Back Shelf Cinema: Thérèse (1986)

Our faithful, endearing protagonist, is Thérèse Martin. Or Thérèse de Lisieux. Or even The Little Flower of Jesus. And being titled, Thérèse, the film aims to offer some clarity on the young spiritual journey of this heroine. Not just how others saw (and see) her, but to show her in her own divine, yet organic, light. The performance of Catherine Mouchet, a young stage actress and new to film in 1986, is indeed a strikingly fitting presence. And an uncanny resemblance.

Thérèse is a 15-year-old girl, who is adamant that she is to join the Carmelite order. Especially as two of her sisters already have. From there, the soon-to-be-saint adapts to the confinement of a life where harsh conditions and rigid rules are a daily way of life. Including taking periods of total silence. But to honor Jesus, is to have fruitful and limitless faith and joy. Thérèse becomes gradually ill, and is diagnosed with tuberculosis, dying in 1897. Her diary was later published and officially heralded a saint in 1925.

Director and co-screenwriter, Alain Cavalier, wanted to make a small film about a huge historical figure. When Thérèse premiered at Cannes Film Festival in 1986, the seemingly unanimous praise the film received was certainly a shock to the French filmmaker. Cavalier would then go on to receive the Special Jury Prize at the closing ceremony. César Awards would follow months later – Best Film, Most Promising Actress, Best Director, Screenplay, Cinematography, Editing. All well deserved when you soak up the subtle excellence of this film.

“Set on a minimalist sound stage, Thérèse is like basic, but glorious theatre in appearance.”

Thérèse is clearly a low-budget effort – but a deliberate execution, regardless of financial means. There are some professional actors on show here, but no what-you-would-call stars. Cavalier wanted a natural, non-spectacle story of faith. A film so distant from the mainstream masses. And by doing so, the film beams with genuine pleasure from the features of faces or movements of bodies – even given the story’s gloom. Cavalier was not shy in citing the likes of Jean Renoir, Robert Bresson, and even Jacques Rivette, as perhaps personal admiration over filmic inspiration.

In the story of Thérèse, the plucky, relentless adolescent, brushes aside the church and their high-and-mighty opinions. That she is too young and feeble for such a transition. In their adoration for the savior, these women of God appear candid about their love for Christ. There’s a real sense of banter and humor in their chit-chat. But their ambition is another beast.

Thérèse is even addressed as someone unworthy at times, like a child. Perhaps out of protection more than wanting to degrade the girl. Still, her swift responses show she is not swayed by those around her. Thérèse is sure about the direction she wants. “You want it all at once.” she is advised. Maybe so. But so what?

“Utterly convincing as a girl embedded in the earth, with a desire reaching to the sky.”

Set on a minimalist sound stage, Thérèse is like basic, but glorious theatre in appearance. The aesthetics and impact of the resourceful production is imprinted without effort. And you have to kind of experience it yourself. Close-ups, the use of fade to black editing, the bare essential furniture and props, make for an abstractly touching, personal piece.

The atmosphere is a subtle stimulant to the senses. Cavalier and co. have created an aura that is, all at once, ethereal, homely, and melancholic. That near-blank production design offers a deeper focus on the character’s faces, their interactions. And the more tactile moments, the chuckles, or even the sullen glances, have a more significant settling place in our psyche as the audience watching.

And that consciousness of being an audience member very much suits the style of film-making on display. The camera lingers on these women, but also items of clothing, like shoes made of cloth. The minimal almost functions to normalise the grounded view of religion. The film in this vein also wafts an isolated, claustrophobic element. There are no doors or windows, just a back wall, and unlit areas to walk between.

Cinematographer Philippe Rousselot (who would win an Oscar finally in 1992 for A River Runs Through It), is literally given little room to express such precision within the frame. That said, away from the grandeur of the heavy-hitting blockbusters, Rousselot captures seemingly every single gesture, colour shade, contours, beautifully lit throughout. Camera movement is also minimal, but the position and movement of his visual work space is exceptional.

“Cavalier’s cinematic world is actually so deft and innovative, the depiction of Thérèse is simultaneously noble and painful.”

The self-conscious simplicity of Thérèse is clear to see. Cavalier’s technical gamble delivers a passionate nature of religious longing. Graceful, integrally raw, Catherine Mouchet in the central role is impeccable. Utterly convincing as a girl embedded in the earth, with a desire reaching to the sky. Thérèse seems to be a vibrant energy to every scene she is part of. Her sense of willing, often accompanied by a smile, is charming. On the flip side, as her ailment steadily takes the wind out of her sails, you can’t help feel an urge of protection over her.

All the performers are far from stripped bare of means of expression. But rather outward emotion is channeled through glazed eyes, spontaneous grins, fixed stares, refreshingly opaque reactions. The film tells a fleeting tale, in snapshots, and memories, and such authenticity. Restraint, suffering, longing, they all form part of humanity, including those dwelling the spiritual world.

Cavalier’s cinematic world is actually so deft and innovative, the depiction of Thérèse is simultaneously noble and painful. Exchanges of dialogue are so free-flowing, you’d believe it was not written, but simply happening before our eyes. Never overly dramatic, or manipulating, the film keeps your eyes on the screen. A story of purity so sobering, there’s irrelevance in being born secular, as this is a unique, extraordinary work of art.