As a child, Benedetta was divine AF. On his way to living in the convent forever, he manages to persuade a group of thugs to rob his family and even inspires a nearby bird to hurl a bunch of bullshit in the face of one of the thieves – things no one else can do. . So aimed at Catholic standards. Arriving at the convent on foot, Abbot Felicita (Charlotte Rampling) says: “Hey, buddy, no one’s driving free” and releases Benedetta’s father 100 gold coins and bargains with him for 50. She’s not a very woman. Pious. Abbess, right? Not as godly as Benedetta, that’s for sure. On her first night against the monastery’s beautiful, cold, colourless stone walls, Benedetta knelt to pray before the statue of the Virgin Mary, fell on top of her, and instinctively sucked on her wooden breasts. Hi!
Eighteen years have passed.
Amid a play of the Blessed Virgin in a monastic theatrical production, Benedetta has her first vision of Jesus as a bearded piece of flesh with a sword. One fateful day, the Abbey welcomes Bartholomew (Daphne Patakia), a young woman trying to escape the s*xual slavery of her father and brother. Benedetta and Bartolomea share quiet moments and serious conversations in the outbuildings of the Abbey. At the same time, Bartolomea makes a very satisfying fart sound, and this scene is totally in the movie. I swear I wouldn’t have imagined this bullshit.
Bartholomew is a formidable weapon, and Benedetta isn’t friendly to him at first. But after Benedetta had more intense visions – in which a serrated venomous snake slid over her dress, and Jesus cut her with his weapon. And grew up with a scar, she became seriously ill, which the abbot eventually appointed her as a rogue nurse. They became friends: Benedetta taught Bartholomew to read and write. Bartholomew taught Benedetta all about O. Benedetta’s madness and suffering, which meant that she was holier than the other nuns.
Felicity was deposed, and Benedetta was called abbot of the Corrupt Men. Including Lambert Wilson in the rules of snoring as a cruel bishop – in charge of the Catholic Church. This promotion means that Benedetta now shares private accommodation with her “assistant” Bartolomeo, and I know this is happening in Italy. Still, I’ll say it: there is one place in France where nuns don’t wear pants, and there’s a might hole in the wall where the former abbot can see everything bitterly.
Jesus beheading naughty children, vibrators carved from a mini statue of Mary:
Describing Catholic leaders as hypocrites – Verhoeven spun the big wheel of blasphemy in a transparent attempt to provoke humiliation. Are we laughing, or have we squeezed our pearls? The goal is obvious. However, her description of Benedetta seems purposely vague: was she hallucinating about this vision? Was he the swindler who cut his palms with ceramic pieces? What’s really in his heart? It’s as frustrating as pulling it off, and it seems to be an integral part of Verhoe’s calculations here.
Finally, the director ends the drama poker-faced with camp. Just stopping being embarrassed by the mocking insults – perhaps like a complete joke. But the s*x scenes he did were not at all distracting; Anyone familiar with Verhoeven’s works will not be surprised. That they are fragile and disturbing, and one wonders whether he indulged in his exploitative impulses or stumbled upon his character’s feminist liberties. (I think he’s trying to do both.) The final moment comes with the development of a third act in which vengeful religious leaders set out to persecute Benedetta and bring a deadly plague to Pesha. Their hypocrisy is as disgusting as their viral load, which Verhoeven uses as a satirical punch in his film.
Without God, your name is Benedetta. He’s not Verhoeven’s best, but he fits perfectly into the canon of films aiming to challenge audiences. And as usual, his work isn’t for everyone. I don’t recommend it. It just feels misguided.