David recommends . . . that you go and see LOURDES

For anyone who doesn't know, Lourdes is a small town in the French Pyrenees where the Virgin Mary shows up from time to time. Consequently so do millions of pilgrims, the sick and disabled, their family members and carers. The Lourdes pilgrimage industry is big business.  All geared around desperate hopes of miraculous healing.

Enter, in her wheelchair, Christine, played by the enigmatic Sylvie Testud.  Christine has advanced multiple sclerosis. She cannot move anything below her neck. Her days are spent in her wheelchair, her claw like hands folded in her lap.  At night she is manhandled into bed.  And back into the chair each morning. Everything must be done for her. She is dressed, has her hair brushed, is taken to the toilet.  And fed.  After each mouthful, her chin is wiped. Ditto when she drools.

In the original French, her situation is semantically poignant and ironic. For a "wheelchair is a "fauteuil roulant".  But a "fauteil" normally means an "armchair",  far more comfortable than Christine's situation.

Initially she seems to display little emotion about that situation. She is an observer. While some around her are sceptical, she voices no cynicism. On the other hand, neither does she appear to be a true believer.  "Not very pious, that girl", whispers one rather bitchy fellow pilgrim to another. At dinner, she compares Lourdes with Rome, and is asked "Do you go on many pilgrimages?" She replies, without intentional humour, "It's the only way I get out". Coming to Lourdes is something to do.  Something to see.

We observe Christine as she observes what goes on around her. There are no special effects or action scenes.  Almost no moments of drama. There is no musical soundtrack. Through and with her we enter into the worlds of Catholicism, faith, and, specifically, Lourdes and the hope of cure.  Initially she is almost disinterested, as we witness with her the grief and despair and suffering of others.

But as the film progresses we begin to enter Christine's inner world. The frustration of being trapped, immobile, in a chair she cannot even propel herself. "I feel useless". Her longing for love and sexual touch. "I want to have a baby".  And as she feels more, so she hopes more and more for her own healing.

Everyone in Lourdes comes across as genuine. The priests genuinely believe. The pilgrims genuinely hope, and genuinely go along with what is required of them. Only one person is genuinely cynical, expressed via humour. "Jesus, The Holy Ghost and Mary are discussing where to go on holiday . . . " For the pilgrims, there are, though, many questions. "Why did God make ME ill?" "Why did God cure THAT man and not me?" "What do I have to do to get him to heal ME?"

The priestly replies begin with the "mysterious ways" line. Then "You must fully open yourself up to God." "How do I do that?" Silence. Cut to the next scene. Those who press further find themselves in complex and sometimes brutal theology. "God has made us all diverse - some are strong, some are clever, some are in wheelchairs. Sometimes we must accept our lot". 

The nearest to a baddie in Lourdes is head helper Cecile, who may have trained at the same place as Nurse Ratched from One Flew Over The Cuckoo's Nest. Calling the dining room to order with her stern "shhhhhhhhh-ing". Then issuing the day's programme / commands in a voice both "have a nice day" and chilling.  And chiding both staff and pilgrims alike for not behaving correctly.

But Cecile clearly cares, and is committed professionally and religiously to the well-being of her charges.  And in a sudden moment her personal story hits an abrupt turning point, leaving us questioning the simple division of roles and fates in the story so far.

The brutal, fatalistic element is reflected in the events put on for the pilgrims.  A trip into the mountains is announced, but "of course this is only for the more able-bodied of you, those in wheelchairs must stay behind".  And most poignantly for Christine, the incessant flirting between the male and female paid helpers who feed them, push them around, clean them.

This is a constant theme in the film, and we feel for Christine as this must be torture for her. Her very own carer is told off for neglecting her duties as she chats with an admirer. For, again ironically, Christine is constantly touched, all day long, by her carers. Her body is allowed no privacy, no boundary. Yet the sensual touch of an admiring suitor which she so craves is absent from her life.

But Christine spots a man she likes and smiles, tries to draw him into conversation. Tentatively moving across from the world of the crippled sexless into that other world of flirtation, beseeching and encounter. Does he like her? How will he respond? Will her transgression make her torture worse?

Among all the questions, the most important for the audience is, will Christine recover? Will she experience a miracle? Will she escape the chair? Find sexual love? This reviewer entered Lourdes as an atheist, someone critical of organised religion and especially of the Catholic church. With the paedophile priest scandal so current.  And sceptical about miracles.

Yet despite all that, I felt drawn into this world of true belief, and of a true caring despite that sometimes harsh side. This is caritas, the non-sexual side of religious love. Reflected in one priest's answer that healing the soul is more important than healing the body. Does that come over as frustrating, enraging, or does it enable solace, acceptance?

Consequently I found Lourdes to be a profoundly moving experience. I did not rush from the cinema and convert to Catholicism. But my empathy with Christine seemed to put me in touch with something deep inside my own psyche.

All of which is down to Sylvie Testud, a remarkable French actress.  I wanted to write "young actress", but astonishingly she is already 39.  Testud is professionally blessed with an unusual appearance. Her slender frame is just the right side of anorexic, perfect for Christine. Her face is dominated by a large Gallic nose which is counterpointed by a tiny, pointy chin.  Not conventionally beautiful in a Hollywood, let alone Emmanuelle Beart / Sophie Marceau way. But she is beautiful as her eyes sparkle, and as she gives out those smiles which seem as if the sun has just broken out.

Like many of the great screen actresses, this gives her a powerful combination of the appealingly childlike - all big eyes and cute, cloche hat - and a mature, womanly sexuality. It is thus that Testud conveys Christine's humanity, her inner beauty. Which mirrors the film's theological theme about the relative importance of inner healing, of the soul.

What happens to Christine? Go and see.