Thérèse

As a lover of saints and cinema, I seek out films with true depictions of holy personages. This one takes the cake. Cavalier himself called it a documentary. The auspiciousness of saint Theresé is channeled and caught in every artistic detail for 90+ minutes of immortal artwork.

I'm a believer, but that one is really too much for me. "Thérèse" might be the most boring film ever made. One might say that subject is not precisely a cheerful one, and that it's all interiority, but Cavalier plays it too austere, mistaking Ste Thérèse for Jansenius. There must be a way to show faith on the screen other than Hollywood or Robert Bresson.

I recall this being shown one Friday afternoon while in secondary school (a Catholic college no less); rewatching THERESE now, I can't fathom what my reaction might have been at the time – since it is far more stark (to the point where there are barely any sets!) than the Vittorio Cottafavi TV-film about the same subject which preceded the viewing. Incidentally, while the latter was interesting in depicting the inquiry into the Carmelite nun's canonization (without her ever appearing on-screen), this purports to present her actual life – but does it in a such a fragmentary, low-key manner (evoking memories of the work of one of my favorite auteurs, Robert Bresson) as to shed no more light on her professed saintliness: in this respect, the two films are in perfect agreement…while rendering the version under review somewhat pointless! Mind you, artistically, THERESE is undeniably sound – if drawing unwarranted attention to itself (especially in the obscure insistence on detail which is sometimes decidedly revolting!) – with Catherine Mouchet's central performance proving similarly compelling. Anyway, the film caught the critics' attention at the time – winning a great many Cesar awards (France's equivalent to the Oscar) and, as I intimated in my introduction, made the rounds internationally in an English-dubbed version (in spite of its limited commercial appeal).

The transparent simplicity of this film seems to match the spirituality and sanctity of St. Theresa, who said that after her death she wished to be referred to as "Little Therese." Her spirituality was unique in that Little Therese sought to please God by accepting whatever came her way. She did not engage in the rigors of physical asceticism and penance. Acceptance of the will of God and humility are the hallmarks of her spiritual system. Information about her life was taken from her note book, written in pencil. The Mother superior, obviously an insightful woman, told her to write about herself. This is an excellent film that depicts the spirituality of Little Therese and also of the other Carmelite nuns who lived with her. There are many details depicted about her illness and personal habits. Curiously, the actress who portrays Saint Therese bears a remarkable resemblance to her. Little Therese died at the age of 24. Pope John Paul II declared Little Therese a Doctor of the Catholic Church, a title given only rarely to individual saints who contributed in some way to spirituality or learning.

One of the reviewers of this film said that it was perhaps the most boring ever made. I might agree with him if not for the fact that each scene is set up so perfectly, exactingly austere yet very rich. The palette the director chooses for his canvass are soft browns, blacks, muted whites. Certain scenes delight with their unexpectedness- the three fish that are given to Therese by her invalid father, the gift of the wooden Christchild at Christmas, and the flagellation scene.

You might say "Therese" is a religious film, but then one could also make the argument that this film displays an asceticm both neurotic and self-absorbed. It is certainly not the standard by which we judge "spirituality" these days; however for centuries this is the way a good part of Christendom sought the divine.

This film is certainly anything but boring. It is unusual, enlightening and a small delight to the senses in much the manner of an Emily Dickinson poem.