Diary of a Country Priest (1951)

The unusual thing about this film—about Bresson's filmmaking in general—is that it restricts the imagination. The omnipresent, redundant narration leaves little room to speculate about what the nameless country priest is thinking, and singles out things for us to pay attention to. He’ll lean against a wall and we’ll hear his narration: “I leaned against the wall."

Notably, this is only something Bresson does before a certain point. He dispenses with the narration starting with The Trial of Joan of Arc, and begins telling a different kind of story, where ethical struggles like the one depicted in this film don't matter because modern life is simply too complex and heteronomous for it to matter.

If there is consistency between the different sides of Bresson's filmography, it's his effort to show "movement from the exterior to the interior."  This is the direction in which this film illustrates the priest's struggle of mind and body.  This struggle is not just one of the body being physically incapable of achieving the goals the mind sets.  It’s how the condition of his body affects the condition of his mind, his ability to set those goals to begin with.  

He experiences a crisis of faith just after his illness causes him to be “seized by a trembling that lasted over an hour.”  When this happens, his narration doesn’t describe it with reason.  Rather, he explains that he feels a sense of general oppression, that he can see only an insurmountable obstacle in the future, and sees “nothing” in his past.  This is a character who tries to hold onto his beliefs, but those beliefs have difficulty taking root in his ailing body.

This changes, however, as the scope of experiences he draws on grows.  One of the emotional peaks of this film comes when the priest visits a countess who lives in chronic mourning for the loss of her son.  She tells him she hates God for taking her son.  The priest’s attempts to bring her around stumble a little at first, but eventually she starts to hear him.  She gains a new understanding, and begins to find some peace.  

She writes him a letter of thanks.  Again, the priest narrates most of the film to the point of redundancy.  But not every motion is narrated.  Not all of it is significant to him.  So, when he receives a letter of thanks from the countess, we know how gratified he must be when we see and hear him reading it aloud to himself.   

This is key because, when rumors spread about him later in the film, his knowledge of the countess’s gratitude continuously provides him with serenity.  Before, he struggled to keep the faith, but the fact that he was able to help the countess changes that. This experience, an external change, gives his hopes greater internal strength, makes it easier for him to envision putting his beliefs into practice and succeeding. It's easier for his faith to attach to his body, even as his illness progresses.

In some films which claim influence from this one, the characters' pain is something they choose out of some pride in their endurance.  They think their pain proves something.  While Diary of a Country Priest has some moments that look like deliberate asceticism, the priest regrets his predicament more than those characters.  His purpose really is to reach people, and his pain challenges him in that.  In his conversation with the countess, he characterizes God as ever-present love.  She has trouble believing that.  Such an uncompromising love is hard to accept because it's hard to understand, but the priest conditions himself to hold out hope for it by refusing to lose hope for anyone he encounters.  

Bresson’s later film, Mouchette, tracks the title character’s life of poverty and abuse.  There are moments in that film when people show Mouchette kindness, but quickly turn around and say cruel things to her when she responds with ingratitude.  In some ways, Mouchette is like an inversion of this film.  There are a couple characters the priest meets who resemble Mouchette, but nothing makes the priest turn around on them.  He refuses to close his door.  

Again, the film leaves very little room to speculate about anything, but this doesn't leave it without mystery.  Locked in with the priest, we see how he makes efforts every day to renew his faith, but his life only becomes shakier as the film goes on.  And even at the height of his faith some things remain ineffable.  He doesn't need to answer every question to find hope, but he must "face up to it," as an old doctor advises him early in the film.  Part of the commitment he displays is coming to terms with the unsettlement that provokes some questions without answering them.