The Boys of St. Vincent (Henry Czerny, Johnny Morina)
The Boys of St. Vincent is set in a Catholic Church, and as such it was the target of controversy when it was made in 1993. It was certainly an audacious exercise of creative license, particularly in targeting the Clergy of Canada, but since allegations had previously already been made in real life concerning actual Newfoundland priests, the idea was probably more unsettling in its potential veracity than in its utilization of a religious backdrop.
Recently, a great deal of press coverage has been given to priests accused of and convicted of assault and abuse. These events gave me cause to revisit the graphic and poignant miniseries last week, and I have no question it is still the most meticulous and thorough of films yet to depict the subject matter of child molestation.
It's directed by John N. Smith and has wisely been divided into two parts: the childhood incidents, then the effect on the same victims as adults. This allows not only for the characters to expand, but also for us to see the ramifications that abuse can have on someone even decades after the fact. For example, one of the children now has intimacy problems in his adulthood. Another has turned to drugs and a life of prostitution. Another is prone to sudden, violent fits of rage. It is because we have seen the first part of the film that we can understand how these dysfunctional facets all stem from the earlier traumas.
The movie is set in an orphanage in St. John's at an all boys school. Kevin Reevey (Johnny Morina) and several other boys have been molested by the brothers, most notably by the spooky Greg Thomey (This Hour Has 22 Minutes) and Henry Czerny (Patriot Games). Eventually, a kindly janitor (Philip Dinn) stumbles onto the dark secret and the boys end up providing signed statements to the police of their abuse. Several of the brothers are removed from the orphanage -- much to the relief of the police and government officials looking to avoid a scandall. They, however, are merely replaced by new pedophiliacs and the cycle continues. The movie then cuts to the same boys 15 years later. Brother Lavin (Czerny) is now married and has two children of his own, but the case has resurfaced and charges are finally laid against him.
The Boys of St. Vincent has some of the most disturbing sequences I've ever seen. Czerny's performance is right up there with Hannibal Lecter, simply by virtue of his wild mood swings and eerie composure -- it's as if he deludes himself by believing he is committing absolutely no wrong. The film's darkest moment occurs when Kevin Reevey has tried to run away from the orphanage, then is captured by the police and is left by the officers in the care of Brother Lavin. As viewers, our mind is racing ahead to a fear that Kevin is certain to be beaten within an inch of his life -- but then a more unspeakable punishment is doled out: the boy is forcibly fondled and must call Lavin his mother. Only afterwards is he beaten with a belt. It is a harrowing reminder that the psychological damage can sometimes outweigh the physical damage the abuser inflicts.
Although handled with sensitivity, I found many of the performances by the boys themselves unrealistic and could have been more effective. As the now-grown adults, however, Sebastian Spence, Timothy Webber and David Hewlett are highly memorable with their strong Newfoundland accents and troubled spirits.
As this film zipped by, I found myself feeling grateful that in my own childhood, I was able to grow up able to feel safe around authority figures. I found myself grateful that at least amidst all of the current media circuses and religious scandals, the issue itself is being openly addressed and not tucked away. I found myself grateful for the terrible things I learned from watching this film.
