One of the most profound examinations of a spiritual faith crisis in cinematic existence. Subtle, stirring, unblinking look at the human craving for light and hope in a world greyed out and abandoned by God. 

This one cuts right to the marrow. 

A story that slowly eats away at the impressive, ironclad certainty that has nailed a pastor in the sure place for years, who carries on now only for the sake of appearances. His congregational flock looks to him for guidance and reassurance, but everything he says is rote, perfunctory. He knows it. He feels nothing. The fire is out. He can neither console nor be comforted. He is left to contemplate the silence of God.

What follows is a bitterly cold, courageous character study about increasing disillusionment, wild clinging to belief, and the mechanical nature of ritual to ease the suffering of those tormented by the possibility of an aloof deism. I know, I know, this sounds depressing af. But everything about this story is so genuine and touching in how it strips the search for truth down to its naked origins. It trades certainty for humility. Exclamation for stillness. Ownership for questing, wondering, stretching, and overturning. 

It’s the kind of faith catastrophe that looks at Melancholia head on, abandons all pretense to save itself with conviction, and instead retreats to the divine though perhaps hollow gesture of ceremony. So, so beautiful.

Bergman Ranked