John Patrick Shanley adapted his stage play for the screen, both writing and directing, and as a product of Catholic schools born the year the picture is set, boy does he nail the look and feel. From the severity and sweetness of the nuns (the way they care for an older nun who is losing her sight is exactly how I saw nuns care for a clearly senile sister when I was in grade school) to the imbalanced hierarchy between nun and priest (servants to gods) to the design and feel of the Brooklyn grade school, cookie-cutter in many ways to my old Blessed Sacrament parish, it’s clear Shanley has been here.
Philip Seymour Hoffman, Meryl Streep and Amy Adams serve and teach at a Catholic grade school in the Bronx the year after the Kennedy assassination. Hoffman is the “new church,” Adams is the young nun who wants to believe in his less strict methods, and Streep is the principal of the school, the resolute conservative hammer (her attack on “Frosty the Snowman” is worth the price of admission alone). A concern over Hoffman’s behavior toward an 8th grade boy, the only black kid in the school, drives the plot, but Shanley uses the crisis to have his characters exchange views on faith versus acts, modernity, religious liberalism, raising children and tolerance. As someone who was schooled by nuns in 8 years of Catholic elementary school, and by the Jesuits in 4 years of high school, I came into the film with certain presumptions that were difficult to stow away. Some of my nuns appeared to loathe children, and one of my priests clearly behaved inappropriately (and it turns out, criminally) with students, but neither of these realities marred what was essentially a happy and more simple time of childhood. At the time, we knew this Jesuit was problematic and it strangely seemed just part of the deal, a simple hurdle or punchline (“Don’t let yourself be alone with Father Bradley” or “Christ. He’s in the locker room again””) You knew to steer a little clear, even if you weren’t really sure why. For ones who were vulnerable and thus not insulated by a casual, “he’s a little strange so watch yourself” attitude, however, Father Bradley was a more menacing and destructive force. But he was also charismatic and he was impressive, much like the priest in this picture, adding to the lethality.
I offer my reminiscence because my background likely colored my judgment of the picture’s central conundrum, but the film is riveting no matter your background. All the principal actors are fantastic; there is not a time I see Hoffman and do not mourn his pointless and untimely demise. And Viola Davis should have earned an Oscar for her one scene as the mother of the boy, putting her in the ranks with Beatrice Strait (Network), William Hurt (A History of Violence) and Judi Dench (Shakespeare in Love) for greatest impact in shortest screen time.
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