Cinematical

Pavel Longuine's The Island, showing at Sundance in the World Dramatic Competition after closing the Venice Film Festival last fall, is a moving tale about sin, faith and redemption. Anatoly is a young man serving on a Russian barge during World War II, stoking the engines with coal, when the barge is taking captive by German soldiers. The Germans give the terrified young man a choice -- to be shot and die, or to shoot his captain and live. Anatoly shoots his captain, and is left on the barge by the soliders, who blow it up once they are off, leaving him for dead. Anatoly and the remains of the barge wash up on a remote island inhabited by a monastery.

Thirty years later Anatoly -- now Father Anatoly (Russian musician and artist Pyotr Mamonov, of the '80s experimental rock band Zvuki Mu) -- still lives on the monastery's island, keeping its boiler stoked with coal. He shuns living in the monastery proper, choosing instead to live in the boiler, sleeping on a pile of coal. Amongst his fellow monks, Father Anatoly is an anomaly -- a monk who sings loudly atop the bell tower, rarely bathes, refuses to wear fine vestaments, and prays in his own way. The locals view Father Anatoly as something of a holy man, and seek him out for advice and healing.
Father Anatoly, though, doesn' t quite fit in within the community he's called home for three decades. A recluse even among other monks, he is forever playing pranks that at first seem random and conceived of simply to annoy his brethren -- until the other monks begin to realize that perhaps his pranks are not so random after all. Could God be working through this odd man? His pranks, which on the surface seem random, tend to strike at the heart of the deepest sin and guilt of the other monks, and Father Job in particular finds that Father Anatoly's pranks cut deeply. Even Father Filaret, the head monk, finds he has lessons to learn from Father Anatoly, who is the only one of the monks who truly lives in austerity, rejecting all things worldly as he struggles to atone for the sin of murdering his captain. But even if he finds forgiveness from God, can he forgive himself and truly find peace?

The Island paces slowly for the first half or so, and there were several walk-outs by about the midway point. I was glad I stuck around, though, because Longuine, although he weaves his story together slowly, weaves with a purpose. The answer to the question of whether Father Anatoly is touched by God or touched by insanity is revealed a clue at a time, and the slow pacing is deliberate. Bit by bit, we come to realize, along with the other monks, the impact that Father Anatoly has upon both the locals and the monastic community. The film as a whole serves as an analogy contrasting materialism versus spiritual values, creature comforts versus salvation, and thus interweaves a layer of spiritual and philosophical opposing forces into the film through Father Anatoly and his interactions with the villagers and other monks.

Mamonov as Anatoly is both complexing and compelling; Anatoly is a bundle of contradictions: helpful, then surly; indifferent, then passionate. Mamonov captures well the intricacies of this character, drawing us into Anatoly's world and making us, along with his fellow monks, come to care about him. The visually stunning cinematography serves to pull the viewer into the desolation of the icy winter landscape of this desolate Russian island, while the score sets a somber, spiritual tone.

The isolation of the monastery emphasizes the microcosm of social order that exists even wherever there are two or more people living together and sharing space. Here, in a place where men have presumably come to shed themselves of material longings and superficial wants, we see workplace politics and positioning, envy, coveting, pride, and greed. There is deliberate contrast between Father Anatoly's dirty robes and the pristine black garments the rest of the monks where, between Father Anatoly's filthy boiler room -- a self-imposed hell -- and the clean, white-washed monastery. Longuine pulls all these elements together into a deeply moving exploration of sin, redemption, and faith.