Below is a guest blog post by Filip Mazurczak about the 2018 Polish film
Kler (Clergy).
Clergy: An Imperfect, but Needed Film
Wojciech
Smarzowski’s film Kler (“Clergy”),
which deals with scandal in the Catholic Church, has done remarkably well at
the box office. It has been seen by 4.5 million Poles, making it the third film
with the largest number of tickets sold in Poland after 1989, next to Jerzy
Hoffman’s adaptation of Henryk Sienkiewicz’s With Fire and Sword and Andrzej Wajda’s take on Adam
Mickiewicz’s Pan Tadeusz. Clergy, however, is nowhere near the success of Polish blockbusters
from the communist era, such as Aleksander Ford’s adaptation of Sienkiewicz’s The Teutonic Knights, which sold 35
million tickets at a time when Poland’s population numbered a mere 32 million.
The
opening scene of Clergy is one of the
best crafted I have seen in recent Polish cinema. It shows three priests who
have clearly been friends for a long time partying at a presbytery. They drink
copious amounts of vodka, one shoots an apple of the other’s head with a
slingshot (which, we learn later, he had borrowed from one of the students at
the school where he teaches), gossip about Church affairs, and rock out to a
song by the Polish rock band Kult, playing air guitar and air drums using
wooden ladles, lamps, and other household objects.
To
me, this scene brilliantly shows male friendship, something we in my opinion do
not see enough on the silver screen, and when we do, it is in the form of
mentor-like relationships, as in Good Will Hunting or Scent of a Woman.
There
are other scenes, though, that are awkward, unoriginal, and poorly scripted.
Thus at an artistic level, Clergy is
a very uneven film. There are many things that work, and many that do not. For
starters, the opening scene showing the priests acting in a way that is more
profane than sacred and enjoying their camaraderie in a profession of which
loneliness is a major part makes one think that their stories will intersect in
the film. Clergy has many characters
played by many of Poland’s finest actors and is an ensemble film, making one
think of something by Robert Altman or Paul Thomas Anderson’s Boogie Nights. However, the three
priests’ roads hardly intersect again (except towards the end of the film when
the most positive of these three priests suspects that the most negative one
may be a sex abuser). This makes the narrative feel disjointed; if their
respective narratives met once more at the end, Clergy would be a much better film.
Many
Polish critics have praised Janusz Gajos’ role as Archbishop Mordowicz (who is
widely believed to be modeled on Archbishop Sławoj Leszek Głódź of Gdansk,
known for his opulent lifestyle, love of drink, and close relationships with
politicians, not only conservative, but also leftist post-communist ones).
Although this will be lost on non-Polish language speakers, his name is in
itself satirical: morda is Polish for
an animal’s mouth, and it is slang for the face of an unpleasant person.
Archbishop
Mordowicz is obsessed with building a sanctuary, and enters into shady deals
with businessmen and the mob to illegally win real estate auctions (something
that, sadly, is commonplace in Poland, not only in the building of places of
worship). Meanwhile, an adult man who had been sexually abused by a priest as a
child has an audience with Mordowicz and his aides. Mordowicz and his courtesans,
though, are completely indifferent to this man’s pain, basically telling him to
shut up, because if he talks about this he will do a lot of damage to the
Church’s reputation.
I
agree with Polish critics’ enthusiastic appraisal of Gajos (who, by the way,
looks very good at seventy-nine). Gajos is perfect as a corrupt bureaucrat
addicted to power. While undoubtedly there are prelates like Archbishop
Mordowicz, he actually reminded me of several equally corrupt and repulsive
Polish secular politicians. Gajos also gives some of the few moments of comic
relief in this otherwise depressing film. If there were a Polish Best
Supporting Actor Oscar, I would vote for Gajos without a second’s hesitation.
At
the same time, he is so one-dimensional that he reminds me of villains in some
of the cartoons I watched as a child in the early 1990s. Archbishop Mordowicz
is kind of like Gargamel from The Smurfs…
if every other word that came out of Gargamel’s mouth was obscene and if
Gargamel (spoiler) had a penchant for Italian S&M clubs. He is the opposite
of a complex villain like Hannibal Lecter.
Archbishop
Mordowicz’s secretary is Father Lisowski, played by an average Jacek Braciak.
Like Mordowicz, he is addicted to power and dreams of a career in the Vatican.
His boss, though, blocks his aspirations and wants to keep him at his side.
Angry, Lisowski bugs Mordowicz’s office to record material that could humiliate
him and then blackmail the archbishop to let him go to Rome. Lisowski is
slightly more complex than Mordowicz; in one scene, we see him crying upon
reminiscing on his childhood spent in an orphanage run by a nun where minor
offenses like wetting the bed were punished by brutal beatings (I was reminded
of the infamous Magdalene laundries in Ireland) and rape (which, fortunately,
occurs off-screen). However, he still is not a convincing character. Like
Mordowicz, he has a pretty unoriginally symbolic name; lis is Polish for fox, an animal synonymous with cunning, and
cunning Lisowski is.
Robert
Więckiewicz plays the second priest-buddy, Father Trybus. Więckiewicz is widely
believed to be one of Poland’s finest actors today, and I share this assessment.
He was great as a petty criminal who first saves Jews in Lwów's (now Lviv's) sewers initially for financial gain yet has a change of heart and becomes a Holocaust hero in Agnieszka Holland’s In Darkness; he was also spot-on as
Solidarity leader Lech Wałęsa in Andrzej Wajda’s Wałęsa: Man of Hope (a film that, unfortunately, did not
have a North American release, although it was shown to members of the US
Congress, where Wałęsa himself once gave an address). Robert Więckiewicz also
played in my favorite Polish movie, 2007’s Wszystko będzie dobrze (“All Will Be Well”) a heart-breaking,
beautiful, and brilliant movie that nearly brings me to tears about how to keep
one’s faith when we suffer and it seems that God is not listening to our
prayers; it is like the Book of Job set in present-day Poland.
In
Clergy, however, Więckiewicz is
disappointing. His character clearly has a drinking problem; for the first half
of the film, he is shown constantly drink shot glass after shot glass after
shot glass. This feels as if the director is insulting his audience’s
intelligence; yes, Mr. Smarzowski, we understand that Trybus is an alcoholic.
He does in fact seem completely wasted in every scene, but is this really that
great acting? He knows how to play a drunk, as Więckiewicz has already done so
in at least two other films.
Furthermore,
Trybus is in love with his gosposia Hanka,
an element of Polish Catholic culture that I have not seen in the United
States. A gosposia is a woman who
runs the presbytery, cleaning and cooking for the priests who live there.
Whereas
Trybus is a weak character, Hanka – played very well by Joanna Kulig, who has been
recently enjoying good coverage in the international press as a result of her
strong role in Paweł Pawlikowski’s Cold
War – is great. She plays what I would call a feminist Catholic and strong
woman, yet one who is still enslaved by her infatuation for Trybus. When she
tells him that she is pregnant, he gives her money and tells her to go to the
Czech Republic and have an abortion. Chamie!
Hanka shouts. “You bastard!”
This
is another one of the parts of the film that works well. It would be an exaggeration
to call Clergy a pro-life film.
However, it shows one important aspect of the abortion debate that is missing,
and one that the pro-abortion feminists oddly seem to ignore: that often times
abortion results from the fact that men are too selfish to take care of the
human life they have created, and treat abortion as a get out of jail card.
Ultimately,
though, Trybus has pangs of guilt and travels to the gynecology clinic in the
Czech Republic where Hanka is and convinces her to not kill her unborn child.
He ultimately has a change of heart and in addition to deciding to accompany
Hanka and their child, in literally the next scene he is shown pouring bottles
of vodka into the kitchen sink.
Naturally,
Trybus did the morally responsible thing. However, when did this road to
Damascus occur? Nowhere in the film are we given a clue. This plot hole is
probably the result of weak writing; after all, this was the screenwriter’s
first film.
The
final priest of the three is the most unambiguously positive and most
charismatic. Father Kukuła is brilliantly played by Arkadiusz Jakubik. At the
film’s beginning, he is show driving a car right after his drunken party with
his chums, going through the motions while giving a dying woman the sacrament
of the anointing of the sick (her family gives him money; however, Catholic
priests do not receive a payment for the last rites), and hung-over in the
confessional, completely blowing his penitent off. “Bless me father, for I have
sinned. I have killed my unborn child,” she says. “What was your child’s name?”
These
first couple scenes seem out of place, as Kukuła is a committed, charismatic,
and even heroic priest. A newly ordained young priest comes to his parish, and
Kukuła gives him advice deep from his heart when he deals with loneliness and
doubt. “Be a good person, and you will be a good priest,” he tells him
tenderly.
When
one of Father Kukuła’s altar boys is raped, Kukuła makes an ambitious attempt
to find the perpetrator and seek justice for the boy. He truly gives Christian
witness and is a holy model priest. Eventually, though, his parishioners start
to suspect that he was the rapist,
and a lynching scene reminiscent of that in Spike Lee’s Summer of Sam breaks out at a
funeral when his flock literally attacks him.
We
learn that Kukuła himself had been raped by a priest as a young altar boy in
the 1980s over the course of two years, which makes him even more determined
and passionate in seeking justice for this poor boy. Here, however, we have
another plot hole. One would think that someone who had such traumatic
experiences with the clergy would never want to come near a church again. Why
did Kukuła enter seminary? This is all the more puzzling, since of the four
main characters, he is the one most deeply committed to his vocation. Was this
Stockholm syndrome? Did Kukuła want to reform the Church after having seen sin
within its structures? There is not even a hint at an answer.
When
Kukuła learns that he cannot count on Mordowicz to pursue justice for the boy,
he falls into despair and (major spoiler), as a sign of protest, decides to set
himself on fire during the ceremony when the archbishop blesses the
construction of his beloved shrine. When Kukuła is aflame, the crowds run from
him, forming a triangle that unambiguously resembles the symbol of Divine
Providence.
This
final scene of Clergy is clumsy, even
kitsch, and above all unoriginal. Apart from the very banal symbolism,
self-immolation as protest is a very well-known motif in the part of the world
where the film is set. After the Warsaw Pact armies invaded Czechoslovakia in
1968, Jan Palach set himself on fire in Prague in protest, as did Ryszard
Siewiec in Warsaw. Furthermore, Tadeusz Konwicki wrote an excellent satirical
novel A Minor Apocalypse, published in
1979, that follows a Polish dissident writer whose friends ask him to set
himself aflame in front of Warsaw’s Palace of Culture and Science to protest
against the Communist Party.
In
sum, Clergy does have some excellent
motifs, brilliant performances, and characters that are convincingly endearing
or repulsive. At the same time, it suffers from several disappointing
performances, unoriginal plot elements, and plot holes. Thus my rating is: 2.5/4.
With
regards to the alleged anti-Catholicism of the film, it must be said that the
hysterical controversy surrounding the film occurred for the most part before its
release, when only a handful of people had seen Clergy. For someone who had not yet seen the film, it seemed much
more provocative than it is, for several reasons. First, the trailer, which is very
misleading, presents the film as an anti-clerical satire that builds on
stereotypes. Also, one of the posters,
which arguably is offensive, presents a piggy bank with a cross as the slot.
These promotional materials made the film ripe for controversy (and were a
brilliant marketing strategy, because everything that is controversial sells).
In a couple Polish cities, city councilors banned the film from being shown.
In
reality, Clergy is at best mildly
anti-clerical. As a practicing Catholic who loves his Church and is convinced
that there are many more saintly priests than wicked ones, I found absolutely
nothing in the film that would offend me. There were no sacrilegious scenes or
those that mock any aspect of the Christian faith.
The
film does critically present certain behaviors in the Church, such as Church
officials who are more convinced about the Church’s reputation than the well
being of those who have been greatly hurt by priests. However, it would be
strange if a Catholic were not critical
of such behaviors, which sadly have taken place (although, I would argue, they
happened much more in, say, Ireland than in Poland). In fact, Clergy’s message is not at all different
from things the two most recent popes have said. Shortly before his election,
Benedict XVI deplored the “filth” of sexual abuse in the Church. Francis called
such behaviors caca (literally,
“crap”) and has condemned “careerism” in the Church, which is symbolized by
Father Lisowski.
Critics
of Clergy have accused the film of
painting a distorted image of the Church, focusing more on the negative than on
the positive. My response is that this is not a film about the Church as a
whole, but about three priests (one of whom, I would argue, is saintly) and one
bishop. Father Kukuła disproves the accusation that the film only paints
priests as perverts, careerists, or drunks who do not take their vows of
chastity seriously. Kukuła is truly a martyr, even if, of course, his martyrdom
was suicide, which is inconsistent with Christian ethics. Yes, Kukuła was in
conflict with Church authorities, but so were many saints: Padre Pio, Faustina
Kowalska, and Joan of Arc, who, lest we forget, was sentenced to burning at the
stake by a bishop.
Before
his self-immolation, Kukuła is seen praying, which strongly suggests that he is
not protesting against Christianity or even the Church, but against his sleazy
bishop.
On
the whole, it is a very good thing that Clergy
was released in Poland. I am convinced that most priests are wonderful
people, but even if there is one priest in the entire Church who causes harm to
a child, that is one too many.
The
biggest positive fruit of Clergy,
however, has happened when at a press conference during the film’s premiere
Arkadiusz Jakubik said that his childhood friend was molested by a priest in
Opole. Immediately, Bishop Andrzej Czaja of Opole contacted the actor, who then
put him in touch with his friend. Bishop Czaja informed the prosecutor’s office
and the Vatican of this case of abuse. Shortly afterwards, Bishop Czaja issued
a letter to all the faithful in his diocese read in every parish on Sunday in
which he apologized for the sins of the clergy in Opole and gave statistics on
the number of priests in the diocese who had been accused of abusing minors (by
the way, this was a tiny proportion of the Opole clergy).
So
even if Clergy has some artistic shortcomings,
the film is a blessing because it has led to some purification of the Church
and some Churchmen to think more critically and be more aware of the Judases
who wear Roman collars.