‘God still sees us even though we worship in secret.’
In rural 17th-century Japan, a native Christian convert assures two newly arrived Jesuit priests on a mission from Portugal that his faith, and the faith of his fellow villagers packed into the dimly lit hut, is fervent and resilient, even in their impoverished and persecuted state.
Powerfully discomforting
‘The Lord hears you’, one of the young priests tells the villagers. On the island of Tomogi, near Nagasaki, the Christians’ worship is conducted underground, in whispers. At this time, Christianity is banned in Japan and Christians face torture and execution upon refusing to renounce their belief in Christ. This is the setting for director Martin Scorsese’s adaptation of Shusaku Endo’s 1966 novel Silence, a film 27 years in the making and released on New Year’s Day. Scorsese has described the process of creating this film as a pilgrimage for himself and, as such, the film has a powerfully discomforting quality to it, refusing to allow the viewer to sit unchallenged, just as the novel does with its readers.
Opening with a black screen and a rising chorus of cicadas cutting out abruptly to the titles, from the first moment the film states its purpose: to ask what we hear – in the noise and especially in the silence. Central to the novel and to the film is the expectation that, through prayer, Christians speak with God and do so expecting him to hear them and to respond, particularly when soul and body are under threat. Endo once said of his work: ‘Silence is not a novel about the silence of God; it’s a novel about the voice of God speaking through silence and trauma.’ The Jesuit priests arrive in Japan certain of their calling, but their experiences demand that they grasp more deeply the nuances and paradoxes of their faith, particularly of prayer. Early on, Father Rodrigues (Andrew Garfield) recounts times when his prayers have been answered, when he has asked for specific things and God has given them. When this dynamic seems to change, Rodrigues struggles to know that God is really there, hearing him, and hearing the prayers and screams of the martyrs he has ministered to: ‘Forgive my weakness and my doubt. The weight of your silence is terrible. I pray because I am lost, but I pray to nothing, because you are not there.’ As imprisonment and persecution close in, Rodrigues continues to doubt, but keeps seeking God.
Subtle, complex imagery
The night before Father Rodrigues and Father Garrpe (Adam Driver) travel to Japan, the image of Christ (a portrait by El Greco) which Rodrigues pictures appears for the first time, filling the screen. This same image is seen at several significant points. Just as the story itself asserts the power within silence, the film speaks loudest in its silent images. There are countless close-ups of hands clasped in prayer and treasuring small wooden crosses, the grime-covered skin and the tightness of grip conveying the desperation and dependence of the priest or prisoner. Rodrigues sees the image of Christ in the floorboards of his prison and hears him say: ‘I will not abandon you, I will not abandon you, I will not abandon you.’ Later, at a moment of betrayal, a cockerel can be heard crowing. The imagery is subtle, complex and layered, challenging both believer and sceptic in the audience.
Rodrigues begins his mission proudly supposing he is the Christ figure the Japanese Christians need, but ends relating much more closely to the traitorous, unfaithful, fickle fisherman Kichijiro. After the Fathers first meet Kichijiro and learn that he will be their guide into Japan, Rodrigues bolsters himself for travelling with the drunken apostate by reminding himself that their duty is to preach the gospel ‘even to one such as this man’. Rodrigues learns through this experience that he is much less like Christ and, though called to imitate Christ, must bear with the tension of being in nature more like the flawed Kichijiro: ‘I feel – I fear. Jesus forgive me. I may not be worthy of you.’
Silence is a film which demands reflection, and multiple rewatchings, so detailed and deliberate are the layers of dialogue, cinematography and sound. Exploring themes of East and West, Christianity, Buddhism, worship, patriotism, political control, the universality of truth and the complexities of culture and language in missionary work, this quiet film about 17th-century Japan has much to say to us today. Silence does not attempt to give a neat and tidy answer to the problem of suffering. The only answer Endo and Scorsese have to the question of suffering is Christ himself, and Scorsese’s film shows God’s supreme act of grace in becoming not only Immanuel, God with us, but the Man of Sorrows too.
Angeline Liles works alongside students in Cambridge and Bedfordshire as a staff worker with UCCF. She tweets @brighterbeat.
