The Apostle

By Robert L. Waring (October 1998)

The phrases "philandering egomaniac," "hypocrite," and "evangelical preacher" often have been linked in the tabloid press. These images are the theme of the first third of Robert Duvall’s, The Apostle, a compelling saga of the moral failings of a southern preacher and his attempt at redemption through good works.

The Apostle is permeated with the notion of trinity. First, through the presence of the Christian Holy Trinity—God, Jesus and the Holy Ghost—who are unseen characters in this film. Their names are spoken more often than those of any other character and their presence is manifested in the lives of all the mortals we see on the screen. Second, the notion of the trinity is seen in Duvall himself, who, as sort of a Hollywood version of God, Jesus and the Holy Ghost, wrote, directed and starred in this morality play. Finally, the story follows the standard three act formula for screen plays: a third for the build up to a heinous act that forces the central character into exile, a third for his searching for a way out of his sense of isolation and failure, and the last third showing the consequences of his efforts.

Consistent with the trinity framework, I will examine three aspects of the film. First, the film questions our concept of judgment and punishment and in so doing has much to say about the operation of our criminal justice system.

I found myself harshly judging Duvall’s preacher character, called EF, in the last two thirds of the film, because I formed an opinion about him based on what I knew of his crime in the first third. The compressed time of a movie made it difficult for me to change that opinion even after he spent months trying to redeem himself. The question this raises is whether viewers would have a different view of EF if the movie had started after the crime and the viewers only saw him, as the characters introduced in the last two-thirds of the film do, as a person working towards undoing the harm he has done by creating some good. Duvall, as writer and director, could have composed the film in this way, and presented the details of the crime in brief flashbacks. That might have changed viewers’ judgment of EF entirely. Whether this would have been appropriate depends in part on one’s view of human nature and whether bad people can change.

What if our system examined punishment first and guilt second? As preposterous as that idea may sound, I do not suggest it facetiously. Consider the following scenario for accused persons with no prior felony record: A jury would start by assuming the accused had committed the crime and examine the circumstances, including any mitigating efforts that person had made toward redemption or restitution, since the crime. After determination of an appropriate punishment (assuming more sentencing discretion than is now permitted under the Federal minimum sentencing guidelines) a defendant could either accept the consequences, or go to trial with a different jury on the guilt issue. Obviously, some disincentive would be needed for the trial option: not classifying a guilty plea before trial on the guilt phase as a strike under three strikes laws might be enough. This proposal would provide defendants with much more information about the consequences of proffering a guilty plea than they have at present.

In a society where irredeemable moral character is presumed by bad acts—perhaps America in the present day—the above scenario makes no sense. In a world where rehabilitation is seen as possible, and is also a societal goal, this scenario would seem to get things in the right order. At a minimum, it would provide defendants with more incentive than they have at present to make a start at healing themselves and their victims.

My second point concerns the film’s portrayal of interracial church congregations. It is my impression that churches, especially in the rural South, are still largely segregated. In the film, a black preacher befriended by the charismatic EF comments on EF’s radio sermons: "The black people listening think you are black and when they find out you are white, they don’t care. The white people assume you are black and they stay away." Yet, there are a number of scenes of the congregation of EF’s church showing a mixture of black, white and Asian people that look like commercials for the United Way. As necessary as this may have been to lure white audiences to the film, it does not seem to be an accurate picture of religious society in most of America and as such, masks an important reality. As Father Robert Drinan of Georgetown Law Center has said, our society cannot be viewed as truly integrated as long as our houses of worship remain largely segregated.

A final point is that while Duvall used his power as writer, director and star to some advantage in the film, that power did not always result in the best directorial decisions. (The Apostle is perhaps Duvall’s answer to Sling Blade, another film about judging crime according to the circumstances, written, directed by and starring Billy Bob Thornton. Duvall briefly appeared as the father of Thornton’s character in Sling Blade, and Duvall cast Thornton [perhaps unwisely] and other characters from Sling Blade in The Apostle.) One of the strengths of The Apostle is its cinema verité look—Duvall cast real preachers in many of the preacher roles, and his own hauntingly realistic portrayal is a credit to his acting skill. (For another example, see Duvall crooning his own songs as a down and out country singer seeking redemption in the miniature masterpiece: Tender Mercies.) However, Duvall could have benefitted from another artist’s eye in a few areas. Duvall is rarely off screen, and the film should have been edited further to shorten a number of his scenes. Also, Duvall fell prey to that Hollywood tendency to cast aging male stars opposite women half their age. This choice can rob some otherwise serious romantic scenes of their credibility.