Calvary is a movie about difficult people living difficult lives. It's also about good people and bad people and how that distinction doesn't really exist. It starts out with an intriguing premise and some fun characters. It ends with a crush of emotion. It's sometimes funny, but mostly it's very dark. It's hard to stop thinking about after you've watched it. It's the second feature film John Michael McDonagh has directed and the third he's written. It's in theaters now and it's most definitely worth seeing.
Set in rural Ireland, the film begins when a priest named Father James (Brendan Gleeson) is told in confession by an anonymous man that he will be murdered one week from Sunday. The man tells the priest that he was viciously abused for many years by a since-deceased man of the cloth and that he aims to make a public statement by killing the innocent Father James. Over the next hundred minutes or so, we follow the marked priest in what could potentially be his final days as he goes about his typical clerical duties amongst the members of his congregation, any of whom could be his assailant. Through Father James' eyes, we're introduced to many of his flock in what amounts to a veritable laundry list of deadly sins: a wealth-crazed banker; an atheist physician; a jailed serial killer; an apathetic fellow priest; a prostitute and his client; a wifebeater, his adulteress wife and her lover. Worst of all, none of these people seem to feel any remorse for their crimes (although the banker does admit to a "modicum" of guilt for Ireland's recent financial crisis). On top of it all, Father James' daughter—who's been estranged since her mother's death and her father's holy vocation— has returned home following a post-breakup suicide attempt. As the week marches on and bloody Sunday gets closer and closer, Father James must handle the problems in his parish, try to mend his relationship with his daughter, and decide what to do about his tormentor when the time finally arrives.
This all may sound unmercifully grim, but whenever the film begins to feel anchored down by all its melancholy the story untethers itself through witty writing, Gleeson's always-charming deadpan dark humor, an ethereal symphonic soundtrack, and startlingly beautiful panoramic shots of the washed-out Irish coastline. Gleeson's also supported by a stellar ensemble including the increasingly serious Chris O'Dowd, a powerful Kelly Reilly, and the delightfully sinister Aidan Gillen, whose nihilist doctor is something akin to Game of Thrones' Lord Baelish with a medical degree. Without such a talented cast it's unlikely the script's heavy material could have been so delicately portrayed as it is in its current version.
Apart from its stunning cinematography and superb acting, there is also beauty in Calvary's story and message. To classify it as a whodunit is a misnomer, nor is it a "religious" movie: this is a film about living and dying that is grounded in humanism. Without a doubt, the creative, murder-driven plot gives the narrative a solid framework, but the impending confrontation is always on the backburner. Within the first five minutes we know that the movie starts in a church and will end on a beach, but McDonagh's focus is on exposing the complexities and nuance of being a flawed person in a tough world. No one—not even a priest—is virtuous all the time, and people sometimes do bad things for what might be perfectly justifiable reasons, if we only took the time to learn about them.
What truly sets Calvary apart is how it skillfully builds audience empathy for its characters through very brief interactions. And the fact that most of these people are deplorable human beings compounds the film's impressive achievement. For example, McDonagh actually makes us pity the eventually penitent banker whose wife and kids ran off on him. In a more extreme instance, we can't help but wonder along with a deranged murderous cannibal who asks Father James why God made him the way he is. McDonagh pinpoints the underlying emotional dynamics that fuel bad decisions, many of which we all can relate to at least at one point in our lives: feeling detached from other people, being frustrated with the opposite sex, becoming disillusioned with life, refusing to let go of past resentment, etc. It's a complex view of the world that grays the lines between being evil and doing evil things as a result of forces out of one's control.
But for all the bad on display, McDonagh also shows us lots of good: an elderly writer gracefully embracing his mortality, Father James' reconciliation with his daughter, and the unshakeable fortitude of people who truly have faith in something. In an unexpectedly emotional encounter with a French woman who just lost her husband in a car accident, Father James counsels the woman against renouncing God because of her unfair ordeal. She explains to him that there's nothing unfair about losing her husband because of the many years of happiness she shared with him; what's unfair is that there are people in the world who never get to experience that kind of love. It's one of a handful of demonstrably powerful scenes in the film that splice a much-needed tenor of hope into the otherwise dismal atmosphere.
Calvary is a well-made, entertaining and introspective piece of art. At times dense and hopelessly somber, it's a movie with a moral argument and biblical overtones that accomplishes what it set out to do. Like last year's Prisoners, Calvary more than anything ponders the idea of forgiveness, particularly of "those that trespass against us." The final minutes of the film are a fitting manifestation of this principle that leaves the audience with a lot to think about.
Set in rural Ireland, the film begins when a priest named Father James (Brendan Gleeson) is told in confession by an anonymous man that he will be murdered one week from Sunday. The man tells the priest that he was viciously abused for many years by a since-deceased man of the cloth and that he aims to make a public statement by killing the innocent Father James. Over the next hundred minutes or so, we follow the marked priest in what could potentially be his final days as he goes about his typical clerical duties amongst the members of his congregation, any of whom could be his assailant. Through Father James' eyes, we're introduced to many of his flock in what amounts to a veritable laundry list of deadly sins: a wealth-crazed banker; an atheist physician; a jailed serial killer; an apathetic fellow priest; a prostitute and his client; a wifebeater, his adulteress wife and her lover. Worst of all, none of these people seem to feel any remorse for their crimes (although the banker does admit to a "modicum" of guilt for Ireland's recent financial crisis). On top of it all, Father James' daughter—who's been estranged since her mother's death and her father's holy vocation— has returned home following a post-breakup suicide attempt. As the week marches on and bloody Sunday gets closer and closer, Father James must handle the problems in his parish, try to mend his relationship with his daughter, and decide what to do about his tormentor when the time finally arrives.
This all may sound unmercifully grim, but whenever the film begins to feel anchored down by all its melancholy the story untethers itself through witty writing, Gleeson's always-charming deadpan dark humor, an ethereal symphonic soundtrack, and startlingly beautiful panoramic shots of the washed-out Irish coastline. Gleeson's also supported by a stellar ensemble including the increasingly serious Chris O'Dowd, a powerful Kelly Reilly, and the delightfully sinister Aidan Gillen, whose nihilist doctor is something akin to Game of Thrones' Lord Baelish with a medical degree. Without such a talented cast it's unlikely the script's heavy material could have been so delicately portrayed as it is in its current version.
Apart from its stunning cinematography and superb acting, there is also beauty in Calvary's story and message. To classify it as a whodunit is a misnomer, nor is it a "religious" movie: this is a film about living and dying that is grounded in humanism. Without a doubt, the creative, murder-driven plot gives the narrative a solid framework, but the impending confrontation is always on the backburner. Within the first five minutes we know that the movie starts in a church and will end on a beach, but McDonagh's focus is on exposing the complexities and nuance of being a flawed person in a tough world. No one—not even a priest—is virtuous all the time, and people sometimes do bad things for what might be perfectly justifiable reasons, if we only took the time to learn about them.
What truly sets Calvary apart is how it skillfully builds audience empathy for its characters through very brief interactions. And the fact that most of these people are deplorable human beings compounds the film's impressive achievement. For example, McDonagh actually makes us pity the eventually penitent banker whose wife and kids ran off on him. In a more extreme instance, we can't help but wonder along with a deranged murderous cannibal who asks Father James why God made him the way he is. McDonagh pinpoints the underlying emotional dynamics that fuel bad decisions, many of which we all can relate to at least at one point in our lives: feeling detached from other people, being frustrated with the opposite sex, becoming disillusioned with life, refusing to let go of past resentment, etc. It's a complex view of the world that grays the lines between being evil and doing evil things as a result of forces out of one's control.
But for all the bad on display, McDonagh also shows us lots of good: an elderly writer gracefully embracing his mortality, Father James' reconciliation with his daughter, and the unshakeable fortitude of people who truly have faith in something. In an unexpectedly emotional encounter with a French woman who just lost her husband in a car accident, Father James counsels the woman against renouncing God because of her unfair ordeal. She explains to him that there's nothing unfair about losing her husband because of the many years of happiness she shared with him; what's unfair is that there are people in the world who never get to experience that kind of love. It's one of a handful of demonstrably powerful scenes in the film that splice a much-needed tenor of hope into the otherwise dismal atmosphere.
Calvary is a well-made, entertaining and introspective piece of art. At times dense and hopelessly somber, it's a movie with a moral argument and biblical overtones that accomplishes what it set out to do. Like last year's Prisoners, Calvary more than anything ponders the idea of forgiveness, particularly of "those that trespass against us." The final minutes of the film are a fitting manifestation of this principle that leaves the audience with a lot to think about.