In 1996, a group of French Cistercian monks residing in Tibhirine, Algeria were kidnapped and then later killed, supposedly when negotiations broke down between the French government and the terrorist group. Based on factual events Xavier Beauvois‘ Of Gods & Men (Des hommes et des dieux) examines the decision by the monks to remain in the war-torn country, even after being threatened by Islamic extremists.
Not getting overly involved in the politics of the surrounding war, the film focuses on the monks, integrating their interactions with the villagers, the terrorist groups, and the army. With portions of time dedicated to the rituals and routines of the monks in this remote commune, the question of why these ageing men choose to live this way and remain in harm’s way haunts not only the viewer, but the men themselves. Though out the film, the men discuss and take votes as to whether or not they should return home to France, as they search within themselves for their decisions.
Storytelling takes an interesting twist when the ending is known, as is the case for stories based on historic fact. If one knows the monks are going to die, does the film lose that sense of tension and suspense? In the case of this film, the answer is no, as the viewer finds themselves not wondering if they will die, but rather when. Every day the monks are faced with their own mortality, as threats loom around the monastery in various forms.
Beauvois uses music in his films sparingly, not wanting to be overly suggestive of how the viewer should react or feel towards a scene. There is no soundtrack to our everyday lives, so why should it be needed in film? As a result, the only music in this film is diegtic, often taking the form of songs and chants sung by the monks. This leads to a very powerful and moving scene towards the end, as one monk plays a cassette tape of Tchaikovsky’s Swan Lake for the others to listen to. The scene interweaves a series of pans and close-ups of each of the men, as we watch their eyes fill with tears, as if they know as well as we do how close their end truly is. In French film credits, the director’s title is metteur en scène, “placer on scene.” In this scene, it feels as if Beauvois has set his own la Cène, or “Last Supper.”
The cast, led by Lambert Wilson (The Matrix Reloaded, Catwoman), turns out strong performances that keep the audience captive of their inner struggles. It is a beautiful story of life and faith, and the belief that good ultimately will prevail, even if it is after death.
7.5 out of 10