The letters in the subdued religious film, The Letters (2015), by William Rieard, are those of Mother Teresa, and they incite a discussion between Teresa’s spiritual director and a priest from the Vatican.  Coinciding with this is a dramatization of the nun’s work with the impoverished of Calcutta and her efforts to establish a new Catholic congregation, the Missionaries of Charity.

Mother Teresa eventually believed that God was not “in” her, that He had in fact abandoned her.  Judging from what’s in this film—how accurate is it?—it is impossible to maintain that she did not know, and experience, God.  And yet . . . what is the truth?  Celeste van Exem, the spiritual director (played by Max von Sydow), suggests that the distress Teresa felt was an essential element in her ministry, but is this really true? . . . In any case, it must be admitted that van Exem’s words are an example of the movie’s unexceptional dialogue.  It is pleasant, though, to watch the acting of von Sydow and Juliet Stevenson (Teresa)—among others, for sure—but aesthetically unworthy that, as one Serena Donadoni put it, “What’s missing is [Teresa’s] own anguished voice from the letters.”

Prayer for a Child (Photo credit: Wikipedia)

Rachel Field‘s Prayer for a Child (1944) is a deeply Christian picture book for children—and, yes, for everyone else as well—which deserves its fame and Caldecott award.  Its domestic idyl might as well be Heaven itself, and a finely, lovingly depicted female child inspires us to assert that of such is the Kingdom.

She is depicted by illustrator Elizabeth Orton Jones, who purveys muted, soothing color and gentle, enticing texture.  Field’s prayer is one of innocence and simple rhyme, in a children’s book for the ages.

On the second season of Turn (on DVD):

One wonders why there aren’t more protections for people in the Revolutionary War series, Turn, as when the reprehensible Lt. John Simcoe (Samuel Roukin) is sent by the British army to take command of a group of punks but has no accompanying soldiers to prevent the punks from doing violence to Simcoe.  As it happens, Simcoe doesn’t need protection—a likely story!—but, really, no-protection is often just part of the existential circumstances in this world of conflict and spies (for George Washington).

Spy Abraham Woodhull (Jamie Bell) gets knocked around but good, but knows the risk he’s always running.  It’s the falsely accused and the betrayed who are frequently unaware of terrible risks.  It’s a nifty cliffhanger when poor Major Hewlitt (Burn Gorman), a Brit, is foolishly seized. . . J.J. Feild, an American actor playing the British John Andre, maintains nice chemistry with Ksenia Solo (as Peggy Shippen), and so far their scenes together have been a small respite from the bloody goings-on.  But for how long?

Cover of The Dreamlife of Angels

The main characters in Erick Zonca‘s The Dreamlife of Angels (1998) are cheerful Isa (Elodie Bouchez) and frowning, self-absorbed Marie (Natacha Reguier), who form a brief friendship.

Far more important to Marie than this friendship is her agonizing romance with well-to-do Chris (Gregoire Colin), a two-timing nightclub owner.  In Marie and Chris, Zonca has characters an audience might feel superior to, but not in Isa, who, although not perfect, is friendly and generous.  Marie and Chris, on the other hand, are callous.  To the latter the former is, as Isa remarks, “just another girl”: the romance is doomed.

I do not understand the title of this French film; is it merely highly ironic?  If so, that irony in itself is interesting.  Whatever the case, La Vie Revee des Anges is easily one of the finest movies of the Nineties, a probing, dramatically strong artwork with an original, i.e. unadapted, screenplay.  It eschews French talkiness and French pessimism (it is not merely dark).  Moreover, it seems to be saying—albeit it’s something we all know—that there is no alternative to a life of self-control and some, or much, conventionality.  Isa looks for and finds work; despite whatever odd jobs Marie has had in the past, she doesn’t really want to work (except, if she can, for Chris).  Nothing good results from this.  Also, for Marie friendship is a tenuous thing.  She has little desire to maintain it.  A stable sex life, admittedly not without love, is preferable.

I urge you to seek out Dreamlife.

(In French with English subtitles)

They Live by Night (Photo credit: Wikipedia)

There is an agreeable premise in Nicholas Ray‘s They Live by Night (1948):  a young ex-con who robs a bank loves, and hits the road with, a saucy gal who knows better than to rob banks.

Bowie (Farley Granger) wants the straight-and-narrow while on the lam, but ordeals do arise. . . Keechie, Bowie’s wife, is a country girl whom the filmmakers glamorize a bit.  She is played by Cathy O’Donnell with her semi-innocent, semi-sophisticated face.

Ray’s film is pretty naturalistic at first, but the romantic ooze it provides does nothing to spoil the story’s appeal.  Bowie and Keechie live by night.  Accent on the word “live,” for they do live—though they are also running.  If you’ve heard the names Bowie and Keechie before, it may be from Robert Altman’s lousy remake of They Live by Night, titled Thieves Like Us, which is the title of the novel the two flicks are based on.