On Silence, the movie

It has been several years since I read Shusako Endo's book, but I was very excited to see Martin Scorsese's film adaptation of Silence.  Last night we coughed up the money to go to a real theater instead of waiting for the DVD, like usual. (I don't think the movie will come to the base theater, where the kids see a lot of movies for free. I usually stay at home with the baby during these outings.)

According to my albeit faulty memory, the movie seems to be very faithful to the book. It is very long and very slow and somewhat dark. The book seemed to move at a faster pace to me, but perhaps not.

The story, for those who haven't read reviews, is of two young Jesuits who go to seek their teacher and role model who is rumored to have apostatized under pressure from Japanese rulers who are torturing Christians and outlawing foreigners and their influence in 16th -17th century, at the height of missionary zeal. Francis Xavier had baptized thousands. Now thousands have been martyred.

The two, Rodrigues played by Andrew Garfield from Hacksaw Ridge, and Garupe, Adam Driver better known as Kylo Ren from Star Wars, cannot believe their favorite priest. Fr. Ferreira, has apostatized (played by Liam Neeson). They risk their own lives to sneak into the country after they hire a drunk Japanese man named Kichijiro to lead them. He is almost incapacitated when they first meet him, and he claims not to be a Christian, but he leads them to a Christian community in Japan. The leaders of this community hide the priests and bring Christians to them. They tell that Kichijiro is a Christian who apostatized. Eventually he pleads for confession.  They visit another community and finally are discovered. Their community of believers is threatened and the three leaders are killed by being crucified on the shore line and drowned by the tide. The creativity of the means of torture surprised me when I read the book.

The priests are separated and individually tortured. We see Garupe die trying to save some Christians. He had been told that Rodrigues apostatized.  Rodrigues is forced to watch Japanese Christians being tortured, and he admires them for their faith while praying for strength. He again gives Kichijiro absolution after he betrays Christ again.

Finally, the Japanese captors confront Rodrigues with his mentor, who explains his loss of faith and apostasy. Ferreira has been mentally and physically beaten and tells himself that the faith of the Japanese Christians is a faith in a false god.  Rodriques is broken as much by this encounter as he has been by the physical and mental torture.  As he listens to the groans of five more Christians being suspended head down into cesspits, he finally agrees to renounce his faith. During all this time, God has kept silent. Just as Rodrigues is about to step on an icon of Christ in an act of apostasy, he hears the voice of Christ encouraging him to step. This is what I came for, Christ seems to say - to be reviled and beaten.

In denying his faith Rodrigues is finally humbled, finally hears Christ. He becomes like the Christian he despised, Kichijiro.  An apostate and no hero for the faith. He cannot die in glory.  Instead he spends the rest of his life in Japan. Given a wife. Forced to identify any Christian symbols on imported goods.  He is completely broken.

And yet, this is his triumph. This suffering is what he needs to take away his pride and self-righteousness.  Is he Christlike in his littleness? Perhaps not. But he knows he is in need of salvation. He is humbled by his failure to be strong, to withstand torture and despair.

The one thing the movie does that I don't remember from the book, which I thought ended more ambiguously, is that it shows his body being burned in a Buddhist ceremony. His wife has placed in his casket a tiny crucifix, placed between his hands.  The film thus confirms that he did not let go of his desire for Christ, even though he was silent for all those years.

The movie leaves the audience silent as well.  I have some reservations about how this film might be received. I wish it success, but also suspect some viewers have a different view of the ending. Perhaps it is a story of Rodrigues's weakness and the inability of Christianity to sustain believers confronted by the cruelty encountered in the world, especially when it is accompanied by such beauty as exists in Japan. And in a culture hypersensitive to racial insensitivity, the archaic references to the Japanese by the Portuguese Jesuits may turn hearts to stone. And the movie as a movie has some weaknesses. The accents of Driver and Garfield sound forced at the beginning.  The cinematography doesn't capture the beauty of Japan, but has a narrow focus on the huts and foggy coasts where the Christians hide.  The pacing, as I mentioned, is slow. It is a thoughtful movie, perhaps even prayerful. As a Christian viewer, you ache for the persecuted Christians; you hope for them to be strong, to not recant, but like Rodrigues, you don't want them to suffer for their fidelity.

The movie also holds up a mirror. Would I be so faithful? Stepping on an image seems like an easy thing to do if it meant that my life and those of my family and friends would be spared. The image is not God. But the incarnational aspect of our faith accepts that images and devotionals can be sacramentals, vehicles of grace, so perhaps they can also be vehicles of betrayal, damnation. Is the voice that speaks at last really the voice of God or what Rodrigues hopes to hear?  The movie seems to suggest it is Christ, and that Christ knows our innermost hearts and accepts His rejection.  How can the priest believe he is more faithful than even Peter who denies Christ in the flesh? God knows our hearts, knows if we were to deny our faith in order to save our lives and our families. And He also must know when we are too weak to be asked to be strong - like Peter, like Kichijiro.  Kichijiro knows he is weak, a sinner, a bad Christian. Why does he keep coming back to the priests? Why does Rodrigues keep the little missionary cross, the tiny reminder of his failure to love the God he turned his back on? Because it is our failures that lead us to the Cross. . .