Forsaken 70s Cinema: Franco Zeffirelli’s ‘Brother Sun, Sister Moon’

by Sam Juliano

     We probably know more about St. Francis of Assisi than any other medieval saint.  We are in possession of much of his own words, testament, letters, poems and liturgical writings, but perhaps most signicantly the intimate accounts of several of his disciples, written down within twenty years of his death.  From this great plethora of authentic material a clear picture of the man emerges.  St. Francis is one saint whom both Catholics and non-Catholics have united in honoring.  Certainly no other has so appealed to Protestants and even to non-Christians, and the appeal is timeless:  Francis captured the imagination of his contemporaries as well as that of modern men by his unique simplicity and a pure grace of spirit.  A classic collection of popular legends, the Little Flowers of St. Francis, first printed in 1476, contains some charming and beautiful stories of Francis’s love for the poor, of animals, of all nature.  In action it can reasonably be assumed that in action he was an “original”, in speech picturesque and poetic, yet ultimately he was a man inspired by faith and in devotion of the risen Christ.  He was born in the stony hill-town of Assisi in Umbria in the year 1181 or 1182.  His father Peter Bernadone was a wealthy merchant, while his mother by some accounts was gently born and of Provencal blood.  Much of Bernadone’s trade was with France, and his son was born while he was absent in that country.  Perhaps for this reason the child was called Francesco, “the French man,” though his baptismal name was John.  As a youth he is said to have been ardent in his amusements and seemed carried away by the mere joy of living, taking no interest at all in his father’s business or in formal learning.  Bernadone, proud to have his son finely dressed and associating with young noblemen, gave him plenty of money, which Francis squandered foolishly.  Though Francis was high-spirited, he was too fastidious to lead a dissolute life, especially as this was the age of chivalry, and he was thrilled by the songs of the trubadours and the deeds of knights.  At the age of twenty or thereabouts, during a petty war between the towns of Assisi and Perugia, he was taken prisoner.  During a year of captivity he remained cheerful and kept up the spirits of his companion, but soon after his release he suffered a long illness.

      It is at this point of St. Francis’s  life that celebrated opera and film director Franco Zeffirelli began his treatment of the beloved figure in his 1973 Brother Sun Sister Moon, a film widely reviled upon it’s release, but now the recipient of an impassioned cult following.  Zeffirelli, who achieved critical and box-office success in the late 60’s with Shakespearean adapatations of both The Taming of the Shrew and Romeo and Juliet again tried to wow the young with a film that deliberately attempted to transcribe its iconic character’s freespiritedness into the flower-child “hippie” sensibilities of the early 70’s.  Zeffirelli, who is well known for his painterly eye and a ravishing appreciation of color, imparted on his film his inimitable grasp of breathtaking composition, and the potent use of the oldest device of all: the close-up.  With his gifted cinematographer Ennio Guarnieri and three art directors, including Giorgio Giovanni,  Zeffirelli conceived and shot the in the same manner as he did with Romeo and Juliet, with breathtaking settings, lush color and scenes of delicate beauty that all translated into a veritable feast for the senses.  Particularly ravishing was the use a field of orange and violet flowers (reportedly located in Serbia) where St. Francis first consumates his love for nature: “Birds are singing sweet and low/in the trees that gently grow.”  But Zeffirelli is a master of the heart stopping moment, like the Freudian scene at the waterfall where the film’s female beauty Claire is inducted to the order by having the strands of her flowing blond hair cut by a male follower before her renunciation. The unmistakably erotic sequence recalls Bo Wiederberg’s Elvira Madigan, released six years earlier which similarly boasted gorgeous compositional control.  The only visual aspect of the film where Zeffirelli misses on is making squalor in a rainbow spectrum, as in an extended sequence near the beginning which shows Francesco walking among lepers; the hues are all wrong.

     Inevitably, some liberties are taken with St. Francis’s story, including the assertion here that the future saint left his family permanently to wander with his diciples, and that he visited Pope Innocent III in Rome, although the latter sequence featuring Alec Guiness as the pontiff is one of the film’s dramatic highlights.  (Guiness becomes so inspired by Francesco’s mission that in a moment of “weakness” he kisses the feet of the beggar, angering his own councel.) But mainly Zeffirelli and three co-screen writers including celebrated film director Lena Wertmuller remained faithful to the accounts, beginning with Francesco’s recovery from near-fatal captivity and his subsequent rebuilding of a small church in Damiano, to his renouncing his name and his wealth to live as a beggar in the name of Christ.  Infectiously, others follow his lead and his band scatter through countryside towns, spreading the word.  The rampant religiosity is given unexpectantedly poignant aural accompaniment by the folk singer Donovan, who provides a score of great warmth, music that perfectly supports the flower child sensibilities of the film.  Yet, to the critics who panned the film, this score represents its most dire element, as the naysayers rejected the entire attempt to modernize the past with a frivilous, trendy movement of the present that would surely be short-lived.  While the latter contention was a correct one, there was unquestionable unity in story and score.  The title song is a sweeping and melodious number that defines the spirit of the film, and the philosophy of its central protagonist.  Similarly the other songs in the score further embellish the various activities being performed, including assistance for the poor, or simple immersion with nature.  Donovan’s work here has wide appeal, as can be evidenced by three decades of requests from music and film lovers, who unsuccessfully petitioned for a CD release that to this day is tied up in legal limbo.  In one of the most stunning turarounds in movie history, what was once thought to be one of the most frivulous and inept film scores is now seen as a beautiful aural underpinning of a number of the film’s most striking sequences, and a stand-alone release that has been dreamed for by music lovers for years.

     The very concept of a nature and peace-loving man fighting the system, as he does when he strips down to his flesh in the marketplace, or when he tells his furious father “I’m not your son anymore” while throwing his rich garments out the window will always appeal to those who reject conformity, and the actor Graham Faulkner, who admittedly isn’t given any kind of provocative dialogue is physically right for the role, with his expressive features.  Judi Bowker, a blond bauuty who plays Claire is also a magnificent manifestation of character although again she is only given perfunctory things to say.  While neither of the lead exhibits any special acting talent, they both fit into Zeffirelli’s rapturous pictorial design, which has characters represent a spiritual order.  Lee Montague, an actor with smashing vitality does a fine job as Francesco’s father, while the pampering French-speaking mother is played by Valentina Cortese, who is passable, despite her awkward English lines.  Guiness is majestic in his brief role, using verbal pauses to great effect, and effectively showing the hierarchy being humbled.

      Brother Sun Sister Moon shows Zeffirelli in defiance of the conventional mode of storytelling, which stresses a well-written screenplay and fine acting.  In large measure this film fails on both counts.  But to use that as a summary judgement is entirely to miss the point.  Imagery and music are what tell this timeless story about one of Christianity’s most venerated figures, and in the end one can’t help being ravished by a film that is as aesthically beautiful as it is religiously touching.