REVIEW Benedetta
Paul Verhoeven’s Cannes contender is a riotous, sexy, hugely entertaining satire taking aim at the Church.
The Dutch have a verb, swaffelen, which literally means “to mockingly bang one’s genitals against things, people or religious buildings”. It’s a term that is quite apt to describe Paul Verhoeven’s career in general, given his penchant for provocation and merciless satire, and it’s even more fitting than usual when talking about Benedetta, a film that slaps the Church in the face and then, just for good measure, takes a shameless dump on it as well.
Based on true events, the film is set in Italy, and Benedetta (played by Virginie Efira as an adult) has spent most of her life in a convent, under the supervision of a strict Mother Superior (Charlotte Rampling). She is increasingly tormented by visions of Jesus, and these visions turn into sinful attention towards Bartholomea (Daphne Patakia), a freshly arrived novice who is just as into Benedetta, if not more (intentionally or not, some of the lighting choices occasionally give her a slightly demonic allure).
Erotic shenanigans ensue, and much has been made about the film’s carnal content, including a poster where the lead is partially bare-breasted. Understandable, given Verhoeven’s experience with on-screen sex, but Benedetta is more than just a few horny nuns enjoying each other’s bodies. In fact, even that is part of the film’s larger point, about ridiculing the clergy and its contradictions, specifically the demand that nuns remain chaste while also referring to them as the brides of Jesus.
The film’s tongue-in-cheek approach is laid bare, for lack of a more suitable word, in the very opening sequence, when a man mocking young Benedetta’s devotion to the Virgin Mary ends up with bird droppings on his face. Another key sequence is similarly feces-related, as the movie explores the human body through various lenses: lustful encounters, nightly visits to the toilet and, when the plague inevitably rears its ugly head, death-signaling pustules.
Verhoeven, who has long wanted to make an actual film about Jesus (and not just by proxy like when he did RoboCop), has clearly done his research, recreating a small Italian village with exquisite attention to detail, while also avoiding going too much beyond what is stated in historical records: the real Benedetta was put on trial for her visions, but the director never takes a side in whether she was genuinely blessed or not.
A fairly logical decision, as the entire film and its cast of characters exist in a perpetual gray area: with the exception of the Nuncio, who is explicitly coded as a villain via Lambert Wilson’s delightfully arch performance, no one is strictly good or evil in this scenario.
Benedetta doesn’t overtly feel like a swansong, even though Verhoeven’s health caused the original 2019 release date to be delayed. And yet, if this were to be the Dutch filmmaker’s final directorial outing, it’s a fitting summation of all his obsessions: sex, violence, deception, hypocrisy, holding the powerful accountable. All wrapped in a neat parcel of flesh, flatulence and farce. If he’s going out, he’s going out swaffeling.
Benedetta (France 2021, 127 minutes)
Director: Paul Verhoeven
Writers: David Birke, Paul Verhoeven
Producers: Saïd Ben Saïd, Michel Merkt, Jérôme Seydoux
Music: Anne Dudley
Cast: Virginie Efira, Charlotte Rampling, Daphne Patakia, Lambert Wilson, Hervé Pierre
Distributor: Pathé (France, theatrical)