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Part 2: On the set with Martin Scorsese

Further reflections from Father Jerry Martinson on helping create 'Silence'
Part 2: On the set with Martin Scorsese

Director Martin Scorsese attends the premiere of Silence at the Directors Guild of America in Los Angeles on Jan. 5. Silence has been described as Scorsese's "passion film." (Photo by Matt Winkelmeyer/AFP)

Published: June 06, 2017 04:30 AM GMT
Updated: June 06, 2017 06:41 AM GMT

Father Jerry Martinson, with 40 years of film and television production and performance to inform him, was retained by Martin Scorsese as an adviser for his recently released film Silence. Father Jerry died on May 31. This is the second part of an article he wrote about his experience contributing to the making of the film.

 

Actor Andrew Garfield's spiritual preparation served him well during his scenes ministering to the Catholics who were imprisoned with him awaiting torture.

During one of these scenes, he is leading the Christians in reciting Psalm 62 (personally chosen by Martin Scorsese himself): "For God alone my soul waits in silence; from him comes my salvation. He alone is my rock and my salvation, my fortress; I shall never be shaken."

Kneeling on the prison floor like a Japanese monk in front of these suffering and abandoned people, Andrew's Father Sebastian Rodrigues was spot on. At this moment, he had become like Jesus, consoling and instilling hope among his flock as they awaited an uncertain and possibly terrifying fate. The faces and expressions of the Japanese actors reacted and reflected their hopes and fears as Andrew recited the psalm.

The scene was so lifelike and evocative that my mind went back many years to the day a French Jesuit and I celebrated Mass in the wilderness on the Thai-Cambodian border for a group of Vietnamese Catholic refugees whose camp had been shelled and obliterated the previous night. They didn't ask for food or water or anything material. They only wanted to have Mass. That alone would give them hope. 

After completing the scene, Andrew asked me for my reaction. I was so moved I could barely speak. From the look on my face, I'm sure he knew how magnificently real and powerful that scene had been.

However, despite his deep faith in God, his "fortress," Father Rodrigues was shaken, time and time again, in the face of God's silence during his terrible suffering.

When Kichijiro repeatedly comes to the missionary begging for confession after betraying him, Father Rodrigues can barely raise his hand in absolution, so deep is his anger and disgust. When he hears the Christians moaning in pain from the pit in which they have been suspended for days, he can bear God's silence no longer and begins to shout and scream in agony. Like Jesus on the cross, he feels abandoned and forsaken by God.

As Andrew prepared for this scene, he seemed dissatisfied with his performance. Normally polite and gentle with everyone, suddenly Andrew shocked everyone on the set by an explosion of shouting and cursing. He seemed to have completely lost control over himself. Nevertheless, Scorsese called for "action," Andrew became the agonized Father Rodrigues in the throes of despair, and the scene was perfect! Andrew immediately apologized to everyone on the set for his outburst.

Later I told Scorsese that at the time I didn't know if Andrew was acting or if he was having a breakdown. Scorsese looked at me with wide eyes and said, "Neither did I!" When I asked Andrew about this later, he said, "No, no! I was having the time of my life!" As a method actor, he had needed to do something drastic to put him in the same state of helpless frustration and fury that Father Rodrigues was experiencing in his agony. That outburst did the trick. Clearly Scorsese had great trust in the abilities of this remarkably talented and dedicated young actor.

Silence has been described as Scorsese's "passion film," because he became fascinated, almost obsessed, with the story when he first read the novel in 1989, in Japan. The religious themes and spiritual conflicts seemed to resonate with experiences and stages in his own life.

But passion has another meaning too: it can refer to a prolonged agony, like the passion of Christ. Scorsese was passionate about making this highly challenging, non-commercial film; and it turned out to be for him a passion or agony as well. I watched him, wrapped in thick coats and scarves, wade through mud to direct scenes on cold, rainy days in the lush mountainous forests of Taiwan. While filming on Taiwan's scenic beaches in scorching weather, he needed ice packs to ward off heat exhaustion.

When the chirping and squawking of Taiwan's very vocal birds, or noise from a nearby school event, proved unstoppable, he and his cast and crew of several hundred had to wait patiently for frequently evasive silence before they could resume filming.

One of the film's producers approached me one day begging me to pray that there would be no more delays in production, because they were way behind schedule and way over budget. Investors and banks were getting nervous, and some might be on the verge of withdrawing their support. This would be devastating and would jeopardize or possibly end the entire project. On advice from a companion, I notified Taiwan's Carmelite Sisters (a contemplative order devoted to praying for those in dire need). The good sisters prayed. The crisis was averted!   

Finally, the film was finished and Scorsese's passion for this project will gradually be rewarded. His other passion — the agony he had to endure to produce the film — is but a memory. Or maybe that is just how it looked to me. Perhaps throughout this whole ordeal, for one whose love of filmmaking is so profound, Scorsese, like Andrew, was actually "having the time of his life!"

Either way, Scorsese has produced a masterful, evocative, and powerful work of art that is sure to captivate and disturb as it inspires movie goers worldwide. Could it also help viewers to experience God's compassionate presence, even during tragic and troubled times when He seems so distant and silent? 

Footnote

When production was nearly complete, I suggested to Scorsese that Pope Francis would be pleased with this film. Perhaps he should go to Rome and visit the pope, who had once wanted to be a missionary to Japan. Scorsese suddenly looked shocked, almost fearful. "The pope?" he exclaimed, probably thinking of some of his past "sins." "Don't worry," I said. "You can go to confession first!" Scorsese laughed. When he returned to Taipei in January, he told me that he did in fact go to visit Pope Francis. I didn't ask him if he went to confession first!

 

This is the second part of Father Jerry Martinson's reflection on his time on the set of Silence. To read the first part click here.

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