Berlinale Review: In Memory of Myself

If there's one thing In Memory of Myself ( or In memoria di me) taught me, it's that it's painful enough watching men train to become priests for five minutes, let alone two hours. Despite its gorgeous camerawork, Saverio Castanzo's film (which is playing in Berlinale's competition section) fails to really tell us anything about what it's like for a man to trade in his life for one dedicated solely to religion. Instead, pic glides from hallway to hallway -- peering around one empty corner after the next -- while it searches for the rest of its non-existent plot.

Fed up with where life has taken him thus far, and desperately in search of an "idea or reason to live for," Andrea (Christo Jivkov) heads for the seminary where he is to begin training to become a priest. In the opening scene, Father Superior (Andre Hennicke) informs Andrea that he has passed the initial test and must now give all of himself to The Lord -- immerse himself in the silence, the prayer, the honesty -- and only then will he be ready to join the ranks.

Right from the get-go, we know practically nothing about Andrea, except that he is well-traveled, has loved at one point in his life and has arrived seeking direction. It's a fine set up if throughout the film we slowly unravel all the little pieces that make up this man on a mission -- but, sadly, the film goes no further and we're left to somehow interpret stone-cold facial expressions while Andrea wonders aimlessly throughout the seminary's long, magnificent halls looking for someone to connect with; someone to relate to.

Joining him are a group of unfamiliar men who remain unfamiliar (with little to no dialogue), save for two: Fausto and Zanna (Filippo Timi) . It's fairly obvious early on that Fausto has lost touch with his reasoning for being there; his cold, dark eyes unveil a passion long gone, and when Andrea -- out strolling during one of his nightly stalking sessions -- discovers Fausto in the bathroom banging his head against the wall, it isn't long until this troubled soul gives up and walks out the front doors. With one obsession gone, Andrea turns his attention to Zanna; yet another "problem child" who appears to be following in Fausto's footsteps. This time, however, there's a connection between the two, and Zanna carefully explains to Andrea ("We're not changing the world, only copying it") why priesthood has become more of a chore than a desire. Where are these feelings coming from? Why are they there? And, are they daunting enough to warrant an early exit?

Problem is, we can't answer those questions because the characters keep it to themselves. Unfortunately, all the audience can do is sit in silence and pray those internal struggles make their way, externally, out into the theater. That never happens ... but it's pretty to watch. Castanzo gives us plenty of empty space to play with; not only inside his characters, but outside, visually, the monastery is beautiful. Long, pristine oval-shaped hallways give way to feelings of emptiness and regret, as a lone cruise ship -- sailing toward, perhaps, a more fulfilling life -- temporarily glides past the window just barely in view. Sounds from the outside world, like a siren or booming fireworks, barely phase our mechanical novice's as they've become so out of touch with what life used to be. They no longer know how to feel, how to love -- ironic, seeing as it's love that brought them there in the first place.