Silence

Martin Scorsese’s “Silence” is not entertainment. It offers neither thrill, nor escapism, nor joy. It is not education in that It does not aim to convey facts or impart knowledge. It is not as didactic as a homily, or as quizzical as a kōan. I imagine it is best described simply as art. That seems an apt label, since the exercise of watching “Silence” resembled to me the ponderous study of a painting in a museum. A painted masterpiece does not merely depict the beauty of its subject, but conveys also some aspect of truth. The nature of this truth is imbued partly by the master, and reflected partly from the observer who explores it. The Mona Lisa does not force you to understand why she smirks, nor does she demand that you respond in kind. Yet each man appreciates her differently, and each in his own way gleans a bit of her truth viewed through the lens of his own. Such is the nature and quality of “Silence”.
 
This is a sober, challenging film in every respect. The heady subjects of faith and doubt in the apparent absence of absolution are explored with an unflinching honesty. Scorsese refrains from tugging at heartstrings or welling up emotional responses through music. He refuses to tell the audience what to think, preferring instead to simply depict a story worth thinking about. The lack of emotional manipulation is stunning, almost unsettling. It is a masterwork of restraint in a milieu typified by pretension and hyperbole.

9/10
Content is appropriate for adults only