Silence is a film which Martin Scorcese has been trying to get made since the 1990s. An adaptation of Shūsaku Endō's 1966 novel of the same name, the film dramatizes the oppression of Catholics in Feudal Japan, following a Portuguese Jesuit mission. What drew Scorcese, an auteur who frequently deals with themes regarding faith, to the material is obvious, and Silence is remarkable both for the obvious passion which went into its creation, as well as for its nuanced themes on the nature of faith, sin, guilt, and arrogance. However, at nearly three hours, the film is a monotonous and frequently unengaging sit, and while its fascinating concepts and enormity of vision make it worth seeing, it stands on the line between art and homework.
In the 17th century, Jesuit priests Rodrigues (Andrew Garfield) and Garrpe (Adam Driver) set off to Japan in search of their mentor, in the process enlisting the help of an expat fisherman named Kichijiro (Yôsuke Kubozuka) to guide them. Once they arrive in a small Christian community, they need to hide from the state authorities, who have banned Christianity and have punished Christians who do not apostatize through torture.
Silence views these Catholic communities, as well as the priests who've come to save them, primarly through the lens of challenges to faith. The title refers to the silence of God in these difficult times, and more substantially, the film's most significant questions revolve around characters' choices to either renounce their faith or suffer for it. The majority of characters refuse to blaspheme even under the gravest of threats, and the film remains ambiguous about whether this decision is brave or foolish. Another question is whether the priests are simply on a colonizing mission, and the latter half of the movie increasingly leans into the sociopolitical implications of the Jesuits' presence. Although the film spares little sympathy for the inquisitor who's most directly responsible for persecuting Christians, the priests don't leave the film with their morals unquestioned, and although it's only in the final acts that this nuance is made textual, there are hints of it in several previous scenes.
The problem, however, is that the first two-thirds of the film are largely absent of that sort of reflection, instead leaning heavily into the questions of faith, repeating over and over again scenes of Japanese Christians accepting torture rather than blaspheming. To the unfaithful, this appears to be an easy choice, and the film does little to explore the psychology of this decision. Furthermore, numerous scenes consist of drawn-out conversations about the film's themes, and while these frequently offer food for thought, they're rarely engaging outside of the concepts at play, and eventually repeat themselves. Now, the use of repetition often allows for a slow buildup of irony, but the film's (admittedly understandable) dour tone causes all of the repetition to become monotonous in spite of the changes in context.
The visual palette of Silence consists of vibrant blues and cold greens, adding to the grim tone of the film, and while the sounds and sights at times create genuinely powerful images (the final shot is as evocative as they come), others fail to leave an impact. There are many strong performances in the film, but while Garfield is often convincing as Rodrigues, he's rarely able to underline the emotional core of the film. In later scenes, he's often contemplating faith in voiceover, and this is one of the few times where his turmoil comes to life. Whenever the film lays his anxieties and doubts bare for the audience to absorb, it provides a respite from the distancing dryness which permeates the rest of it.
Silence is easy to admire but hard to love. It's a significant departure from the rambunctious energy of Scorcese's previous project, The Wolf of Wall Street, and although its running time is similar, it feels a good deal longer as a result. It's a film which demands patience, but it only offers intermittent rewards, and many of these lack universality in a secular age. In abstract, it's easy to grasp the themes about holding on to a core belief and about helplessness in the face of oppression, and there's some genuinely compelling themes which pick up around the back half, but many of the specifics are likely to hold more power for the faithful, and even they might struggle with the film's intimidating length and monotony. It's dense, impassioned, and visionary, but there's a lot of tedium to get through to appreciate that.
6/10
+ Intriguing themes regarding the nature of faith, guilt, and hubris.
+ A breadth of vision obviously derived from passion.
+ Thematic density is potentially rewarding for the very patient.
- Monotonous and occasionally numbing.
- Themes hold less weight to the faithless.
- Frequently repetitive.
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