Mark Reviews Movies: MIRACLE (2022)

Miracle, Film Movement

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Review by Mark Dujsik | June 2, 2022

To some degree, the story of writer/director Bogdan George Apetri's Miracle is as much about assumptions as it is the truth. We assume the young woman, whom we meet and follow for about the first half of this film, is a nun, sneaking away from her convent for an unknown malady in need of diagnosis. Only one part of that turns out to be fully accurate. Another is a half-truth of sorts, and the third is completely incorrect.

In a way, though, all of it is true, if only because those assumptions form a story and that story is how others perceive, interact with, and remember the woman. Those assumptions, then, form the foundation of the second half of the story, which is about a single truth that we know but that cannot be proved—in part because of those assumptions and mostly because some other ancillary truths might do additional damage.

Apetri's storytelling technique is intriguing, not only because the reality of these characters and the whole picture of this tale is akin to a puzzle, but also because of how the wrong pieces of that puzzle create a secondary reality. The truth is the real puzzle, but the other picture gives us an idea of the secrets being held by these characters—and how much truth those false impressions indirectly reveal.

The first section of this story does follow Cristina (Ioana Bugarin), who lives in a convent somewhere amidst the Romanian countryside and, with the help of a nun (played by Nora Covali), sneaks out with a cellphone. She gets a ride into town from a helpful cab driver (played by Valeriu Andritua), the brother of the nun who aided her flight, and we learn that she's on her way to the hospital. Cristina says she has headaches, and she wants to see a doctor to discover the cause.

By chance, the driver has been taking a local doctor (played by Valentin Popescu) to the hospital every day, following a car accident involving a horse-drawn carriage (Things are slow in this place, and the film doesn't rush, either). The two men talk, mostly around and partially about Cristina, and after some discussion about how detrimental the convent's way of keeping the nuns from the world—even in cases of health—might be, the doctor offers to point Cristina in the direction of a neurologist when they arrive at the hospital. After changing into some street clothes in the middle of a small forest (where Apetri's camera lingers on the silence and isolation of the spot for reasons that become frighteningly apparent later), Cristina does arrive at the hospital.

At this point, anything except the broadest discussion of the characters and the story must cease. The plot, which seems somewhat directionless despite the clear destination of the opening act, quickly begins to pile up a couple of answers—why Cristina is actually going to the hospital—and even more questions—why she makes her next stop, for example. The filmmaker's approach is unhurried, which works to allow us to take in the casual discussions about faith, local politics, and music (Car radios always play the oldies station).

On a secondary level that only becomes apparent as Cristina's real goal becomes clearer and during the section's climactic scenes, the relaxed nature of Apetri's technique provides what turns out to be a false sense of comfort. The midpoint of the story offers a scene that seems to be a direct reflection of the earlier ones in the cab. Apetri even shoots some of it the reverse angle of the camera setup in the previous sequence. That initially provides a feeling of familiarity, with a new driver (played by Mircea Postelnicu) listening to the same music and chatting with Cristina in the same friendly tones, but the camera's altered perspective, with its view of what's ahead—and, more importantly, not ahead—in the road, suggests an unsettling difference in this trip.

With that sense of relaxation and security shattered at the start of the film's second section, there are only difficult facts and complicated lies—both of which must not be revealed here—to uncover. That task belongs to Marius (Emanuel Parvu), a harsh and skeptical police detective (His treatment of a well-meaning and religious underling, played by Ovidiu Crisan, tells us much about his impatience for anything he considers trivial).

He spends the rest of the story looking for solid evidence to support a truth he knows for certain—while trying to hide another that explains his determination. Just as with those mirror-image cab scenes, the second half of the film is like a reflection of the first (Even some of the small talk starts to feel familiar, but as the detective has no patience for it, there comes to be a haunting silence, save for those persistent oldies on the radio, surrounding the man). Marius begins at the convent and follows Cristina's path—even, at times, without knowing it, since he's more involved in this case than he could let on to anyone.

The story is filled with gradual revelations, each of which changes our perception of characters and events, but the real impact of Miracle is in coming to understand how much we have misunderstood. In a way, the mounting jolt of the truth coming together mirrors one character's growing comprehension of the terrible price of so many lies.

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