Calling The Club (originally El Club) heavy in terms of subject matter and emotional resonance would be an understatement. Indeed, this film lulls you into a false sense of security, with stunning shots of sunsets on a beach in a nigh-idyllic small town somewhere in South America (in this case, Chile), with dog-racing as a local pastime and charming communal dinners. But what lies beneath the surface is entirely more serious than what the audience is led to believe in the first half-hour.
A quiet house on the coast is the residence of four priests and a nun, all living out some sort of enforced spiritual penance for various crimes (all involving children in some way) in an effort to simultaneously sweep them under the rug from the eyes of the press and public and somehow pray away their moral lapses. Director Pablo Larraín's latest movie explores the myriad depredations of the Catholic Church in troubling detail, without being too graphic in imagery. Even so, the past transgressions of the household members are held up to excruciating scrutiny through dialogue and situational context that proves all too real. The Club succeeds in making the audience uncomfortable in that the crimes committed by the main characters are well rooted in reality. Every moment is a multifarious connection of fear and disgust, of humanity and misery, all beneath a thick layer of psychological loathing.
The performances are powerful and exquisite. Hermana Mónica's (Antonia Zegers) eyes betray her feelings of quiet desperation in the face of an official investigation by Vatican priest Padre García (Marcelo Alonso). Padre Vidal's (Alfredo Castro) callow weakness, coupled with his fanatical devotion to the quintet's adopted greyhound, has a depth that illustrates a paradoxical kind-heartedness, considering the egregiousness of his past. Padre Ortega's (Alejandro Goic) unapologetic and incendiary rebellions are entirely believable. A victim of one of the clergy, Sandokan (Roberto Farías), is somehow touching despite being a drug-addicted and mentally broken indigent.
The characters in the film are indeed a paradox in and of themselves, wherein the writing provides moments of emotional contact with the lives and motivations of the principals, despite their sordid histories.
The cinematography is remarkable, and as director of photography, Sergio Armstrong made some interesting choices. For instance, it appears some shots utilized very old lenses—evident in several scenes where barrel distortion (kind of a fish-eye effect at the edges of the picture) accompanies a somewhat soft picture. Use of practical lighting (a lamp or ceiling light that can be seen in frame) brings a certain verisimilitude to the film.
The blocking of the scenes is also worthy of mention. Many scenes are filmed in the interior of the small house where the erstwhile clerics reside, conveying an almost claustrophobic (or is it cloister-phobic?) theme, considering the close proximity the cast is situated in each scene. It may also illustrate how they've all become close, with Padre García on the outside, trying to penetrate their inner circle, and the silence that surrounds an event that triggers the conflict.
Violence appears sparingly, but with a profound and visceral result. It's a graphic representation of the injustice they've perpetrated on the innocent, and when it occurs—either by surprise or by sinister design—it never fails to make the audience feel something.
The Club is a haunting fictional exploration of recent events concerning the widespread abuse perpetrated by the Church. It may be a movie that you see only once, but you'll remember it well after you've left the theater.
THE CLUB
Directed by Pablo Larraín
with Farías, Zegers, Castro, Goic, Alonso
CCA,
R,
98 min.
Santa Fe Reporter