Unlike most other films, though, Ordet treats this subject with both measured skepticism and reverence, forcing us to distance ourselves, even if only temporarily, from our personal beliefs so that we might reexperience “true faith” (whatever that is) free of cultural baggage and biases.ĭreyer accomplishes this by way of something akin to the Verfremdungseffekt, Bertold Brecht’s “alienating” approach to theater. It’s about the mysteries and contradictions and beauty of belief. On the surface, Ordet is primarily concerned with the Romeo and Juliet-like Anders plot, along with a more dramatic sidebar involving Mikkel’s heavily pregnant wife, Inger (Birgitte Federspiel). The eldest, Mikkel (Emil Hass Christensen), has renounced the religious beliefs of his ancestors, claiming that he no longer has even “faith in faith” the second, Johannes (Preben Lerdorff Rye), has gone mad from too much study and now claims to be Jesus of Nazareth and the youngest, Anders (Cay Kristiansen), has disobeyed his father by pursuing the hand of a young woman whose religion puts her family at odds with the elder Borgen.
Tarkovsky is one of a handful of filmmakers for whom this ideal was no cheap or desanctified metaphor, but literal truth.īased on Kaj Munk’s play of the same name, Ordet tells the story of Morten Borgen (Henrik Malberg), a prosperous farmer whose three sons have each laid a particular burden on their father’s shoulders. The notion of art as a “religious experience” is sometimes bandied about too freely. It is something that can only be glimpsed, through a glass darkly, or a window into heaven. What is the answer to the cynicism of Theophanes, the naturalism of the carnal witch, the brutality of the Tatars? It is not an idea it is nothing that can be expressed in words. Yet where the unbelieving Bergman’s characters are for the most part isolated any source of meaning or grace and find ultimate answers only in death, Tarkovsky the Orthodox convert allows for community, penance, faith, and redemption. With its medieval setting, black and white cinematography, deliberate pacing, and serious, even grim exploration of ultimate issues, Andrei Rublev is like a Russian variation on The Seventh Seal, with sex and violence. Neither biography nor historiography, Andrei Rublev is a collection of loosely related episodes touching on crises of faith, brutality and chaos, and finally the response of the artist and believer. Explore Image here.įor more thoughts about this list by Steven D. Now one of the leading literary magazines published in the English language, it is read all over the world-and it forms the nexus of a warm and lively community.
The Arts & Faith Top 100 Films is sponsored by Image, a literary and arts quarterly founded in 1989 to demonstrate the vitality and diversity of well-made art and writing that engage seriously with the historic faiths of the West in our time. Showcasing top films and directors from around the world and spanning cinematic history from silent movies to contemporary films, this list is the culmination of years of discussion and debate within the Arts & Faith online community. They are representative of “engaging the realities that are eternal,” realities that existed well before and after illustrated on a screen. These films illustrate stories expressive of history and faith, struggle and reconciliation, family dynamic and fellowship, and more. This list of 100 greatest films seeks to capture stories that, bathed in artistry and cinematic talent, mean to experiment with recurring spiritual motifs and questions presented throughout human experience.
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