directed by Roberto Rossellini
reviewed by John Murphy
"St. Francis is the mirror of Christ rather as the moon is the mirror of the sun. The moon is much smaller than the sun, but it is also much nearer to us; and being less vivid it is more visible."— G.K. Chesterton, St. Francis of Assisi
The Flowers of St. Francis is a lovely little film directed by the great Italian neo-realist, Roberto Rossellini, and co-written by—wait for it!—Federico Fellini. A collaboration between cinema’s pre-eminent neo-realist and its pre-eminent surrealist should pique the curiosity of any cinephile, while devotees of St. Francis, arguably the Church’s most enduringly popular saint, will find much to enjoy in this simple, touching film.
Told in a series of vignettes that echo Christ’s parables, The Flowers of St. Francis captures something of the whimsy of Francis’ ministry. He remains one of the most accessible and benevolent of the long litany saints in the Catholic tradition, at least in part because Francis felt the joy of faith, even in times of trial and hardship. A scene in the
film neatly summarizes his attitude; one of Francis’ followers asks him, what is perfect happiness? After seeking alms from an oafish homeowner, Francis and his follower proceed to be beaten, verbally abused, and tossed out into the mud and snow. This is perfect happiness, Francis tells his friend, to suffer in the name of Christ.
Any movie about a saint risks over-piety, risks turning a human person into a sacrosanct object, as if the saint’s blinding nimbus casts in shadow any individual features. That’s certainly not how Francis saw himself, and it’s not how he’s portrayed in the film. Rossellini and Fellini approach their subject with love, which is not exactly the same as reverence. The brothers (who were all played by members of the Franciscan order) laugh, make fools of themselves, joke with each other—but the effect is always familial, always in the spirit of love and charity.
There are moments of darkness and light in The Flowers of St. Francis, a narrative chiaroscuro that reflects the constant struggle and tension of modeling one’s life on Christ. There are sequences of physical comedy (poor Brother Ginepro being tossed around like a rag doll by a band of marauders) that wouldn’t seem out-of-place in a
Chaplin film. Then there are passages of powerful simplicity and pathos, such as Francis’ encounter with a leper in a desolate field on a dark night, that remind the viewer that love must first conquer fear. Faith is alive in this film, and it’s not always easy.
The main lesson I drew from this moving treatment of Francis’ ministry is that faith is to be lived. Francis, with grace and love, made his life a beautiful prayer for God. He praised God by praising His creation. This film, like the subject that inspired it, feels like the fruit of that love.
Note: Martin Scorsese, no cinematic lightweight, wrote an insightful "personal appreciation" for the 2005 DVD release of The Flowers of St. Francis. I’ll let il maestro speak, as he is a more reliable authority than yours truly:
"What Rossellini did, with such grace and such apparent ease, was to make a movie about a group of men for whom existence is a neverending struggle — a struggle to be good, a struggle to stay true to the word of God. At times, the struggle becomes comic, and I still marvel at Rossellini’s daring in these scenes — the way Francis and his brethren jump through the puddles, or the cooking of the soup, which wouldn’t be out of place in a Laurel and Hardy short. Of course, it’s all done in a very loving manner, and that’s why it is at once so magical and so true. We’re all ridiculous at times — even those of us who are declared saints."
