Faith is a curious thing.
To believe in something, a higher power, a particular institution, whatever it may be, requires a certain acceptance even if the available evidence appears doubtful or uncertain. This has never been more evident than what has happened over the past decade. As the world is consumed by warring devotees of love and hate, pragmatism and impulse, faith is something many are clinging to more than ever.
Benedetta, the 2021 historical drama from famed provocateur Paul Verhoeven (Elle, Basic Instinct, RoboCop), captures the inherent thorny nature of faith…. but not necessarily in the way one may expect. After a comeback with Elle, his acclaimed blackly comic phycological thriller, which landed Isabelle Huppert a long-overdue Oscar nomination (she should have won), Verhoeven chose to adapt Judith C. Brown’s Immodest Acts: The Life of a Lesbian Nun in Renaissance Italy, about Benedetta Carlini, an Italian Catholic nun and self-proclaimed mystic. Much like Elle, Benedetta is a character study coupled with a few more genres (in this case, nunsploitation and period piece). If Elle was a more acidic confection, Benedetta is like a good-natured throwback to Verhoeven’s sleazier crowd-pleasing instincts (always a welcome sight).
The film opens with young Benedetta (Elena Plonka), accompanied with her family, on her way to a convent in 17th century Italy. Along the way, they are accosted by a group of robbers; young Benedetta tells them she is blessed by a higher power and seemingly gets a bird to fly overhead and shit on one of them. Thus begins a recurring theme with Benedetta and her “special gift”: is she truly blessed or a charlatan who seizes every opportunity she can? Upon arriving at the convent, managed by the no-nonsense Abbess Felicita (played with trademark cool precision by Charlotte Rampling), Verhoeven immediately makes clear that the church is very much a business. Benedetta’s parents are expected to make payments to ensure their daughter has a secure spot in a House of God. As Abbess Felicita stresses, “we are not a charity.” In lesser hands, such a declaration would be a clunker, a smug “oh, look at how terrible religion is!” With Verhoeven’s light and irreverent touch, it’s a droll portrait at the realities of Renaissance-era Italy, far removed from the beautiful paintings that adorn many an art museum.
18 years later, Benedetta (now played by Virginie Efira), starts having sexy visions of Jesus (done in a cheeky homage to the infamous Ken Russell film, The Devils). Around the same time, a new arrival, Bartolomea (Daphné Patakia) shows up at the convent, seeking to escape her monstrously abusive father. The Abbess is unsympathetic to the young woman’s state and stresses that without any money there isn’t a space available. Benedetta convinces her parents to financially support Bartolomea and a reluctant Abbess lets in her in, but notes Benedetta is responsible for helping the new arrival acclimate to her surroundings. Bartolomea is cheerfully crude, semi-feral, but with an enormous heart and a casual ease in showing appreciation through more… unorthodox methods. An appreciative and passionate kiss sets off a chain of delightfully sordid events.
Since what lies ahead is so juicy and fun, for the enjoyment of potential future viewers, I must glide ahead. Let’s just say if sexy Jesus, possibly faked stigmata, Exorcist-style demonic voices, church backstabbing and intrigue, and a religious figure carved into a dildo sound like a good time, has Verhoeven and co. got a treat for you! Playful and bawdy, Verhoeven is clearly in his element with the sordid side of this story, but unlike, say Showgirls, it doesn’t feel so frantic in trying to shock.
In fact its one truly provocative subject doesn’t arrive until the end of the film, and it ties neatly into the characters’ queerness. For all the noise made about the film’s focus on the two leads being babelicious queer gals (the original screenwriter Gerard Soeteman removed his name from the film because of its focus on lesbian sex), it’s at its most challenging in how Benedetta approaches the notion of faith itself.
SPOILERS AHEAD FOR THOSE WHO HAVE YET TO SEE THE FILM
After escaping the town following a gruesome plague-assist revolt against the official Church figures, Benedetta and Bartolomea find shelter in the countryside. Bartolomea is elated, but Benedetta breaks the news: she plans to leave Bartolomea and return to the convent. Bartolomea, heartbroken and furious, implores Benedetta to stay, to admit her visions were false, and to live a life with her. Benedetta refuses and opts to take her chances with the church, despite her controversial, to put it mildly, reputation.
For many viewers, particularly queer viewers, the idea of willingly choosing a life in a religious institution that has a verrrrrryyyyyyy long history of looking at women and LGBTQAI+ individuals with utter contempt is… perplexing. Especially with the renewed fundamentalist culture war bullshit that’s sweeping the globe, it would be easy to dismiss Benedetta as a fool and the film as smug in showing her willingly walking back into the jaws of the lion. But I personally see it as a thorny portrait at how one’s sexual orientation interacts with one’s faith and which of the two is seen as ultimately seen as more important by the individual themselves. For the latter, I acknowledge that for many religious folks in the queer and trans community, religion and sexual orientation and/or gender identity are not mutually exclusive, But for 17th century Italy, it’s a bit challenging to imagine queerness and faith living together in perfect harmony. That Benedetta chooses her “faith” over her orientation hits an uncomfortable but important nerve: for some, their sexual orientation will be of secondary importance in comparison to other parts of their being, including aspects they choose to adopt.
Throughout the film, Benedetta’s motivations are deliberately left open to interpretation. Is she a manipulative sociopath, a deluded simpleton who believes in her lies and the lies of others, or someone who genuinely was blessed by visions from a higher power. Part of this ambiguity stems from the charmingly inscrutable nature of Efira’s performance, which earned her a Cesar nomination for Best Actress. But on an even deeper level, it seems Verhoeven is acknowledging that faith, the faith of true believers, will only make sense to them. It’s a simple rationale but one that gives the film and everything that proceeds it significantly more mystery upon later contemplation.
In a discussion earlier this year with SadClown, I mentioned it’s frustrating how it is that so many films about queer religious characters almost always seem to be character studies of tortured sad sacks or kinky exploitation cheapies. Now admittedly, there are good films that fall in the former category and the latter can be great lurid fun. But it’s depressingly rare to find films with queer characters that really allow space for them to grapple with the joyous and painful complexities of faith. Benedetta may be a loving valentine to nunsploitation sleaze, but Verhoeven injects it with some heavy questions about spiritual solace in the unlikeliest of places and how one squares that with an undeniable part of their being.
Benedetta leaves the viewer with a perhaps unanswerable riddle, although Benedetta the character probably wouldn’t see it as that. As she may say…
“Let go and let God.”