First ReformedDespair is a malignant cancer that--left untreated--poisons the soul and warps your outlook on reality. First Reformed is a psychological drama about religion, unresolved grief, and feelings of powerlessness and emptiness that are painful yet universal. It is the story of Reverend Ernst Toller (Ethan Hawke), a priest and steward of the First Reformed Church in New York--a colonial landmark relegated to little more than a tourist attraction, on the verge of its two-hundred fiftieth anniversary. Ernst begins to question his convictions after he is approached by Mary (Amanda Seyfried), a parishioner who asks him to speak with her troubled husband, Michael (Philip Ettinger).
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Ernst is a haunted man; when he sits down to write his thoughts in a journal--with the goal of archiving his feelings in a composition notebook once a day for a year--a glass of whiskey always joins him in his nightly ritual. He has become an alcoholic, implied to be a result of the loss of his son many years ago, killed in the Iraq War. Ernst blames himself for his son's death because he encouraged him to enlist, which also resulted in his divorce from his wife, Esther (Victoria Hill), and a lengthy descent into the deepest darkness of his soul. His sadness is always in the subtext during his meetings with Pastor Jeffers (Cedric Kyles) of the local superchurch called "Abundant Life" that owns First Reformed; there are further implications that Ernst was given his largely undemanding position as an act of kindness by Jeffers. Ernst's deep-seated terror that his son died for nothing is compounded by the onset of what appears to be stomach cancer--his alcoholism only exacerbates his intense nausea and depression. He makes excuses for neglecting his responsibilities--from the repair of the church's organ to a leak in the men's room--not because he is lazy, but because his mind is so overwhelmed by his sorrow which he constantly hides. Ernst has become so adept at his deception, that it is almost indistinguishable, although many characters in First Reformed express their concern either vocally or with eyes filled with sympathy. When he is approached by Mary to talk with her husband about his own morbid depression and fixation on an environmental catastrophe looming on the horizon, Ernst seems taken aback, as though this were the first time someone genuinely approached him for help. He honors Mary's request, and meets with Michael at their home. Michael's den is littered with ecological charts and pictures of "martyrs" who died protesting the incursion of big business into wildlife habitats. Ernst offers cold comfort to Michael, unprepared to offer solace for this troubled man's feelings of helplessness and despair that mirror his own. He tries to compare it with his own loss, but only espouses platitudes about wisdom being the paradoxical consolidation of "hope" and "despair". As much as Ernst wants to believe that he is speaking to Michael's problems, he is really speaking of his own, and fails to deliver on one of his responsibilities of a pastor--offering comfort in times of darkness, and more specifically to speak for God as an interpreter of the His word. Instead, Ernst fumbles with the pacing of the conversation, asking Michael if he intends self-harm even before this is evident; more shockingly, he claims that no one can speak for God through a rhetorical question. This comes from Ernst's lingering vacuum of faith, long since absent in the wake of his own tragedy.
Ernst is not a bad man, but he tries to cover up his flaws out of pride; he alludes to this in one of his voice-overs when writing in his journal. The journal is only for his benefit, and takes pride in his intent to write it all by hand, and then at the end of the year to destroy it. As his mental stability deteriorates, he breaks his promise that the journal will be a full accounting of his thoughts over the year, and edits it by tearing out pages--hiding his thoughts from himself or God. Michael offers him a drink while Ernst struggles to console him, to which the reverend quickly replies that it "doesn't help"; yet he drinks copious amounts of liquor--so much so that his trash is full of empty bottles of booze and pink bismuth. Jeffers eventually learns of Ernst's struggles and confronts him with tact and resolve; Ernst reacts defensively and denies the severity of his health problems, not to quell the concern in his patron's heart, but because he is afraid. Ernst's fear has become so consuming, that it even bleeds over into an awkward speech he gives to a group of school children, describing how First Reformed used to be a stopping point for the Underground Railroad. After Michael dies, Ernst absorbs his paranoid and obsessive zealotry for protecting the Earth from industrial giants and billionaires like the image-conscious boor, Edward Balq (Michael Gaston). He stays up late at night on his computer, scanning site after site about corporations that represent the greatest threats to the world's well-being, feeding his anxiety by the truckload--as it must have been with Michael before him. He isolates himself as his mania rises and his inner thoughts become increasingly unstable. This portrayal of a man inching into madness is a leitmotif for Paul Schrader--who writes and directs First Reformed--whose work includes some of cinema's most memorable troubled protagonists, like Travis Bickle from Taxi Driver, and Yukio Mishima from Mishima: A Life in Four Chapters. Ernst's perception of the world becomes unreliable after he begins tumbling into mental instability. His first interaction with Edward Balq portrays the tycoon as an unfeeling jerk--overly concerned about the political ramifications of Ernst presiding over Michael's funeral--and as a bully for openly criticizing his inadequate counseling of Michael which failed to prevent his death. This mean-spirited dressing down of Ernst is alarming, especially as Pastor Jeffers silently allows it to transpire, who is supposed to be Ernst's friend and benefactor; but is this how it really happened, or just how Ernst perceived it? Consider when Mary comes to visit Ernst at his ascetic apartment attached to the church; they share an intimate moment per her request--a physical communion she and Michael used to call the "Magical Mystery Tour". Despite the impropriety, Mary lays on top of Ernst, and stares into his eyes; they match their breathing, and he holds her hands in his. Without warning, their bodies levitate off of the floor, and they are transported across space--through the stars and over mountain tops and oceans. This gives way to slow-moving shots gliding over land and sea devastated by pollution and industrialization. This "dream" of Ernst's is filled with imagery that has haunted him after Michael's death, but there is no transition suggesting that he has gone to sleep. Ernst is consumed by the need to give his life meaning in the absence of his faith, like Michael before him; subsequently, his hallucination becomes real (to him), and First Reformed presents reality from Ernst's point of view.
Cinephiles watching First Reformed will observe similarities between it and Ingmar Bergman's Winter Light (called The Communicants in its native land of Sweden), which featured Gunnar Björnstrand as the troubled priest, Tomas. Ernst and Tomas are cut from the same cloth (in a manner of speaking)--as pastors and on many other levels. Both experience a sickness that tests their physical resolve in conjunction with their spiritual crisis. While Tomas questions whether God exists, Ernst questions if his life has meaning. Both men have been in relationships with women who care for them, whom they cruelly push away out of a mixture of guilt and self-loathing. Michael's counterpart in Winter Light (played by Max von Sydow) was an anxiety-ridden mess over the prospect of international nuclear war, yet both men meet the same tragic fate. Ernst and Tomas fail to help them in they way they should have--and they both discover the bodies of these troubled men in the same grisly way. Both men preside over churches with few attendees--a metaphor for their frayed faith, moth-eaten and ragged from their despair. Ernst becomes convinced that the world can only be made better through fiery violence; when Tomas becomes angered, he becomes frigid like ice. At roughly thirty minutes longer than Winter Light, First Reformed is like an extension of it, exploring places Tomas might have ended up had the film ran a little longer. Differences emerge in Ernst's relationship with Pastor Jeffers and the fated quarter of a millennium anniversary celebration of the church, but more so in his relationship with Mary. Tomas expressed no amorous feelings for Mary's counterpart in Winter Light, yet Ernst and Mary enjoy many meaningful conversations together--both before and after Michael's death. They feel less like the conversations a priest would have with a grieving widow, but like those of people getting to know one another, discovering how much they have in common--how much they compliment one another. Some might see this as a breach of protocol and ethically questionable for a pastor to become emotionally involved with one of his flock, especially one recovering from the loss of her husband. But their scenes together are never exploitative, and underscores their mutual loneliness and longing for understanding, makes the ending of First Reformed a perfect resolution to their respective crises.
Recommended for: Fans of a densely-layered drama that is full of recognizable demons that plague people's souls--from faltering faith and the loss of a loved one, to feelings of injustice and righteous indignation. First Reformed explores challenging emotional themes, and is best suited for an audience that is unafraid of exploring the fear that lurks within us all, and ultimately accepting that they are not alone in their existential dread.
Ernst is not a bad man, but he tries to cover up his flaws out of pride; he alludes to this in one of his voice-overs when writing in his journal. The journal is only for his benefit, and takes pride in his intent to write it all by hand, and then at the end of the year to destroy it. As his mental stability deteriorates, he breaks his promise that the journal will be a full accounting of his thoughts over the year, and edits it by tearing out pages--hiding his thoughts from himself or God. Michael offers him a drink while Ernst struggles to console him, to which the reverend quickly replies that it "doesn't help"; yet he drinks copious amounts of liquor--so much so that his trash is full of empty bottles of booze and pink bismuth. Jeffers eventually learns of Ernst's struggles and confronts him with tact and resolve; Ernst reacts defensively and denies the severity of his health problems, not to quell the concern in his patron's heart, but because he is afraid. Ernst's fear has become so consuming, that it even bleeds over into an awkward speech he gives to a group of school children, describing how First Reformed used to be a stopping point for the Underground Railroad. After Michael dies, Ernst absorbs his paranoid and obsessive zealotry for protecting the Earth from industrial giants and billionaires like the image-conscious boor, Edward Balq (Michael Gaston). He stays up late at night on his computer, scanning site after site about corporations that represent the greatest threats to the world's well-being, feeding his anxiety by the truckload--as it must have been with Michael before him. He isolates himself as his mania rises and his inner thoughts become increasingly unstable. This portrayal of a man inching into madness is a leitmotif for Paul Schrader--who writes and directs First Reformed--whose work includes some of cinema's most memorable troubled protagonists, like Travis Bickle from Taxi Driver, and Yukio Mishima from Mishima: A Life in Four Chapters. Ernst's perception of the world becomes unreliable after he begins tumbling into mental instability. His first interaction with Edward Balq portrays the tycoon as an unfeeling jerk--overly concerned about the political ramifications of Ernst presiding over Michael's funeral--and as a bully for openly criticizing his inadequate counseling of Michael which failed to prevent his death. This mean-spirited dressing down of Ernst is alarming, especially as Pastor Jeffers silently allows it to transpire, who is supposed to be Ernst's friend and benefactor; but is this how it really happened, or just how Ernst perceived it? Consider when Mary comes to visit Ernst at his ascetic apartment attached to the church; they share an intimate moment per her request--a physical communion she and Michael used to call the "Magical Mystery Tour". Despite the impropriety, Mary lays on top of Ernst, and stares into his eyes; they match their breathing, and he holds her hands in his. Without warning, their bodies levitate off of the floor, and they are transported across space--through the stars and over mountain tops and oceans. This gives way to slow-moving shots gliding over land and sea devastated by pollution and industrialization. This "dream" of Ernst's is filled with imagery that has haunted him after Michael's death, but there is no transition suggesting that he has gone to sleep. Ernst is consumed by the need to give his life meaning in the absence of his faith, like Michael before him; subsequently, his hallucination becomes real (to him), and First Reformed presents reality from Ernst's point of view.
Cinephiles watching First Reformed will observe similarities between it and Ingmar Bergman's Winter Light (called The Communicants in its native land of Sweden), which featured Gunnar Björnstrand as the troubled priest, Tomas. Ernst and Tomas are cut from the same cloth (in a manner of speaking)--as pastors and on many other levels. Both experience a sickness that tests their physical resolve in conjunction with their spiritual crisis. While Tomas questions whether God exists, Ernst questions if his life has meaning. Both men have been in relationships with women who care for them, whom they cruelly push away out of a mixture of guilt and self-loathing. Michael's counterpart in Winter Light (played by Max von Sydow) was an anxiety-ridden mess over the prospect of international nuclear war, yet both men meet the same tragic fate. Ernst and Tomas fail to help them in they way they should have--and they both discover the bodies of these troubled men in the same grisly way. Both men preside over churches with few attendees--a metaphor for their frayed faith, moth-eaten and ragged from their despair. Ernst becomes convinced that the world can only be made better through fiery violence; when Tomas becomes angered, he becomes frigid like ice. At roughly thirty minutes longer than Winter Light, First Reformed is like an extension of it, exploring places Tomas might have ended up had the film ran a little longer. Differences emerge in Ernst's relationship with Pastor Jeffers and the fated quarter of a millennium anniversary celebration of the church, but more so in his relationship with Mary. Tomas expressed no amorous feelings for Mary's counterpart in Winter Light, yet Ernst and Mary enjoy many meaningful conversations together--both before and after Michael's death. They feel less like the conversations a priest would have with a grieving widow, but like those of people getting to know one another, discovering how much they have in common--how much they compliment one another. Some might see this as a breach of protocol and ethically questionable for a pastor to become emotionally involved with one of his flock, especially one recovering from the loss of her husband. But their scenes together are never exploitative, and underscores their mutual loneliness and longing for understanding, makes the ending of First Reformed a perfect resolution to their respective crises.
Recommended for: Fans of a densely-layered drama that is full of recognizable demons that plague people's souls--from faltering faith and the loss of a loved one, to feelings of injustice and righteous indignation. First Reformed explores challenging emotional themes, and is best suited for an audience that is unafraid of exploring the fear that lurks within us all, and ultimately accepting that they are not alone in their existential dread.