March 26, 2007VOL. 45, NO. 6Oakland, CA

‘Into Great Silence’ is a quiet
meditation on the Carthusian life

This is a scene from “Into Great Silence,” a documentary by filmmaker Philip Groning about monks at a Carthusian monastery in the French Alps. CNS PHOTO COURTESY OF ZEITGEIST FILMS

By Diane Weddington
Contributor

“At the beginning, it wasn’t so much the idea of shooting a film on life in a monastery; instead, I had wanted to make a film concerning the moment of time,” says Philip Groning, director of “Into Great Silence,” which opened in theatres March 16.
This could account for why the film is a satisfying meditation but a failed attempt to depict monastic life.

The 162-minute documentary was filmed over six months at the Grand Chartreuse, a Carthusian monastery in the French Alps. Founded by Saint Bruno of Cologne in 1084, this order of hermits is one of the poorest and most ascetic of the Church.

The Carthusian monks are not totally silent, although they never speak to one another in the chapel, anteroom or halls. They join in communal prayer and chants several times daily.

Otherwise, they speak only as necessary. On Mondays, to strengthen their bonds as a community, the monks take a four-hour walk and are allowed to speak with one another. If they have any need to communicate other than this, they can exchange messages in a box in the anteroom.

Reflecting this reality, “Into Great Silence” is more about what is not said than what is.

Most of the film shows the monks reading or praying in their individual cells where they spend most of their lives, or working in the garden, kitchen or other areas. Even when working together the monks do not talk, respecting each other’s needs for silent contemplation.

Although Groning has achieved the near-impossible -- the right to photograph a reclusive and largely silent community, his film proves that the inner spiritual life cannot be photographed nor understood by observation.

Groning adds no facts to enlighten viewers. He simply records what he sees, no plot or character development in mind. “The film should become a monastery,” he says. By that he means the viewer should be drawn into the contemplative life of the Carthusians, should understand spiritual devotion merely by association.

Yet by what he leaves out of the film, Groning makes this difficult to achieve. He explains nothing about the Carthusian history or the rich theological grounds for monastic life.

The film offers no broader context. Apart from the prayers in French and Latin, an elderly monk’s thoughts on the majesty of God, the vows of a new novice and the abbot talking about the Holy Spirit, there is no attempt to present Catholic theology.

A passage from II Kings about God being neither fire nor hurricane but instead a whisper, and another about giving one’s all to God, are the only written commentary.

Who are these men and why should the viewer be interested? The prayers, the chants and the setting imply that the viewer should have a spiritual response to the film.

Those who understand the Catholic contemplative tradition will understand the significance of the Carthusian devotion without explanation. Yet even that audience may grow tired of watching a group of monks living their daily and largely silent routine.

The pace drags. It is not interesting to watch a monk reading, the shot so close that his facial pores and stray hairs are visible. What is he reading? The viewer cannot see the page.

Thus, at one level the film fails to achieve what it sets out to do. Monastic life is much more than communal prayer, manual labor and long hours in private cells. No one has ever made a film that shows the richness of the inner spiritual life.

“I just don’t get it,” said one reviewer who was at the press screening. “How is this any different from the films I’ve seen about Buddhists praying? Prayer is just such a personal thing.”

Meant as a criticism of the film, the remark is actually an important insight into understanding the value of the film.

The film is a powerful meditation on time. The monks and their individual lives are incidental to what the viewer ultimately learns and feels. The monks’ routine merely serves as a reminder that God can be known when silence pervades, a central truth in all faiths.

Without the distraction of dialogue, sound becomes everything in this film. The sound of snow falling is surprisingly loud. The rasp of the tailor’s scissors cutting the rough fabric of the monks’ robes, the drip off a monk’s freshly-washed soup bowl, the thudding of feet climbing stairwells: all are magnified in the overall silence.

The result is a soundtrack infinitely more beautiful than dialogue. Caught in a noisy world, people no longer take time to hear the small sounds. This film offers the rare chance. These tiny sounds are always present, but the film is a reminder to slow down and listen, as the monks listen.

Groning had no crew and he used no artificial lighting. In addition to having no dialogue, the film has the grainy softness or engulfing darkness of natural light captured with handheld equipment. This kind of photography makes time appear endless and seamless. Snow falls, ice melts, stars pass overhead and six months are ended.

Flickering candles, sunlight engulfing the valley and snow reflecting moonlight offer a temporary respite from the rush of freeways and city lights, a reminder that time is slow and steady and cyclical. The viewer sees life as the monk sees it, the passing of seasons from the window of the cell. The view is almost painfully beautiful.

The film opened March 16 at the Lumiere SF and Shattuck Berkeley and March 23 at the Smith Rafael Film Center in San Rafael.

(Diane Weddington is a freelance writer and media critic.)