[ad_1]
Robert Greene had an idea. The filmmaker behind these fuzzy experimental documentaries like Kate plays Christine (2016) and Bisbee ’17 (2018) attended a press conference in Kansas City, in which a lawyer named Rebecca Randles and her clients – four men who had been abused by Catholic priests as children – asked authorities in Kansas and Missouri to initiate criminal investigations into the incidents. . Regardless of the statute of limitations; after discovering that over 230 priests “we know†in the region who had been actively abusive for several decades, it was time to hold the Church to account. Justice had to be served. Greene contacted the lawyer. Would these men be interested in collaborating with him on a project?
Three of them (Michael Sandridge, Tom Viviano, Mike Foreman) agreed to hear from the filmmaker. Randles suggested three other survivors (Joe Eldred, Ed Gavagan, Dan Laurine) who she said could benefit from what Greene had in mind. The idea was that these men, with the help of a trained theater therapist, would revisit and piece together some of the traumatic moments around their abuse. Greene and his team would film these scenarios, using both real environments – that is, real churches – and built sets. The men helped by playing roles in the stories of others, including some of the abusers. The filmmakers would also give their subjects the space to speak directly about their experiences, as well as follow them as they returned to the scenes of many crimes.
More from Rolling Stone
You can see the skepticism in the eyes of these six survivors, who have learned to trust no one and seem to be wary of fresh salt poured into wounds that never really healed. Their hesitation is obvious – they don’t want to exploit their tragedies or appear “pathetic”. Making their stories public is one thing, but really recreating them? And then, after a group chat and a nervous laugh, Gavagan said, with a shudder in his voice, “I want it to be like the Marvel superheroes, defeating the forces of the fucking darkness.”
Procession – which begins streaming on Netflix today – is, in its painfully intimate and singular way, a superhero story, bringing together its team of avengers and leaving them to face enemies both individual and institutional. How this gang of brothers support each other as they delve into personal nightmares (and, in one case, a literal nightmare), is inspiring. It’s no coincidence that the opening credits mention him as “a movie of†these six men. But it’s also a portrait of ordinary human beings grappling with demons, armed with nothing more than righteousness, courage, and a stubborn need to be heard when so many refused to listen. Perhaps it took a man with a camera to let them venture into the past and, in the words of one of their collaborators, “stand up for the little boy who couldn’t”. Yet these guys are the ones who are stepping into the worst times of their lives on purpose, jumping into an abyss with faith that there can be something healing on the other side. Name something more heroic than this.
As for the films they make to confront what happened to them, they range from the baroque (baptismal sequence in which the eyes of a clergyman glow green – a detail linked to the memories of a survivor of his rapist) to the corrective (Foreman reenacts a meeting that closed his court case and now allows himself to rage as a result). Others dive back into specific, detailed moments of trauma that aren’t explicit, but are nearly impossible to watch. For some of them, the mere idea of ​​setting foot in a church again feels like crossing a major threshold. Equally unshakeable and equally devastating are two different sequences of men returning to isolated homes where horrors have occurred. There are a handful of times when you really worry about someone having a complete, irrevocable real-time outage.
It’s a heart-wrenching documentary, of course, but also healing in a way that doesn’t go for just emotional button press, or downplaying the bare-handed struggle they endure while dealing with it all. . (Film title contains multitudes.) Greene tried something similar with his previous work Bisbee ’17, in which the residents of a small mining town in Arizona celebrate the 100th anniversary of a racially motivated incident by helping residents re-enact the tragedy, with musical numbers. It combined performances, testimonials, advocacy and activism as a way to get a deeper truth about what happened and how the story continues to reverberate here and now. The tightrope with which he walks Procession, however, feels much more perilous. There’s a lot more at stake, when it comes to these grown men bringing the monsters from their childhood back to life. Not to mention, of course, the child actors whom they chose as their younger counterparts. One wrong note, and it could have been disastrous for everyone involved.
Instead, Greene and his team not only bring procedural sensitivity, but grant these six brave souls the license to let it all out, as they need to. And it’s the scene they set, not to mention the way these men strut, worry, scream and sob on this stage, that lends Procession the power he possesses. It just wouldn’t have the seismic effect, or the feeling of a truly deserved catharsis, without these recreations – for the subjects and the audience. It ends with a man who is handed a hammer and demolishes a setting that eerily resembles a parsonage chamber, and another reads a letter addressed to himself younger, while the actor he played s ‘sit down and listen. None of them is far from being able to let go of the past. But for a second you can see that they’ve made their peace with it and feel ready to let go of some of the pain that they’ve been clinging to all their lives. Procession gives them the chance to exorcise these demons. And then, it gives them the strength to take the first step towards the future.
The best of Rolling Stone
[ad_2]
