Faith, War, and Marxism in Leon Morin, Prêtre

Dec 5, 2020 | By Bella Gamboa JE ‘22

I did not expect a film watched for class to be a spiritually rich experience, but Leon Morin, Prêtre (Leon Morin, Priest), a 1961 film by Jean-Pierre Melville, was in equal parts visually striking, well-paced, and theologically compelling. 

The film takes place in occupied France during World War II. Its protagonist is a young window and Marxist militant named Barny. On a whim, she decides to go into a church to speak to and playfully mock Christianity. Kneeling in the confessional after guessing which priest would be most amenable to such a joke, she recounts Marx’s famous phrase rather than her sins: “Religion is the opium of the people.”

But she indeed chose her priest well, and the young, intelligent, down-to-earth Leon Morin gladly engages in dialogue with her. Barny and the priest begin to meet regularly; Barny puts forth her concerns about Christianity, and Morin deftly answers, or retorts with his own questions for her. These conversations, as well as some other interactions Barny has throughout the film, touch upon issues of Christianity that transcend the era of the film. Morin often thoughtfully expresses theological principles; many of his answers capture Biblical truths as cleanly and elegantly as the black-and-white film captures a scene with light and shadow. 

Much of the richness of the film lies in Barny and Morin’s discussions, which I will not spoil, and cannot properly replicate on page. But to touch upon a few highlights: Barny and the priest banter about reforms within the church, as Morin sympathetically engages with Barny’s ideological concerns as a communist; Morin diagnoses pride as a lack of self-dignity, rather than the presence thereof, as Barny maintains; their conversations touch on grace, love, and free will. At one point, they speak at length about the nature of faith and evidence, and Morin’s response recalls Kierkegaard as he explains that no amount of evidence is sufficient to believe in God—in order to have faith, one must take a step beyond what can be seen.

And the surrounding war is not absent, even if it is not an overwhelming presence. Barny’s young daughter has been sent to stay with spinsters in the country. The little girl began going to catechism on her own accord, and her comments on what she has learned offer insights of childlike clarity. At one point, she remarks that one cannot see God—an issue with which her mother struggles—but cheerfully remarks that that’s not a problem! 

In one otherwise ordinary scene, a profoundly consequential conversation plays out: Barny argues with a friend, who goes to Morin as a confessor, about whether one can, as a Christian, be a Nazi collaborator. Barny’s friend is a collaborator and defends collaboration as the lesser of evils, assuming that resistance efforts will be in vain, but Barny is resolute: she “would rather France die and morality live.” Although the answer to such a dilemma is clear to Barny and to viewers in retrospect, Barny’s words are striking. Her uncompromising assertion prompts one to wonder where we have perhaps let morality die, favoring France—allowing our comforts and allegiances to take precedence over what is right—in small and significant ways. 

The film melds the theological and wartime considerations that are at its core; the result is a film that is meditative yet suspenseful, aesthetically beautiful and often theologically profound. It is well worth its lengthy runtime. By turns comforting and thought-provoking, Leon Morin, Prêtre would be a worthwhile watch for those as well-versed in theology as Morin, or as skeptical as Barny herself.

For Yale students, Leon Morin, Priest, is available for free with English subtitles on Kanopy; some public libraries also offer Kanopy access.

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