Crucifixion

Film night, and in all honesty, I've seen nothing better all year. It's an axiom of mine that pretty much anything featuring Brendan Gleeson is worth at least a couple of hours of my attention, and Calvary is no exception. The film's hook is instantly compelling (Gleeson, a Sligo priest, takes confession from a man who was sexually abused as an altar boy by a now-deceased priest, and who intends to take revenge by murdering Gleeson in a week's time), but the crux of the narrative lies in the ensuing days, as we see the priest going about his daily business prior to his impending murder. He's a deeply moral man whose position is utterly undermined by the perceived moral bankruptcy of the Church he represents; he feels compelled to offer compassion and guidance to his troubled local flock, but in return receives only blackly comic responses ranging from contempt, disdain and mockery to violence.

The heart of Calvary lies in the quiet argument contained within these encounters: that in a cynical and chaotic age, there remains a need in society for individuals willing to care for, advise and even absolve other human beings, but that any organisation providing this function will inevitably be co-opted by those who manipulate and abuse, and that even the very best of people may find themselves judged by the standards of the very worst. It's weighty stuff, and had it been tackled as a po-faced drama it may have become as unbearably preachy as the Sligo townsfolk see Gleeson's priest, but its vein of bleak, ironic humour and laugh-out-loud one-liners (it does come across in places as the deranged twin of Father Ted) keep the pill sweet until the crushing finale.

Watch it. Watch it now.