Geraldine Chaplin is too refined-looking to play Mother Teresa. Her nose is too patrician; her eyes too elegant. Her being cast here poses the same problem that I had when watching Ingrid Bergman play Golda Meir or Dorothy McGuire in "The Enchanted Cottage." But Chaplin digs her heels in boldly, and never turns her eyes away from the formidable task at hand. It's this resolvedness that gives this movie what little vitality it has. The movie itself is a dull account of Mother Teresa's life as a missionary to the poor of Calcutta. It chooses to present the facts as if it were reporting it to a disinterested group of her peers. This may seem appropriate for a stoic, but it doesn't explain why people were so moved by this woman. And what is reported is fudged anyway. Imagine a story about Mother Teresa's life with no speech about abortion. The moviemakers treat her condescendingly; she's relegated to the status of a well-loved grandmother whom the family locks in her room when company is expected, because she might embarrass them.
There isn't even any mention of the controversy that rose around her when she accepted money from cheats and tyrants. What good is a soul with its sight on Christ without controversy and crosses and the memory of His Passion? What good is a movie that avoids the thorns of religious fervor, that settles for a trite appeal to us to be more giving?
The movie sings in monotone--like an annoying mantra. At least "The Song of Bernadette" had moments of rapture to look back on. But "Mother Teresa" is flat. It's as if the reverberations she set off fell on deaf ears, and the poorest of the poor were still left wanting.
There isn't even any mention of the controversy that rose around her when she accepted money from cheats and tyrants. What good is a soul with its sight on Christ without controversy and crosses and the memory of His Passion? What good is a movie that avoids the thorns of religious fervor, that settles for a trite appeal to us to be more giving?
The movie sings in monotone--like an annoying mantra. At least "The Song of Bernadette" had moments of rapture to look back on. But "Mother Teresa" is flat. It's as if the reverberations she set off fell on deaf ears, and the poorest of the poor were still left wanting.