Madre Juana de los Ángeles

Released a decade earlier than Ken Russell's The Devils, yet functioning as a spiritual successor of sorts, Jerzy Kawalerowicz's Mother Joan of the Angels also bases its story around the 17th century Loudun possessions to interesting effect, especially when taking into consideration the vast stylistic differences that define each film.

Where Russell exposed the ugliness of this tale of unholy devotion through farce, allowing his characters to writhe around in all the filth and hypocrisy that defined the period, Kawalerowicz created a world where the peasants, nuns, and clergymens' mindsets were treated as frankly as it may have been for those residing in it, unaware of any other reality besides their own. It was documentation not through historical hindsight but by retracing the footsteps that led to its foregone conclusion. Russell's maximalism replaced with Kawalerowicz's minimalism. Vibrant colors traded in for textural black and white. Psychosexual phantasmagoria replaced by emanations of a slowly corruptive force.

If a directors' execution could be grouped by an imaginary school of thought, these two men may as well be rivaling factions. Rusell's proximity to Alejandro Jodorowsky in stylistic technique equals the vastness that may group Kawalerowicz to Frantisek Vlacil when tackling the same subject matter. And yet, both films are masterfully done despite their radical departures in approach.

With Mother Joan of the Angels, Kawalerowicz showcases the temptation, elation, and destructive power that blind devotion could manifest. A thin margin separating spiritual ecstasy from cardinal desire. A nudge made in either direction holding the power to change a pillar of sanctity into one accused of sacrilege. The same kind of thin margin that separates the physical space between a nun and priest, bound by an unspoken unison. It's either sainthood or sinner. Any system defined by that sort of dogmatic rule is a house of cards waiting to topple.

An honest meditation on faith and its inescapable fight with the world that surrounds it, Kawalerowicz's Mother Joan of the Angels has cult-classic status written all over it. All it's missing is its faithful congregation.

Religion is control on what makes us human and in touch with nature. Is control on our bodies and to deny it what he craves. At least that's what the extreme one want to accomplish.

To most blatant theatrical show was the exorcism in the church where all the nuns put on the show in front of the clergymen...all for the purpose of indoctrinate the live spectators but also the ones in the movie theaters. This is what religion is. The fight between good and evil sprinkled with some fear of death and oblivion.

But in this film it's all about desire and sexuality. About man and woman and the forever war between them. All because the need to repress your most true desires.

Good thing I moved on to this fantastic part of humanity and have chosen the scientific method. I feel it's more part of myself than divinity.

This has nothing to do with the reality of the so called devils of Loudun and the case of the local vicar Urbain Grandier and his conflict with Cardinal Richelieu, eventually leading to his burning at the stake. This is an entirely Polish paraphrase on the phenomenon set somewhere in the wilderness in an apocalyptic landscape of desolation with no trees, no music except monastic monodies, sterile surroundings and a bleak environment, like changing the whole situation into some dark medieval times. Instead, this is a thoroughly stylistic film using the obsession of the nuns for ballet-like performances of striking cinematography and efficient beauty, while there is no actual story here. A young priest comes to the convent of the nuns to do something about their obsessions, which he ultimately fails in, as he himself becomes infatuated with the beautiful abbess mother Joan, who dominates the entire film. A previous priest has been burnt at the stake for being alleged to have seduced the nuns and caused their obsession, here is the one parallel to the case of Urbain Grandier, but all the rest is Polish conjecture. The film is worth seeing for its stylistic treats, but there has never been made any correct or convincing film of what really happened at Loudun. The only one who has tried to investigate the case thoroughly, as far as I know, was Aldous Huxley.

A slow-burn horror for the imagination, atmospheric and superbly acted, the players get more expression from their eyes than I've seen in any film since the silent days. Yet the voices of the 'devils' as they speak through Mother Joanna are all scarily differentiated. A great setting, empty and expressionist, which I believe was a rubbish tip or an old quarry near Lodz. The convent set was, like Black Narcissus, entirely a studio construction. I can't remember the last time I saw such crisp pellucid black and white photography. In plot terms, this is a sequel to Ken Russell's The Devils, near the beginning we see the stake where Grandier (his name changed to something a bit more Polish-sounding) had been burnt. There are no more burnings in this film, but the shadow of the stake overhangs the action, underlining that even when a story ends, the characters go on. As they will go on in your mind after you've watched this film. You'll talk about it - What will happen to them next?

The subject of this film is a fascinating one and it has been portrayed in several media with great eloquence. I know nothing at all about the director of this film except that he is apparently not an experienced director at all. He might be a writer or theologian or philosopher but his field of expertise does not extend to direction. The film is poorly paced, verbose and it drags on for at least thirty minutes in excess. It repeats itself almost literally near the end to make a rather feeble point that it actually does have structure with apologies, I suppose, for the talk fest for the past two hours plus.. Frankly,I can't find anything to admire in it.

Curtis Stotlar