Spirituality has defined many of Terrence Malick’s most universally lauded films throughout his career, from his foremost masterpiece The Tree of Life to some of his more polarizing films like Knight of Cups and more. Even when his films are not explicitly spiritual on the forefront, many seem to have a grander focus on portraying some sort of paradise being lost and the resulting internal journey. His newest film, A Hidden Life, is the film in his long career that perhaps exemplifies both of these aspects best. The film tells the true story of Franz Jägerstätter (August Diehl), an Austrian farmer turned conscientious objector during the Second World War who is executed in 1943 after being called up into service and refusing to swear an oath of loyalty to Hitler.
After opening with various scenes from Leni Riefenstahl’s infamous 1935 Nazi propaganda film Triumph of the Will, setting the stage for the events that follow, Malick transports us directly (and I mean directly) into the lives of Franz with his wife Fani (Valerie Pachner) and their young family. The first half of the film is overflowing with an incomprehensible amount of beauty, as if Malick was almost attempting to decipher and convey in the most pure and human way possible the very essence of holiness. Many of the scenes here are made up of extremely long takes in which Malick holds on the young couple as they go about their daily tasks: tilling the fields, milking the cows, ringing the church bell, etc. Interwoven with the more mundane and interpersonal beauty that arises from these scenes are many stunningly gorgeous tableaus of the surrounding landscape, which from the transcendental images Malick and DP Jörg Widmer present almost appears to be the most beautiful place on the face of the earth. However, the film’s sense of inevitability remains, and the beauty never feels comfortable or secure, as the dark undertones of the country slowly going mad grows ever further as the film goes on. Eventually, after a brief stint in the local barracks in 1940 in which he saw no combat, Franz is called up to serve the Nazis once again in 1943, and it is here where the emotional and spiritual conflict truly comes to a head.
You see, Franz is troubled by the direction of their country. By the violence, the blind loyalty, the hatred. His faith has told him that everything his government stands for is something he should be willing to die to end, and yet any advice he seeks from any ecumenical authority is stemmed in fear, self-service, and potential demagoguery. The church authority has either bought into the Nazi message in a grasp for power, or simply goes along with it in fear of retribution and alienation. The second half of the film is predicated heavily on the separation of Franz and Fani, with as much focus going on the struggles of Fani without her husband in an increasingly hostile community which they once called home as is the struggles of Franz in Nazi captivity.
Most directors would see a story like Jägerstätter’s and immediately get to work making a film that purely glamorizes his heroism and provides some opportunities for some easy moral superiority points to make the audience comfortable. Malick refuses to let it be so simple. Time and time again, Franz comes into contact with a variety of figures who question the nature of his resistance, be it a priest, a public defender, a sister-in-law, or even a Nazi judge (a brilliant Bruno Ganz in one of his final roles). What is the point of your resistance if the only thing that will come of it is your death, and a young family left to live without a father? Does God not see what is in your heart, and knows the truth in how you feel versus what you say? Malick doesn’t have the answers, yet could anyone really? There is not a single right-minded (important word here) individual who would say that Franz’s actions are nothing but honorable, brave, and perhaps even holy, and yet it is at no point Franz’s intention to be these things. He is at a crossroads with his faith, and simply cannot, as he puts it, “do what I believe is wrong.” He is not trying to be a martyr, nor a face of protest against a brutal regime. His protest is internal, an honoring of the contract he signed with his God upon bounding himself devoutly to faith. It is here where Malick asks the question, what does God want us to do? Franz himself states: “if God gives us free will, we’re responsible for what we do, what we fail to do,” and this morality is unquestionable regardless of what lens it is viewed from (be it religious or atheistic). And yet, despite this, Malick does not allow us to feel comfortable in simply watching a cool biopic about a heroic man we had never heard of before who stood up to the Nazis. He takes the time to painstakingly establish the progression of the Nazification of the Jägerstätter’s home village and the resulting alienation and hatred directed toward Fani and the children in the wake of their father’s absence. We see his wife struggle to keep up the farm and to raise the kids, we see the town turn on her and her family. From this intense focus on both sides of the coin, it is clear that Malick does not know what to think, that the quandary remains such in his mind in spiritual turmoil. This aspect of his film is perhaps the most recognizable and inimitable part of his filmography as a whole, as his films are able to seamlessly portray a sort of stream-of-consciousness, internal emotional or spiritual journey in a complex and harmonious manner that feels incredibly free-flowing, even in moments of great chaos or anguish.
This is not the only aspect of the story that troubles Malick’s mind, however. Perhaps the most audience-affronting parts of the film regard the depiction of the civilians and fellow villagers. It is very easy and perhaps very human to imagine oneself in past instances of widespread injustice as a sort of lodestar in the stand against oppression. We all like to imagine that we would not have been the ones who participated, or even just stood by. In Christian terms, nobody imagines themselves as Judas, or even your average bystander who watched as Jesus was nailed to the cross. Even the most humble and self-aware individuals are susceptible to such lapses in understanding. As a result, Malick makes a point to place a sizable amount of focus upon the sheer malleability of the human character and the ease with which we are drawn into hatred and/or evil, or at least accept it without pause. In doing this, Malick is taking direct aim at the audience (and perhaps himself a little as well), forcing us to be uncomfortable with the notion that when it truly comes down to it, it is far more likely that we would have been passive or active collaborators than the heroes we all imagine ourselves to be in dire situations.
Perhaps the most surprising thing about the film though is its clear connection to the current time period, and its allusion to the political and moral woes which seem to rule the earth in its current stage. This film is really the first time where Malick has truly attempted to portray his vision in relation to a political reality. The themes of demagoguery, religious forces being quick to sell their souls to immorality, a country going mad, and the spiritual and moral confusion of how to construe a chaotic world echoes deeply within our current terrifying reality. Malick’s own quiet, almost existential grief and confusion of how to come to terms with one’s own spirituality, place in the world, and duty to community in the face of a world on fire feels quite pertinent and when considered in relation to the film’s deep focus on faith takes on a deeper level of soulful and reflective strength.
A Hidden Life challenges its audience in ways many films today lack the courage to do. It poses enumerable questions of grander importance without answer, confronts the delusions of grandeur of its audience, resists the comfortability in simplifying such a story as this, and it takes its time over its nearly 3 hour runtime in order to capture the grandiosity and intimacy which it hopes to portray in its totality. Instead of just being a story of purely tragedy, or triumph, or angst, it exists in many spaces at once, instead crafting its own unique state of mind for its audience to exist within that simply cannot be described. It trusts its brilliant actors and places more focus on movement and thought than on conversation, allowing relationships to be relayed physically and for characters to be understood more deeply. Simply put, A Hidden Life is the greatest film of the year, and is perhaps one of the deepest experiences one can have in a theater.
As for the film’s title, it comes from this brilliant George Eliot quote, an epigraph for an indescribable and deeply enriching experience from a director who does it better than anyone else:
“… for the growing good of the world is partly dependent on unhistoric acts; and that things are not so ill with you and me as they might have been, is half owing to the number who lived faithfully a hidden life, and rest in unvisited tombs.”
5/5 STARS