Of Gods and Men is a thoughtful, fact-derived account of eight French monks living--gardening, beekeeping, singing, worshipping--in Algeria in the '90s. They include Brother Christian (Lambert Wilson), their appointed leader, and Brother Luc (Michael Lonsdale, who gives the film's most moving performance), an elderly, asthmatic doctor. Though they have long lived in peace with the Muslims in a nearby village, many of whom Luc cares for, the monks face an important decision as tensions between the faltering Algerian government and violent Islamic fundamentalists rise. If they stay, and don't accept military protection, abduction and death are all but inevitable. But would it be right to flee, to abandon the country and people they've long embraced in a time of unprecedented crisis? "Wildflowers don't move to find the sun's rays," says the resolute Christian during one of several conversations.

Co-written and directed by Xavier Beauvois (Le petit lieutenant), this is a slow-paced and contemplative film with moments of brutal violence and great beauty throughout. To be honest, I found certain parts rather tedious, Beauvois' rigid, repetitive portrayal of the monastic life in particular. The chanted prayers are interesting the first few times, but grow old and then almost groan-inducing. But when the monks engage in spirited debate--to stay or not to stay--or venture beyond the walls of their monastery, the film is completely compelling. There is a great scene where the main characters' Christmas celebration is interrupted by terrorists in search of medical supplies. Brother Christian has a tense, but then understanding conversation with their leader. Coexistence and tolerance, so close and yet so far. In another memorable scene, as the end draws near, the monks listen to part of Tchaikovsky's Swan Lake (visions of Natalie Portman briefly danced through my head, I must admit) and enjoy glasses of red wine. Beauvois cuts from face to face, each clearly emotional, becoming lost in the beauty of the music as they also face mortality.

The largest issue I have with this film, what restrains it from achieving true greatness in my estimation, relates to the monks' ultimate decision to stay put and face the proverbial music. While the film does attempt to probe their choice, it ultimately stands in awe of them. Which is fine as it is hard to be cynical when reflecting on peaceful men who gave their lives for their ideals and faith. Yet throughout the film, I struggled with and was nagged by what I perceived as a certain misguidedness in their surrender to martyrdom. What if there is nothing next, no hereafter? Wouldn't it have been better if they had run, stayed alive, and helped people elsewhere? No one benefitted from these intelligent, warm-hearted men turning the other cheek to lunatics with knives and machine guns. One character says he didn't become a monk to die. Part of me wishes he hadn't been swayed.

B

You know, maybe this film should've ended with the big Swan Lake scene.

The Swan Lake scene, however beautiful, felt totally out of place. The music didn't fit, tonally, in the film, and I just kept thinking of Black Swan.

I agree with you that the film was too in awe of these monks to really do something interesting with their story. When it ended, I just thought, "that's it?". It was too detached and, dare I say, religious a film.

But it was still well-made and moving (at times) and all that. Even if it didn't particularly connect with me.