NR | 1h 34 min | Drama, Comedy | 1963
Is a church or chapel just a building, or is it a place to practice the presence of God? Ralph Nelson’s film asks, and answers, that question. And how.
Handyman Homer Smith (Sidney Poitier), driving through the Arizona desert, finds himself suckered into helping a clutch of nuns construct a church—from scratch. The East German nuns, having weathered hardships in crossing the Berlin Wall, then emigrating, are obviously used to sparse living. Less obvious, especially to Smith, is their insistence that everyone emulate their frugal style.
The imperious Mother Superior Maria (Lilia Skala) embodies that austerity and, thanks to her strict upbringing, has a hard time expressing generosity, warmth, flexibility, and common courtesy. Smith, for his part, is used to being transactional: If you offer your skills to someone, they must pay you or the deal’s off.
In spite of himself, Smith’s kindness sees him indulge the nuns. He starts out as site foreman but quickly finds himself committing to being a full-blown building contractor and supervisor. First, Mother Maria and Smith wrestle with their egos. Maria’s too proud to thank him, and he’s too proud to accept help from locals who cheerfully offer it. Then, both learn.
For all his huffing and puffing, Smith is a personification of warmth. Watch him in that opening scene. The nuns are at the table, imitating a drab, disembodied voice droning German-to-English try-out phrases from a phonograph. Smith’s expressions morph from annoyance at having to stay on (in the hope of getting paid), to shock that they don’t understand English, to amusement at their predicament, and finally to a sense of play as he has a bit of fun trying to teach them rudimentary phrases. Later, he sways merrily, teaching them a hymn, and they chorus “Amen” to his verse “See the baby/ wrapped in a manger/ on Christmas mornin'.”
Skala is so convincing as Mother Maria that it’s easy to see the character exploiting Smith’s labor. Equally, her childlike faith is hard to dismiss as calculating, even if it is stubborn. She’s much like an infant that demands—as a right, not a favor—to be fed and clothed and comforted by a loving parent, rich or poor, tired or rested.
Unselfish Giving and Grateful Receiving
Thematically, Barrett’s story is a barely veiled cinematic allusion to the biblical episode of the woman at the well, which celebrates difference and oneness at the same time.In the film too, it’s the man who asks the woman for water. The woman in the Bible is a Samaritan; she’s East German on the screen. The man in the Bible is a Jew; he’s black on the screen. The man in the Bible wants water because he’s thirsty; the man in the film, because his “car is thirsty.” The man in the film, too, leaves the woman transformed by his profound words and actions.
Smith’s no architect or engineer and has meager resources as it is, yet he ends up offering the nuns everything he has: his toil, his car, his language skills, even his earnings from side-hustle construction work with Ashton.
Through Smith’s emptying of self, Barrett is saying that the most sacred churches are built not with wood or brick or cement, but with love: an unselfish giving of it and a grateful receiving of it. Seen that way, a church isn’t redundant but vital. It’s a reminder to keep building selfless habits and demolishing selfish ones.
Both Maria and Smith learn, but he turns out the better student because he learns to give without expecting in return. Maria learns to be grateful, even if she’s so used to being unrelenting and has a tough time showing it.
Homer is as devout as the nuns, only differently. Unlike them, he prays not so much with words or special attire or prayer beads or holy books, but with his kindness.
In a sense, he builds a church of sorts wherever he goes by practicing the presence of God. Saluting that spirit, Nelson ends his film with the word “Amen,” instead of Hollywood’s typical “The End.”
