Complaints from the countryside

What is it about films with religious overtones that makes them feel so exhausting? Last year, Terrence Malick inflicted upon the world his visually spectacular—and in every other way completely insufferable—The Tree of Life, which some people considered a masterpiece and I consider the cinematic equivalent of waterboarding.

COURTESY OF svenska filminstitutet (sfi)

Sacrifice, shmacrifice: Audrei Tarkovsky’s 1986 religious-message film, The Sacrifice, is playing on campus this week.

When watching Andrei Tarkovsky’s 1986 film The Sacrifice—the story of a philosophical older man who lives in the country with his family and makes a deal with God to prevent the end of the world—you may be reminded of The Tree of Life more than once.

It turns out Tarkovsky is widely considered Malick’s predecessor in both style and theme. Tarkovsky cornered the market on the “lack of a linear narrative combined with some lovely visuals and a lot of pretentious pontificating about the spiritual void of man” model back in the ’80s.

The Sacrifice was the director’s final film, which he made shortly before he died. Though Tarkovsky was Russian, the film is in Swedish, starring Erland Josephson as Alexander, an aging critic and one-time actor who seems to be an expert in theater, literature and philosophy.

You know this because he talks about it a lot, to his 6-year-old mute son, known as Little Man, and his Nietzsche-loving friend, Otto (Allan Edwall), who works at the post office and delivers a birthday card to Alexander at the start of the film.

The beautiful countryside home owned by Alexander and his wife, Adelaide (Susan Fleetwood), is a fixture of the story. These are clearly aristocratic people, which makes Alexander’s speech to Little Man about how mankind has given up spirituality in exchange for materialism more than a little ironic, especially considering Alexander is portrayed as nonreligious in the beginning of the movie.

Whether this lack of self-awareness belongs to the character or the director is something you’d have to ask somebody more well-versed in pretentious-message movies than I.

Alexander complains that all people do is talk, rather than ever taking action, which is unintentionally hilarious in a movie full of six-to-eight-minute takes with nothing but philosophical conversations.

The house is full of thinly drawn and inconsequential supporting characters, like Alexander and Adelaide’s teenage daughter, Little Man’s nursemaid and a local doctor named Victor (Sven Wollter). There’s also the family’s maid, Maria (Guorun S. Gisladottir), who is supposedly a little weird and possibly a witch.

The inevitable call to action finally comes when the TV announces the start of World War III to the sound of jets outside. Watching these sheltered rich people deal with the idea that they might soon die in a nuclear apocalypse is the only time things really get interesting.

And what does Alexander do? He turns to God, vowing to sacrifice his material possessions and his family if only the war can be stopped. In the English subtitles, at least, he literally uses “Thee” and “Thou” to talk to God—it’s just that kind of movie. He also takes Otto’s advice to sleep with Maria so she can use her witch powers to stop the war.

How does this make sense? It doesn’t, but there’s something great in the idea that a rich old man deludes himself into thinking sleeping with the maid will save the world. Unfortunately, I don’t think this is the plot point I want it to be.

But the next morning, it’s as if the TV reports never happened. Did Alexander dream it? Is he going insane? Who knows.

The details might be a little more concrete than in a Malick film, but that doesn’t mean you’re going to engage with the characters or care about anything that happens. That’s for films that aren’t important art, you know.

The visuals of The Sacrifice are indeed stunning, and it’s interesting how much of the film is done in long tracking shots, like you’re looking at a painting, which goes well with the enormously long takes. Undoubtedly, this film has a lot of fans who believe it is a masterpiece and are enthusiastic about Tarkovsky’s work in general.

But these kinds of movies are not for me. I’m definitely not a religious person, though I wouldn’t call myself a hardcore atheist, and yet there’s something about using a film to talk about God that offends me.

Belief in God doesn’t offend me—stifling and narcissistic film making does. As Samuel Goldwyn once said, “If you have a message, send a telegram.”