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Benedetta Explicitly Scrutinizes Faith, Sex, and the Corrupting Power of the Church


Subtlety is not the friend of Paul Verhoeven -and this can be both a weakness and a strength in his films. It is the latter in RoboCop and Starship Troopers, the former in The Hollow Man and Showgirls (though try telling that to its’ cult fans), and likely a bit of both in his early Dutch films, which I haven’t seen but know on reputation. He is extremely candid in what he means to communicate, outrageous and extreme. And it’s why I and many film fans were curious (perhaps morbidly) about Benedetta, which promised to be Verhoeven’s take on that classical tale of nuns in a convent having a lesbian sexual awakening. It’s his first film to tread in the erotic genre since that infamous Showgirls, and so some may have been expecting it to have a similar sense of wild plotting and bewildering sexuality. They will be disappointed though. Verhoeven has a lot to say with Benedetta, and in saying it in his unfiltered Verhoeven way, it might be one of the most flagrantly sacrilegious movies I’ve ever seen -and the gay nuns are just a small part of that.
Benedetta is primarily about the inherent corruption of the Catholic church and Catholic dogma, how it is indoctrinated and upheld, and how it is used to control people and manifest individual will. The ways in which an environment of strict religiosity can warp ones’ psyche is of especial interest to Verhoeven, who opens his story on the already devout, pious young Benedetta Carlini, a girl about to be sold to the convent at Pescia due to her parents’ financial woes, believing herself to have some divine connection to the Virgin Mary after a prayer seemingly results in the humiliation of a soldier intimidating her family. It sets her on a path of deep conviction in her personal experience with her faith, which among other things, sees her take her vocational status as a ‘Bride of Christ’ literally. This perception manifests for the adult Benedetta (Virginie Efira), whose sexual expression has of course been heavily restricted and suppressed, in a series of visions of Christ that are very erotic in nature.
There’s an evolution in the imagery of these phantasms too, beginning as juvenile fantasies of the figure of Jesus charming her, quoting scripture to impress her, or just rescuing her from enemies, whom he dispatches with violently. Eventually though, they become far more openly sexual in connotation, and yet Benedetta remains assured of their validity -in part because she was raised with a canon of similar occurrences pronounced as miracles. But also because she lacks a way of processing her confused sexuality. After all, when she entered the convent one of the first things she was taught was “your worst enemy is your body –best not to feel at home in it.”
That is of course if you read the film from the point of view of rationality -which may or may not be Verhoeven’s preference. Certainly, he never makes clear how much these spiritual experiences of Benedetta’s are meant to be authentically divine. When she speaks in a bold, possessed voice or shows the sign of stigmata, Verhoeven certainly casts enough doubt that these are true religious phenomena, but there’s an air of magical realism to much of the film, a tone that would suggest at least some of this is meant to be taken seriously. And obviously a fair few coincidences that would raise an eyebrow. How did that Virgin Mary statue just happen to fall as Benedetta was praying there?
Yet judging the reality of these apparent miracles may not be the point -it’s how Benedetta and those around her respond to them. This movie does not fail to consider the politics of the church and of institutions within it. The convent is extremely hierarchical, authority resting with Charlotte Rampling’s Abbess, who is envious and threatened by the anomalies of Benedetta and her incensed reverence -which gives her power in that insular environment. Politicking is how people get ahead in this world, and it adds to the suspicion of Benedetta’s own aims. Meanwhile, the convents’ real causes are being ignored. When Bartolomea (Daphne Patakia) comes to the convent seeking refuge from a violent father, the Abbess specifically insists their space of faith is not a place of charity. It is a system based more in its’ own internal traditions than anything Biblical, as we see most notably where the Nuncio (Lambert Wilson) is concerned –a figure who understands the mechanisms of this world and the purposes they serve him, but is aware of their futility.
He is the chief figure ultimately elected to preside over charges of sapphism towards Benedetta and Bartolomea. Unlike so many other movies that have pulled the lesbian nuns card, Benedetta is based on a true story, and for that Verhoeven treats the relationship with sincerity. There’s solid chemistry between Efira and Patakia, their unusual attraction is developed in compelling, vivid ways. For instance, Benedetta masochistically has Bartolomea burn her hand at one point and that’s not the end for them –in fact it is the beginning. Eventually there’s romance there, but the film makes no qualms about the fact the attraction is entirely lust-driven for a good while. And Verhoeven is certainly indebted to nunsploitation in how he composes the seduction and sex scenes, which are certainly steamy; but he does so in an artful manner that makes use of the tools at his disposal -no pun intended. Such scenes look and feel really good, the actresses’ bodies notwithstanding.
Verhoeven is really at the peak of his craft here as far as visuals are concerned -the film looks beautiful whether in reality or fantasy. The art direction, cinematography, and lighting choices create some exquisite frames: a service basking in the light of a high window, a nude Benedetta approaching Christ on the cross in front of a moonlit Jerusalem, Sister Christina (Louise Chevilotte) on a precipice against a red sky that could be an image out of Black Narcissus. Even in the darkness of the abbey the visual language is rich. The performances compliment such high marks: Efira is radiant in every phase of her characters’ paramount journey, playing her undue confidence and power with a frightful assuredness –the system and dogma clearly corrupting her more the deeper she ingrains herself within it. And yet we feel for the way she has been conditioned. Rampling and Wilson are likewise terrific, playing these characters with fascinating nuance; and Patakia is a great discovery –dwarfed somewhat by Efira’s performance, but still exceptional.
Permeating throughout the movie and of particular significance in the last act is the presence of the Black Death, which only exacerbates the paranoia and fanaticism of the people of Pescia around Benedetta. Benedetta is yet another movie shot before the pandemic (back in 2018 in fact) to come out during and feel shockingly portentous. The ways in which desperation brought about by plague is connected to religious sanctimoniousness and control is extremely shrewd. Only Benedetta can protect Pescia from the scourge, and in turn she has the peoples’ complete faith and obedience. Benedetta may be blunt in its’ themes as much as it is pointedly provocative in its’ content, but it comes at these with a necessary fire. Its’ challenge to the Catholic apparatus, regimented and suppressive as it remains, is empathetic and considerate towards the individuals in its’ grip. It is a sharp and thoughtful critique, a good erotic drama, a movie designed to stir the comforts of the devoutly religious who maintain reverence for that antiquated orthodoxy. And it is right to do so.

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