. . . the more life is what it is – ordinary, simple, without pronouncing the word “God” – the more I see the presence of God in that. I don’t know how to quite explain that.
Robert Bresson

The Diary of a Country Priest comes reasonably close to technical perfection while addressing profound philosophical issues relating to religious faith. It succeeds far better as art than philosophy.

Historical Background: Robert Bresson was one of those directors that film critics adore but who excites relatively little interest among the general viewing public. Bresson’s works tend to be both thematically and stylistically difficult. Although a self-proclaimed agnostic, several of Bresson works have distinctly religious themes and most of the rest existential themes or implications. To that extent, his oeuvre is reminiscent of Bergman’s though Bresson was wrestling with his Catholic heritage while Bergman’s up-bringing was Lutheran. Bresson drew inspiration for four of his films from texts by Dostoevski and from Tolstoy for another, two Russians who each began as liberal-minded novelists but who became increasingly devout and spiritualistic as they aged.

Bresson actually trained as a painter before trying his hand at screenwriting for a comedy in 1934. During World War II, he spent a year in a German POW camp. His debut film as a director, Angels of the Streets came in 1943. He followed that in 1945 with Ladies of the Park. After this second experience with filmmaking, Bresson had become disgusted with professional actors. He had a vision of a more natural kind of performance that contrasted with the method of moving and speaking ingrained in the professionals. He wanted an emotionally flat and relatively expressionless delivery. In all of his subsequent films, Bresson utilized almost exclusively ordinary people and took to referring to them as “models.” Claude Laydu, who has the lead role in The Diary of a Country Priest, was Bresson’s very first “model” in lieu of “actor.” Although Bresson predates the French New Wave, it was not Bresson’s cinematic tendencies that were the object of disdain and rebellion by the Nouvelle Vague critics turned directors. In fact, Bresson was specifically hailed as a genius by Truffaut and some of his precepts were among those that became characteristics of the New Wave. Bresson’s special capacity as a filmmaker was his ability to create a sense of spiritual meaning from simple images and vignettes.

The Diary of a Country Priest (1950) was Bresson’s breakthrough film and initiated a string of works that were highly successful – at least among critics. He worked at a slow pace producing no more than three or four films each decade. A Man Escaped (1956), was followed by Pickpocket (1959), Trial of Joan of Arc (1962), Au Hasard, Balthazar (1966) (one of his best but sadly never released in the U.S. and not even in the Epinions database), Mouchette (1967), A Gentle Woman (1969), Four Nights of a Dreamer (1971), Lancelot of the Lake (1974), The Devil, Probably (1977), and L’Argent (1983). He had hopes of filming the Book of Genesis as his final film, but was unable to raise backing for it. Bresson died in 1999.

The Story: A young priest (Claude Laydu), in rather poor health, has been assigned his first parish in the small rural town of Ambricourt. He is an unusually serious, devout, and dedicated young man and looks forward to this opportunity to impact his parishioners positively. As he plods slowly into town for the first time, he passes the gate of the estate of the most distinguished man of the town, The Count (Jean Riveyre). He catches an inadvertent glimpse of The Count in the midst of a tryst with his mistress (and daughter's tutor), Mlle. Louis (Nicole Maurey).

The new Priest of Ambricourt settles into his poor quarters. He regularly keeps a diary, which serves as an expository device providing insight into his frame of mind. The Priest suffers from a yet-to-be-diagnosed stomach problem, leaving him intolerant to either meat or vegetables. He subsists on a diet of hard bread dipped in sweetened wine. He has found that with this restricted diet he can maintain his resolve and focus on his spiritual work. The townspeople do not take well to their new priest. The villagers have little interest in anything more than the trappings of faith and are distinctly secular in their proclivities. For his part, the Priest is rather solemn, overly pious, and grave. Despite his purity of heart, his social skills are not well-developed and his natural contemplative tendencies are deepened by his physical ailment. His encounters with the parishioners are mostly unpleasant and unpromising.

A wealthy man of the town, Fabragers (Léon Arnel), refuses to pay “extra” for the funeral arrangements for his recently deceased wife. During the catechism class leading to First Communion, The Priest singles out one bright and precocious young girl, Seraphita Dumouchel (Martine Lemaire), as especially promising, but she mocks his attention by commenting flirtatiously on his beautiful eyes (as the other girls burst into laughter from their hiding place behind the door). Dr. Delbende (Antoine Balpêtré), a physician of the community who has lost faith, commits suicide, which The Priest feels keenly as a personal failure. The Priest receives an anonymous note that concludes, “I feel sorry for you, but get out!” The impish Seraphita adds further to The Priest’s difficulties by intentionally tossing her book bag at his feet so that, when he returns it, it will appear to her mother that The Priest has some kind of inappropriate relationship with the young girl. The Priest seeks advice and guidance from the more experienced Priest of Torcy (André Guibert), at an adjacent parish. The older man advises him that he needs to establish his authority and not try to be liked or loved by his parishioners. He needs to maintain moral order in his parish.

Although himself depressed by his failure to establish a connection with his flock as well as his physical suffering, The Priest continues to attend to the spiritual needs of his community. A particular problem is brought to his attention by Louise, who asks him to intercede in the conflict between her pupil, the Count’s daughter Chantal (Nicole Ladmiral), and her parents, the Count and the Countess (Marie-Monique Arkell). He meets with Chantal, who is a deeply troubled youth, and learns that she hates both of her parents. The Countess, he discovers, is in perpetual mourning over the death of Chantal’s younger brother years earlier while the Count is having an affair with Louise. Chantal implies that she is contemplating suicide and The Priest agrees to visit her home.

Although expecting to meet with the Count, The Priest is greeted by the Countess instead. She is deeply depressed and angry at God over the death of her son. The Priest skillfully ministers spiritual guidance and helps her find some inner peace, which she acknowledges to him the next day via a thoughtful letter of gratitude. Unfortunately, the Countess dies, apparently from a heart attack, almost immediately thereafter. Chantal, who had overheard bits and pieces of The Priest’s conversation with her mother, holds him to blame for her mother’s death through the severity of his dealings with her. The Count and others of the community also adopt Chantal’s view of things. The Priest comes under the criticism of his superiors. The community and his superiors also begin to interpret The Priest’s reliance on wine for sustenance as evidence that he may be taking a few too many nips from the chalice.

Through all of these travails, The Priest steadfastly refuses to defend himself, preferring to accept the torment of false accusations and malicious gossip. He suffers but he endures. He realizes, in a moment of self-revelation, that it is the crucifixion to which he is most drawn, psychologically, in his faith. His physical condition has deteriorated to the point that he must seek medical help, for which he will have to travel by train to the city. While walking to the train station, he is offered a ride on the motorcycle of Olivier (Jean Danet), Chantal’s cousin. Olivier is something of a free-spirit (having served in the Foreign Legion) and deep thinker and takes an immediate shine to The Priest, suggesting that they could have been friends had he stayed.

In the city, The Priest soon learns that his condition is stomach cancer and will soon be fatal. He finds an old friend, Priest Dufrety (Bernard Hubrenne) – a former classmate at the seminary – who has abandoned the priesthood because of drug addiction. He tries to help his friend, urging him to talk with his own mentor, The Priest of Torcy. Soon, however, it is The Priest receiving his friend’s aid, as he passes away to the vision of a solitary white cross. His last words are: “All is Grace.”

Themes: As an agnostic, Bresson was uncertain of his convictions and it shows in the ambiguity of the thematic content of his films. Clearly this film is about religious faith but what exactly it is conveying about the values or problems relating to faith is far less certain. Viewers can derive a sense of support for their own views from this film almost regardless of what those views might be. Bresson wants viewers to respond to his film intuitively rather than cognitively. “I try to feel something, to see without explaining, to catch it as near as I can”, he says. He adds, “You should try to work not with your intelligence, but with your senses and your heart. With your intuition.” I don’t personally agree with Bresson in that regard. I believe that the avenue to truth requires both intuition and intellect: intuition to point in the general direction and intellect to refine the trajectory, avoid wrong turns, and guide the process home. Intuition by itself is too readily swayed by psychological needs.

The Priest is a man who is both admirable and easy to criticize. Let’s take the most positive view of him first. There is no doubt that his heart is in the right place. He is pure and devout. He wants nothing more from life than to serve his parishioners, his religion, and, above all else, his God. He is a man of deep faith. Even when he suffers emotionally and physically, his faith holds him together, keeping him focused on God’s work. Confronted with hostility, accusations and rejection, he refrains from lashing out or even defending himself, but instead continues with his efforts to serve. To that extent, he can be seen as emulating the suffering of Christ on the cross. What higher complement could be paid to a man of the cloth? Has he reached a state of Grace as he passes away?

On the other hand, this same man can be viewed as ineffective and deeply misguided. The Count’s charge that The Priest lacks social skills is pretty much on target. He conveys the sense of obligation that accompanies Catholicism but none of the joy. His countenance is grim, sometimes even pained. He’s no fun to be around. He is unable to win the confidence or good will of his community. He is cast into the role of a helper of people in need, yet his own depression is palpable. He is more in need of help than able to deliver it effectively. He is suffering a crisis of mind, soul, and body. One could argue that he is depressed and, being so, all too easily drawn to the dark Christian imagery of Christ as a Man of Sorrow. Is it even healthy to refuse to clarify and correct false rumors that undercut one’s effectiveness in the role of Priest? Isn’t part of a Priest’s job to win the trust and confidence of the community being served? Isn’t it his job to change his community for the better rather than letting himself be beaten down by it? Even the Priest of Torcy views him as something of a disgrace to the profession.

The final frames of the film, showing a solitary white cross, must certainly be intended to represent The Priest finding grace. Whether it is Grace in fact or merely the psychological apparition of grace is no clearer at the film’s end than at its beginning. I agree with Voltaire’s suggestion that religion is about us – our psychological needs – not about God. Bresson adds no significant clarity to the debate.

Production Values: The Diary of a Country Priest is masterfully filmed. The exterior shots take full advantage of the beautiful rural French countryside. The interior shots are beautifully framed. Doors and windows are effectively used to illustrate the barriers between The Priest and his congregation. Other times, we see The Priest walking alone in a scruffy, tattered robe, like a hobo being run out of town. Deep purple wine and black ink serve as the twin symbols of The Priest’s darkening mood.

Bresson’s style in all or most of his films is quite measured. Sometimes almost stationary. Like Tarkovsky, he wants viewers to think about what they’re watching – or, more precisely, to meditate on it. Bresson wants to engage viewers spiritually, as odd as that might sound, given Bresson’s agnostic inclinations. The narrative events are minimized in order to keep attention riveted on psychological meanings. They are meanings that we can only contemplate and not simply “get” because of the inherent ambiguities.

One intriguing characteristic of Bresson film technique is the extent to which he uses the soundtrack rather than images to carry a portion of the story. In one scene, we see The Priest watching a carriage go by but the carriage is off-screen. We merely hear the sounds of the hoof beats and the carriage wheels. A motorcycle backfires outside. We hear an unseen gate closing or the whistle of an unseen train as it arrives. Sometimes the sound effects carry more of a thematic than narrative function. The Priest receives word that The Countess has died and we hear the sounds of footsteps climbing up stairs as though The Countess were ascending the steps to heaven. The effect of this is to keep the images simple and uncluttered so that Bresson’s vision can be delivered with clarity and an economy of means.

Another nifty device used by Bresson for this film is the use of fades between each successive pair of scenes. This has the effect of making viewers wonder where we will find ourselves in each new scene. We are disoriented and uncertain just as The Priest finds himself in his new community. We and he become companion lost souls.

Claude Laydu had something of an angelic face, in 1950, and plays the part of innocence and purity effectively. His expressive eyes give poignancy to his pain. Andre Guibert was a psychiatrist (whose real name was Adrian Borel) and initially refused to take the part of The Priest of Torcy, but relented under the condition that his credit be listed by his pseudonym. Marie-Monique Arkell, who played the countess, was another non-professional and never made another film. A couple of the actors cast in minor parts were actually the ones with the most impressive resumes, ultimately. Serge Bento, who played Mitonnet, later appeared in Bad Girls (1968) and La Femme Infidele (1969) while Nicole Maurey, who played Louise, later appeared in The Day of the Triffids (1962).

Bottom-Line: Some will find The Diary of a Country Priest a dark and somber film, depressing in the severity of the protagonist’s isolation and angst. Others may experience it as a triumph of faith and individual transcendence. I found it neither depressing nor faith-affirming. My reaction to the film was a lot like Chantal’s reaction to The Priest: “Are you just saying whatever strikes your fancy?” “Do you have some secret?” Bresson seems content to serve up fine phrases in the hopes that we (as Chantal says of her mother) will care “for fine phrases like a fish cares for apples.” It's like looking at a Rorschach ink blot. You'll see what your own subconscious demands. As art, I give it four stars. As a stimulus for thought, I give it five stars. As intelligible substance, I give it two stars. I’d enjoy it more if Bresson had brought some intelligence to bear on the subject matter along with his vague intuitions.

The Criterion DVD version of The Diary of a Country Priest is a superlative product. The transfer of this black-and-white film was made from original source material and is almost totally free of defects. It is far crisper than previously available prints. It is presented full-frame. There is an excellent commentary tract provided by Peter Cowie, who has also done work for Criterion on several of the Bergman releases. The box liner includes a fine essay by film critic Frédéric Bonnaud that was originally published in “Film Comment” magazine. The Diary of a Country Priest is in French with English subtitles and has a running time of 115 minutes.

Recommended:
Yes

Viewing Format: DVD
Video Occasion: Better than Watching TV
Suitability For Children: Not suitable for Children of any age