfeit of narration (mostly from Abigail) tends to substitute for drama and although the performances are fine (notably Waterston's), the movie left me wondering whether Tallie and Abigail were not only being constrained by their husbands but by Fastvold's stark conception of the movie. 

A family fights for survival

It Comes at Night serves up a slice of narrowly focused, end-of-the-world horror -- minus a ton of gore.

Sometimes a movie benefits from a willingness not to be specific about something that, on its face, seems of paramount importance.

Director Trey Edward Shults (Krisha) bravely refuses to define the threat that endangers his characters in It Comes at Night. That bit of restraint determines almost everything else about his movie -- both in terms of its strengths and weaknesses.

All we know is that something unseen and mysterious has caused people to contract a highly contagious disease that inflicts terrible suffering and always proves fatal.

Faced with this mass contagion, Dad (Joel Edgerton), Mom (Carmen Ejogo) and their 17-year-old son Travis (Kelvin Harrison Jr.) have withdrawn to an isolated cabin in a woods. They've sealed their home which features a corridor leading to a red door, the only way in or out.

Set in the midst of what appears to be an end-of-the-world scenario, It Comes at Night makes wise use of its limitations, focusing on how people respond to a situation that's fraught with fear and peril.

The family does its best to protect itself from danger. When family members leave their cabin, gas masks give them an ominous, alien look. Inside, they try to keep their environment as impenetrable as possible.

Early on, the family confronts an intruder (Christopher Abbott). As it turns out, Abbott's character also has a family. He offers to share food in return for shelter and water. After plenty of initial doubts, Edgerton's Paul agrees to join forces with a new family, which also includes a wife (Riley Keough) and a child (Griffin Robert Faulkner). None of them has yet to contract the sickness.

Harrison gives the film's best performance, ably reflecting the disoriented quality that accompanies what seems to have been the family's sudden retreat from everyday life, as well as the gloomy acknowledgment that the future must be bleak.

It doesn't help that Travis also is haunted by what he sees in the movie's opening scene, the mercy killing of the family's grandfather (David Pendelton), an early victim of the unidentified "sickness," a malady that causes those who suffer to breathe unevenly and break out in festering sores.

For all its virtues, It Comes at Night also makes us realize that this kind of concentrated, hot-house approach to filmmaking can hamper the way characters are deepened or a film's themes are enriched.

Still, most of the performances click. Behind a thick beard, Edgerton does pared-down work in his second interracial relationship movie since Loving, and Abbott conveys an understanding of the harrowing difficulties involved in negotiating an impossible situation. The script shortchanges Ejogo, as well as any potential racial issues.

If there's real horror here, it has less to do with jolts and gore than with the realization that under extreme conditions, mistrust can become an essential, if double-edged, survival tool. That's a truly scary idea -- and one that seems to fit the precarious moment in which we currently find ourselves.