The first Hollywood feature film ever to be financed by
the Roman Catholic Church was released twenty-five years ago on August 25, 1989. “Romero” starred the Puerto Rican Raul
Julia (“Kiss of the Spiderwoman” and the “The Addams Family” franchise) as Salvadoran Archbishop Óscar
A. Romero, and was directed by the Australian John Duigan. The writer was John Sacret Heart (TV’s “The West Wing”), and the
producer was Paulist Pictures’ Fr. Ellwood E. Kiesel. “[I]ts
religious origins notwithstanding,” the New
York Times wrote,
the film was “a frankly commercial
venture aimed at a mass audience.”
But unlike what happens in other movie sets, the cast and crew of
“Romero” would gather each week to celebrate Mass, with the producer (Fr.
Kiesel) as its celebrant.
A quarter century later, “Romero” still holds up, with an
unusually reverent reception (e.g., 75% critical approval and 81% audience
appreciation on RottenTomatoes), and it has undeniably made its mark culturally by
elevating its subject to the iconic stature that seems best attained on the silver
screen:
- Released before ten years had elapsed from Romero’s 1980 assassination, the film became essentially the first draft of the Romero legend, presenting what has become the dominant paradigm used in telling Romero’s story—complete with its motif of a bookish conservative who becomes a firebrand after experiencing a late life about-face, due to the murder of a close friend.
- The movie has been instrumental in making Romero familiar to audiences, especially in the English-speaking world. To be sure, Romero’s assassination made international headlines when it occurred at the end of the Cold War, but the movie presents an intimate portrait that resonates much more than a flashing headline, bringing viewers face to face with Raul Julia’s well-crafted and elegant portrayal of the modern martyr. The movie predated the institution of Archbishop Romero’s canonization cause in 1994, and the unveiling of Romero’s statue on the West façade of Westminster Abbey in London in 1998.
- Twenty five years on, “Romero” has taken its rightful place in the Catholic marquee. In 2004, the National Catholic Register and Faith & Family magazine ranked “Romero” no. 26 in their “Top100 Pro-Catholic Movies”, and when the U.S. Catholic Bishops “Fortnight for Freedom” was launched in 2012, the Register recommended watching “Romero” during the F4F. “Romero” is routinely listed in top Catholic film lists, including one released earlier this year.
The late Roger Ebert gave “Romero” modest praise, writing
that “[t]he film has a good heart, and
the Julia performance is an interesting one, restrained and considered.” However, Ebert qualified, “[t]he film's weakness is a certain implacable
predictability: We can feel at every moment what must happen next, and the
over-all trajectory of the film seems ordained even in the first few shots. As
a result, the film doesn't stir many passions, and it seems more sorrowing than
angry.” Although Ebert makes a valid
criticism (which is why he is cited here), his final point seems to miss the
mark. The real Romero was not angry,
and in this way the movie paints an authentic portrait of its subject.
One thing “Romero” did not set out to be, and should
never be mistaken to be, is history. It is very accurate as a character sketch, as
a psychological examination, and as an emotional x-ray of the story it tells. But most of the characters onscreen have been
renamed, probably to avoid defamation claims from the actual people, who were
still living when the film was made.
Many other characters are entirely fictionalized or, at best, represent
composites of several historical figures, edited to simplify the story or move
it along. There is nothing dishonest in
this: the practice is the same in other films, like “For Greater Glory”/“Cristiada”
(2012). Along the same lines, there are
sequences and events that never happened (e.g., Romero being thrown in jail), but
the dramatizations are allegorical and ring true, while other important events
that did occur were left out (e.g., Romero’s meetings with the popes).
The most consequential editorial decision was arguably
the determination to portray Romero as road-to-Damascus styled conversion. When the film opens, Romero is a retiring,
reserved, and reviled cleric (“Anyone but
Romero!” we hear young priests gripe amongst themselves, in his presence). He is shown to be chummy with the aristocrats. By the end of the film, Romero is an
impassioned and fearless defender of human rights, beloved by the common poor,
and now reviled by the oligarchs who were his friends at the beginning. The film itself is balanced in its treatment,
but by setting Romero up in such stark contrasts, it invites abuse of the “conversion”
model of Romero’s life. Take for
instance, this description of the pre-conversion Romero: “he sided with the greedy landlords, important power brokers, and
violent death squads.” That’s a
grotesque mischaracterization—especially the part that Romero “sided with …
death squads” is an obscene falsehood.
But this base caricature emerges from the day-and-night about-face plot
device so successfully implemented in this film.
A related storytelling decision that may have been a short-shrift
was the decision to tell only the last three years of Romero’s life. Today, even among Romero admirers, people are
generally only familiar with his years as archbishop. If you come across Romero
quotes, they are almost certainly from his sermons during his three years as
archbishop. Although he kept diaries and
papers all of his life, only his diaries from his three years as archbishop
have been published and translated.
Arguably, to understand what made Romero tick, you have to understand
who he really was before any conversion. Even if you accept the fact of the
conversion, the nature and extent of it will only be understood if you have a
sense of what Romero did with the first sixty years of his life, as opposed to
just the last three.
Ironically, in these notes that ring off-key, “Romero”
gains added relevancy, as it continues to represent the best reference point (and,
often times, the source material) for understanding the myth of Romero, as opposed to the man. And even when it comes to approaching the
truth about Romero, this highly stylized and slightly fictionalized account
continues to rival and compare favorably to Romero documentaries that have come
along, including the 2011 offering “Monseñor:
The Last Journey of Oscar Romero” and the 2012 Mexican documentary “El Cielo Abierto.” While these films recovered much of the
historical detail that “Romero” left on the cutting room floor, they never rise
to the sense of artistry and poetry by which every shot of “Romero” surpasses
those other more factual accounts. (Óscar
Romero was also portrayed in the 1986 Oliver Stone film “Salvador” and in the 1983
made-for-TV movie “Choices of the Heart;” “Romero” is superior to both as far
as the portrayal of the Archbishop goes.)
Finally, as “Romero” turns twenty-five, it is striking
how relevant it remains in terms of telling the world that persecution and
martyrdom are real, even when they come tied-up in complex cultural and
political contexts. The day’s headlines
about the persecution of Christians in Iraq and other troubled regions are
enough to prove the point that Romero’s story is not some anachronistic
throwback to some bygone era—martyrs who are swept up in intricate political maelstroms
exist today. Pope Francis’ remarks
flying back to Rome after having beatified 124 martyrs in Korea are
instructive. Martyrdom could be a death imposed “for confessing the credo or for performing the works that Jesus
commands us to do for our neighbor,” the Pope said. “For
me, Romero is a man of God.”
John Duigan’s 1989 film is still the best movie about “Romero”
and still as urgent as it was 25 years ago.
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