jandewitt

Playing a role that few people thought would ever fit her and shadowed by vultures predicting disaster, Liselotte Pulver delivered the surprise coup of many a cinematic season in the icily directed 'La Religieuse'.

Ms. Pulver, the beloved eternal comedienne of the German cinema, has taken on that most daunting role: the lesbian Mother Superior, the ultimate debauched nun in the ultimate 'Why was the Revolution necessary?' tale, Denis Diderot's grand tale 'La Religieuse'. Working against type and expectation under the direction of Jaques Rivette, Ms. Pulver has created the most complex and compelling portrait of her long career, and she has done this in ways that deviate radically from her former screen roles.

Ms. Pulver's Mother Superior, emerges in this adaptation with her monumental weakness intact. But something new and affecting is simmering within the character, a damning glimpse of self-awareness. You get the sense that if her frantic movement stops for a second, she'll deflate into a small and bitter creature.

In films like 'Die Züricher Verlobung' and 'Das Wirtshaus I'm Spessart' Ms. Pulver's persona has always been that of a delectable waif, a vulnerable creature with a heart of gold. Here she was cast against type and rumors went that she did not get along with Mr. Rivette. And then, halfway through the film, there she was, and for the first time in her long career she didn't look remotely like an ingénue.

Ms. Pulver's portrait is so intimate and persuasive that you aren't allowed to step back and think, 'What a monster she is.' That's because, thanks to this actress's willingness to turn herself and her character inside out, you've been inside her mind. What a sad and fascinating place it is.

This film brought out the barracuda in most of the major critics. And did the public take one bit of notion? It did and flocked elsewhere.

But I still remember the overall impact this forgotten little gem had on me when I watched it some 14 odd years ago in one of these little arthouse cinemas that had all but vanished as multiplexes became the latest rage. 'Breathtaking' was the word for it. This reaction was caused by the picture's extraordinary visual beauty: cinematography as an art form has never been more ravishingly demonstrated as in the composition of light, shade and colour. I remember a series of scenes so beautiful I wanted to stop the moving pictures occasionally and just be a picture.

But like other visual masterpieces, its triumph did not extend to the screenplay and dialogues that were often boring, sometimes even downright foolish.