Why is it so hard to make a genuinely well-crafted saint film? This is a question that has baffled my mind for as long as I could remember. I grew up during the great digital transition of cinema where access to filming equipment suddenly became massively cheaper and more available to the consumer market which I don’t doubt led to the abundance of saint films being produced and distributed to the vast array of Catholics who simply wanted to see their favorite saints on the big screen.
While such a great saint rush managed to produce some honorable mentions amidst the great quantity of films, it was clear that the expertise and craftsmanship that was so prevalent in the making of saint films from the 30s-60s was a mark of the past. Saint films grew into their own private genre consisting of wooden dialogue, a focus on the miraculous, and an unbelievably stoic and cold portrayal of the saint amidst a crowd of weak performances and writing.
And yet, there is a sentiment in Catholic culture that is quite prevalent in accepting such films as “good enough” or “at the very least they’re not secular.” The idea has seemed to be that as long as these films can tell a perfect and polite summary of lives of the saints, all is forgiven and enough.
This has been the case until a decade ago when there seemed to be a rise in filmmakers who were Christian instead of simply Christians who were “filmmakers.” The difference came when storytellers began to be more intrigued with who the saints were in their unique personhood instead of what they meant to people. When the image and story of the film finally captured the radiance and beauty of the saints in a way that was also radiant and beautiful. Films such as “A Hidden Life,” “Cabrini,” and “Triumph of the Heart” immediately come to mind. While maintaining their flaws, they demonstrate a wondrously possible future for saint films where such films have the ability to one day be shown and compared alongside other timeless works of art which Catholicism has been privileged to produce.
With this in mind, when I heard that Francesca Scorsese (daughter of Martin Scorsese) directed an episode in their “saints series” based on the recently canonized St. Carlo Acutis, I knew I had to watch it. The very idea of a modern telling of Carlo Acutis’ story brought up many interesting questions as to how it would be told in such a modern and surprisingly normal setting compared to other saint portrayals.
And wow…was I pleasantly surprised.
From the very first moments of the film, through Martin Scrosese’s narration, the whole story finds its centerpiece and orientation in the question of “What made Carlo want to live so radically different?” Far from the exhaustive amounts of biopics where the only purpose lies in summarizing a person’s past life within the span of a few hours, this story is not only specific in its end goal, but bold. In films no one has dared question the sanctity and piety of the saints, nor their miraculous ability to overcome every obstacle thrown at them. But has anyone dared to explore the real why of such motivation?
Do we really know what we’re saying, let alone care, when we say these saints did it all for “love of God”? Did this 15-year-old saint simply just get lucky with an extremely praiseworthy love of God that seems so distant from the everyday, ordinary love of the faithful? This film begs to differ.
Carlo is shown in all his messiness, struggle, joy, excitement, wonder, and personality that I have never seen depicted before. Through hard conversations with his friends or meetings with his teacher, it is made apparent that he is living a life set apart from the rest while at the same time holding on to true connections with others. Many of Carlo’s personal quotes are mentioned regularly within dialogue in an almost episodic manner as these various scenes play out between Carlo and the world, revealing more and more about the boy underneath the saint.
Often in biopics, especially when such a person’s life has been filtered and molded to a level of impersonal perfection by the public light, it can be very difficult to get the audience to care or even sympathize with such a limited and shallow portrayal. This problem only increases when that person is a saint. More than simply slapping on struggles and vices on the character to make them seem more human, this film gives Carlo an authentic portrayal of wonder. It is made clear through his conversations and interactions throughout his life that Carlo didn’t want to become a saint because of some obligation or otherworldly spirituality, but because he fell in love with the God who He encountered on a personal and beautiful level. No prideful striving for greatness or recognition, but rather a relatable and personal desire to explore the infinite desires of the human heart.
Not to bypass the highly important technical level, this film sets a new standard for what we ought to expect when it comes to the cinematography, performances, and dialogue of saint films. This is how impactful saint stories can be once we put aside our ideals and prejudices to tell the stories of the real people behind the stained glass. To not treat sanctity as something stereotypical, otherworldly, and impossible, but rather as something that lights hearts on fire with everyday love, wonder, and beauty.
Photo by Matthew Robin Dix on Unsplash
