I wish I could be a tough guy and tell you that I absoultely loved “Into Great Silence” or — as I heard it described at a recent party — “The Three Hour Monk Movie.” But I won’t lie to you (which is why I must point out it is a mere two hours and forty minutes): I liked the movie, found it interesting, heck, I’m not even sure I was ever officially bored, but I wasn’t riveted and I’m not about to zealously demand that everyone drop whatever they’re doing and go.
The movie is a bold experiment — but that’s what it is, an experiment. Gröning got himself access to something no one else has ever shown before and, for his own artistic purposes, I’m sure, decided the best way to tell us about Carthusian Monks was to record record record. What we’re left is just a parade of moments. It is the closest I’ve seen to screensaver-as-cinema.
It is an excellent mood piece. Enormously hypnotic. And if your mind wanders for a few moments and then you land again a few minutes later, well, hey, that’s probably the intention. I was in quite a lenghty daze after walking out of that theater.
My biggest complaint is that after two hours and forty minutes of intense scrutiny of Carthusian Monks, I know nothing about them. I know what they eat, what the doors to their rooms look like, how they dress, how they cut their hair, how they shovel snow and chop wood. And how they mumble in Latin. But I don’t know anything about their context (a quick glance at Wikipedia scratched that post-viewing itch) but, more of a let-down, I don’t know what makes these guys tick. And this film might very well have been the world’s only shot at getting some insight there.
