Silent Light (2007)

Johan (Cornelio Wall Fehr) has long been married to Esther (Miriam Toews). Along with their children, they live a life of faith as a Mennonite community in Mexico. However, underneath his conservative façade, Johan faces a moral dilemma in having an affair with another woman within their group, Marianne (Maria Pankratz). Johan does not deny his fault, as we witness his torment manifesting in his solitude.

He attempts to ease his burden by confiding to a close friend; he confesses to his father, a preacher, who warns him of demonic acts – as he narrates having had an illicit affair himself in his youth; even the innocent Esther herself is aware of her husband’s cheating – Johan vocally assures her of his love. Despite all this, he continues to see Marianne, believing that she is the woman he truly loves – his faith rendered powerless by his desires.

“Peace is stronger than love”, argues Marianne in her efforts to correct their error; she pities Esther for her suffering, yet she cannot fully get herself to part with Johan. Up until Esther’s sudden unfortunate death, the two women have not “faced” each other; and it is in the film’s concluding revelation where peace and forgiveness finally prevails.

Truly the film values peace above all, as it commits to the Christian principles of the people depicted in this moral tale. However it is worth noting that the treatment does not impose moralistic authority, as on might expect. The film avoids being preachy by effectively using its visuals to communicate its ideals; lingering shots attempt to capture not just the beauty but the essence of its subjects, while it’s brilliant sound design successfully heighten the characters’ tensions.

Director Carlos Reygadas’ pacing maybe painstaking for the average viewer but at the very least, he makes up for the slowness by providing us the most stunning images, carefully and intelligently captured, that we can stare at for long - from its breathtaking opening scene up to the transitory breaks in between. Moreover, Reygadas’ camera illuminates his unknown players whose restrained performances are undoubtedly inspired, as they are genuine Mennonites from Mexico, Germany and Canada.

Reygadas’ slow-paced rhythm is reminiscent of legendary auteurs such as Antonioni, Bergman and Tarkovsky – all of which have mastered the aspects of space and time in cinema. The Bergmanesque link becomes even more apparent in the film’s surprising conclusion, as one is reminded of the Swedish director’s masterpiece “Cries and Whispers”. However, beyond these comparisons still lies a unique voice from the Mexican auteur, as his philosophies echo loudly and sincerely in his craft, as evident in this moving and transcendent film about forgiveness.