What is writing but an act of temporal prayer? An escape from judgment and opportunity for self-reflection, which can turn on any of us at any given moment. For those who want to speak loudly when others refuse to listen, the desire to put pen-to-paper is always afforded to the lonely, isolated, and alienated few whom seek to expose the truth about themselves and the world they inhabit. Enter Reverend Toller (played by Ethan Hawke), a man of God who is for better or worse, wrestling against the current of spiritual, religious piety in opposition to an impending ecological disaster — entities which are rarely discussed in tandem, yet serve director Paul Schrader well within the confines of this minimalist, maximalist work. Heady existentialism, particularly when dealing with such polarizing issues as abortion and climate change, might force a lesser film (or filmmaker) to cater to an audience of the two sides, pandering to one, if any, that brought in the healthiest and most robust ticket sales. Though, like his sorely anguished protagonist, Schrader isn't interested in these solutions so much as he is with the journey that facilitates such finales, unpredictable as they might be. Consider the movie's opening query, which asks the viewer whether or not it's appropriate to bring a child into this world, knowing full well that by the year 2050 much of the planet, whether due to rising temperatures or acidifying oceans, will be nearly inhospitable to human life. It's by no means an easy hypothesis to dispute, even for the God-fearing few, though Schrader (as Toller) reminds us life is a gift not to be squandered, whilst refusing to acknowledge whether abortion really is an unjust, moral sin if the only alternative is an even crueler, more wicked prospect.
A divine master of the art of withholding information, the "Taxi Driver" scribe utilizes a hyper-stylized 1.37:1 aspect ratio to juxtapose Reverend Toller's simultaneous boredom and swift descent into madness, though neither through-lines threaten to suffocate the broader potboiler narrative at play, simmering just below the surface with a kind of Hitchcock-ian well of dread. Hawke deploys simple and subtle gestures that kick his performance into overdrive by the film's final act, paving a bedrock of goodwill which is ultimately tested in uncomfortable measure — allowing for an ending so striking and beautiful in scope, one may not believe in the power of transcendental cinema until they've left the theater. Prodding the subconscious mind about our purpose as a species, especially in light of our own self-inflicted expiration date, is a hell of a question to posit; Schrader sees what we've done, knows that there's no coming back from the brink, yet ultimately prevents us from sheltering in pity or any kind of despair. He throws our previously-held assumptions out the window (along with the baby and the bathwater), all in the pursuit of a novel, uncompromising outlook that dictates one should always embrace love over hate. Love is what binds us, the anomaly which makes us human after all, forcing us to be brave in the face of death and ultimately compelling us to go forward in making tomorrow a better place for our kids and grandkids… even when we know it won't (or can't) be.
There is a gritty, almost Greek tragedy-ness to the whole gray affair, and rarely has a filmmaker proved to be quite as agile (or catechized) as Schrader is here. He hastens his audience to root for Toller to do the unexpected, the unimaginable, and at one point, the unconscionable — denouncing our tightly held world-views in the pursuit of some rather radical parity. He also prefers long, static shots over the dizzy, frenetic pacing of his prior feature, "Dog Eat Dog," allowing for a more somber, even meta-meditative approach to storytelling. Though like Toller, Schrader walks a fine line between tenderness and evil, always penetrating the limits of his characters' souls — proving men and women's only salvation is the hope for a better future (regardless of whether they're around to see it themselves). It's a disturbing, critical self-audit gleaned at the micro and macro levels of society, all told through the eyes of a brash, austere filmmaker who gave us "Affliction" and "American Gigolo." Perhaps Schrader's finest accomplishment, however, lies in the simple conversation itself — which is distressing and dividing for some, but too damn important to be left on the cutting room floor. "First Reformed" will likely be regarded as the first great film of 2018, and in finding an audience worthy of its teachings, the first film willing to debate these topics through faith and optimism, rather than angst and alarm. Hell, it's not like we're not getting any younger.
"FIRST REFORMED" a.k.a. “Pray Me A River” Rated R. Running time: 1 hour 53 minutes.
