This film had my riveted to my seat from the beginning to end. You don't often experience that. It felt like a piece of literature and, although British, is passionate (we are not known for showing our feelings!). Overall, a very real piece.
A film that will linger in the mind.
A priest is delivering a sermon, when a tear rolls down his cheek, and splatters onto the text he is using. Odd. Why? He descends from the pulpit into the real world, tearing off his vestments as he does so. The congregation is stunned. We hear from some of them later what a wonderful man he is, how he helps so many through their troubles. What is going on? We are on a journey in that rare thing for England, a road film, following two people who each have little luggage but are burdened by different secrets. They each try to cope with inner demons.
Is the priest having some crisis of conscience? Now he sits in a pub. Two yobs begin to abuse a couple; the man is white, the woman black. The man tries to stand up for himself until faced with a Stanley knife. The priest watches and is sad. What can he do? He leaves. He goes to his car, starts the engine, but does not get in. Inside he goes to the boot, pulls out a baseball bat and returns to the pub. Two yobs then hit the floor. Don't mess with the priest! We sense something big is going on here. This priest is full of feeling, not some cartoon nutter. He is overdosed on compassion. We learn that over and over again. From beginning to end we find ourselves skewered by the tension, almost scared to bat an eyelid in case we miss something.
There are several tiny flashbacks, almost subliminal.
What the hell is going on? We shan't be pleased if we don't find out. We don't want this to fizzle out to nothing. Fear not. This journey will end. The tension will be lanced, and all will be plain. I bet you do not guess. You may even shed a tear.
The priest continues to drive his blood-red car, passes a large van, and hears a girl scream out. He can do nothing, drives on, then, in a moment, thinks better of it, and returns. Out comes the baseball bat and St. George kills the dragon and rescues the princess from the now stationery van.
She is a punk backpacker from Mexico City , who immediately recognises he is a troubled soul. Indeed she calls him the Killer Priest and she is not wrong. He is a troubled man, and she has empathy with him. He is dangerous, but not to her. She feels safe with him. He tells her she is a good person. He saves her. Later she returns the favour.
Under her charm, she too is troubled. She is bright, yet is tormented, something she conceals with humour. She says to him that he does understand her. He cannot understand. Nor, for that matter, can she understand him; he cannot even understand himself. And we understand little until the end! A curious relationship between them is formed. A bond.
Just what the hell is going on?
This had better be worth the trip. It is. Oh boy isn't it just! You get your moneysworth.
Apparently, this film was shot within about two weeks or so. It was produced on a tiny budget yet is well shot, well written, well-acted and gripping. Some films cost millions, and you just can want them to end. This one cost next to nothing, and you wish it went on.
It is thoughtful, dramatic, funny, full of feeling. I am glad I saw it. I shall be doing so again very shortly. There is a lot to take in. They say a work of art is something that moves you. Well, this worked for me.
