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Catholic Movie Night: I Confess (1953)

        Directed by the man who was endlessly creative, the great Alfred Hitchcock, I Confess brings to life what I had always thought of as an old wives' tale. The priest hears a murderer's confession, refuses to break the seal of confession, and the police suspecting that the priest is actually trying to hide his killer instincts take him to court. For me, this story, this old wives' tale, has always been my go-to hypothetical for trying to explain to non-Catholics the seal of the confessional. No matter what the priest hears during confession, aka the sacrament of Reconciliation, he can never disclose to anyone what he has heard. Canon law dictates, "The sacramental seal is inviolable; therefore it is absolutely forbidden for a confessor to betray in any way a penitent in words or in any manner and for any reason." (983 §1) Basically, whether the sin is venial or mortal, the priest can never repeat to another soul what has been told to him. If he does, he will be ex-communicated, and probably used as a cautionary tale by his superiors to explain to seminarians how the act of confession requires a huge amount of trust and faith between priest and penitent that the preservation of the seal is also part of the preservation of the relationship between the ordained and the rest of the Body of Christ. 

       So hear we have the great moral quandary played out in dramatic chiaroscuro. A young handsome priest, a regular Father What-A-Waste, beloved by peers and parishioners, must choose between protecting his vocation or saving his neck. The cops have him on the chopping block, and their knifes gleam cold and sharp. They want a suspect, and they found one in the guy, who can't claim an alibi, because he was hearing the murderer's confession. But while their physical eyes follow him through the tree-lined avenues of Quebec, Hitchcock (who was a practicing Catholic) and his cinematographer Robert Burks create a presence through camera angles and lighting that is outside of the events taking place and yet everywhere in them. It's practically omniscient. As the camera tilts down upon the head of the suspected priest, it gazes through the crooks of a massive statue depicting Jesus carrying the cross. In the courtroom during the priest's trial,  Jesus stretches out in agony on the wall beside the priest. It's more than metaphorical weight on the priest's shoulders, he is literally taking on another man's burden, another man's crime. The poor guy is already a Christ figure from his vocation, but from a literary perspective he fits the bill perfectly from his age, celibacy, humility, and self-sacrifice.  So while this priest suffers, the viewer is always reminded that this suffering is nothing new. The contorted body on the crucifix is evidence enough of that. There were no guarantees of a happily-ever-after, of it being easier than other paths. But also, the viewer can see that the priest does not suffer alone. God does not abandon him, and the priest does not abandon God.