Cinema
Therese (PG', selected cinemas)
Return of the saint
Peter Ackroyd
Saints are principally notorious for the hagiographies which they inspire, or for the blasphemies which they provoke; perhaps their own stern dichotomies, with flesh on the one side and bliss on the other, elicit equally manic reactions in others. But there it is. Or, rather, there it isn't, since Therese — the story of St Theresa of Lisieux, who died with such good timing after the composition of her devotional letters — tends to avoid the issue of her beatitude altogether. Was she chosen by God, or was she another neurotic young girl? It is of course possible to be both, and this happy consummation is the one which the film comes closest to providing.
The putative saint is seen first in a sort of divine frenzy over the fate of a murderer about to be guillotined and then, to con- firm her sanguineous fantasies, she writes `Jesus merci' in her own blood (a liquid which is to play a large part in her subsequent history). She is so desperate to be received into the Carmelite order that she visits the Pope, much to his dismay. But the origins of her obsession are never clarified — I suppose this is an advantage, since otherwise the script might be droop- ing with psychoanalytical truisms. Under the circumstances, however, there is still an inordinate amount of attention given to sex: as soon as Theresa enters the convent there is a great deal of apparently 'playful' conversation about Christ as fiance, or bridegroom, or husband, or lover. Of course there is a tradition of sexual imag- ery in devotional literature, and no doubt this slightly lubricious talk is meant to suggest what good sorts nuns are, but the general effect is rather sickening. In fact all the simperings and gigglings, the sighings and the moanings, are reminiscent of a pornographic film in which the actual sex has been edited out.
The actress playing Therese is as con- vincing as she can be at this late date in the 20th century: she is open, frank, fearless and on occasions somewhat hysterical. She is the type of girl who might easily end up on Greenham Common. But the other inhabitants of the convent are not a suc- cess. Apart from the fact that, for some reason, it is almost impossible to take seriously actresses dressed as nuns (they are all rather like female versions of Alastair Sim playing a bishop), on this occasion the actual nature of the religious life is never made clear. The film itself is composed in a number of short scenes, all of them conducted on a very bare set, so that the general effect is of a sequence of historical tableaux. As a result, Therese seems to offer no more than a series of exhibits related to conventual life.
It is a very ordered and disciplined film, however — thus indirectly suggesting the nature of the existence which is being presented — and at its best it is able to contrast the sheer physical mundanity of the Carmelite daily routine with the nuns' desire for some non-earthly beatitude. At one moment they are boiling lobsters, and at the next they are being whipped with the branches of trees. Better that, however, than the endless serenity and good humour which afflict most of them (this not one of those 'nun movies', as I think they are called, filled with rivalry and lesbian intri- gue); all those wrinkled old faces wreathed in smiles, and all those giggling young nuns, are enough to destroy the reputation of the Catholic Church. Surely it should not be a religion represented by bores?
Meanwhile, Theresa is well on the way to being canonised. She makes her inten- tions quite clear from the start, and within a matter of seconds she is lacerating herself with various primitive devices. In the nick of time she develops tuberculosis, a feat which then introduces one of the longest mortal illnesses in cinematic history. Clear- ly she wants to suffer — but there is no reason why the audience should be forced into the same position. The film really cannot have it both ways: it avoids any halo of sanctity hovering over Theresa but, without any connotation of sainthood, her illness is not inherently arresting. One does not think of the Way of the Cross; one is only glad that one has one's health. So in any terms other than those of a somewhat schematic human drama, Therese is not really a success. It may appeal to the excessively pious, although no doubt they would prefer Julie Andrews in the title role, but those who can take or leave nuns will probably leave this sparse introduction to their sorrows. How odd, though, that it should have been given a 'PG' certificate, which designates the need for parental guidance and is generally only applied to certain kinds of violence or horror. On the other hand. . . .
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