You made around ten documentaries before turning to fiction with The Woman Who Drinks and 8:17p.m. Darling Street. Where does The Novena stand in your development as a filmmaker? What did you feel you needed to express?

More and more, I'm looking into philosophical themes or, more simply put, exploring the meaning of existence, exploring questions about God, which you will find at the end of The Woman Who Drinks and in 8:17 p.m. Darling Street. I also feel as though I'm in a culture in the midst of self-destructing. My generation is the last one whose education drew direct links with the great European cultures, with a
millenary culture that provided answers to the fundamental questions of existence. Two generations later in Quebec, all that has practically vanished. We are living in a world that has lost its bearings. That's what Pasolini examines in his final essays, The Pirate Writings and The Lutheran Letters. In Italy, as in Quebec, the Catholic peasant culture has disappeared and given way to an individualistic, hedonistic mass culture.

Are you a believer?
No. But I have noticed that as a non-believer, I do feel a void. I'm nostalgic for the faith of my childhood. In The Novena, Jeanne, who has been shattered by the brutal murder of her patient and her baby, discovers that life no longer has any meaning. She meets François, an old-fashioned young man who finds answers to all of his questions in his faith. But in this film there's no miracle or conversion, and it is not François's faith that revitalizes Jeanne: it is his simplicity and goodness. In the absence of faith, goodness and solidarity can sometimes fill the void. That said, my scripts are not formulaic lessons. In this one, I took great pleasure in exploring religious archaeology. I have affection for the grandmother who passes away peacefully. I'm surely one of the last Quebecers who still reads Péguy, whose hypnotic writing pleases me. If you will, the thematic foundation, the film's driving force, is the feeling of emptiness when faced with a disjointed culture. Sometimes I even have the feeling that faith can be more progressive than lack of faith. A Christian who truly takes the Sermon on the Mount seriously might be better equipped than us non-believers to resist neo-liberalism. Obviously, Christian, Jewish and Muslim fundamentalists are deeply reactionary and dangerous, but as far as I'm concerned they don't negate the validity of religion, any more than Stalin invalidated the idea of socialism.

You mentioned religious archaeology. Your exploration of the museum of Saint Anne, which could have led to a Jean-Pierre Mocky-style sarcastic irony, is simple and touching.
I discovered this museum during preproduction. I didn't want to mock the crutches and exvotos - you don't mock hope. One book piqued my interest: Zola's Lourdes. I found it fascinating to see a rationalist atheist so moved by the misery, compassion and faith that pervade these pilgrimage sites.

For the role of Jeanne, you worked with Élise Guilbault, who played the title role in The Woman Who Drinks. The parts you give this actress are quite different from the characters she usually plays. She's never been so intense.
I really learned to appreciate this fine actress in the theatre, where she does her best work. I wanted to direct her in a light that she truly deserves. On TV, actors are asked to put everything out in the open. For my part, I ask them to keep emotions bottled up, to exercise great restraint. It's hard work, which she does extraordinarily well. Her acting is both spare and intense, and very cinematic. Now that she knows what I like, she corrects herself, suggesting that we do another take of a scene where she let her eyebrow quiver....I work without a video monitor; I want to stay very close to the actors. What Patrick Drolet does isn't easy, either. François is constantly on the border between simple-mindedness and naiveté. It's complex, and Patrick was able to give his character a well-rounded physicality and a very dignified attitude. Jean-Claude Labrecque, my d.o.p., really knows how to work with actors. He puts them at ease, treats them very gently.

What do you expect from a director of photography?
It's different for each film. The Woman Who Drinks was all in shadows. For 8:17, the camera was shoulder-held, the lighting harsher. Here, a luminous quality is paramount, along with a deliberate symmetry in the framing. As in all churches, the architecture of the Sainte-Anne-de-Beaupré basilica is symmetrical: everything converges on the choir and the altar, where Christ's sacrifice is symbolically re-enacted. I wanted to evoke that symmetry, so the characters are rarely out of alignment: they're in the centre, whether their back or front is shown. It's a conscious reference to religious imagery and to the sacred nature of religious painting. I loathe the garish lighting of advertisements and the degenerate editing of music videos - that torrent of dense, dishonest images. I don't want to simply entertain or be cute. I have a deliberately stark aesthetic; I want to get to the essence.

It's said that "who does not know Petite-Rivière Saint-François, does not know Charlevoix." And for François' surroundings, you chose some particularly beautiful landscapes.
I was looking for a riverside Quebec village that was still pristine. The actress Guylaine Tremblay, who comes from the village, told me about it. For me, contemplating nature is the only way to forget myself, lose myself, get out of my skin. But I didn't "prettify" Petite-Rivière-Saint-François. It's like the music in movies and plays which, all too often, is there to underscore and telegraph emotions, but that ultimately has only a numbing effect. Robert Marcel Lepage read my script two years ago - I like to line up my team well in advance. I asked him for a score that would provoke reflection, bring us into Jeanne's spiritual state. We start with despair. And during the Cap Tourmente scene, a turning point in the film, three or
four simple chords from a string quartet bring us into the light.

Are you afraid of manipulating your audience?
I want to make films for free-thinking people. I want to make them work. A fully realized film draws us into reflection and meditation - not just the script and dialogue, but the whole film. My life as a reader and a film buff was quite literally transformed by certain works. For instance the profoundly spiritual Rossellini films of his Ingrid Bergman period. My love for Élise Guilbault's performance is similar to my feelings for Ingrid Bergman's performance at the end of Stromboli. I feel a close affinity with that Catholic non-believer's sensibility. And close to Pasolini as well. The works that speak to me are spaces where individual destinies intersect with history, where personal freedom meets historical determination. But more and more, I am interested in the need for transcendence in a world without God. I cannot accept that spending Saturday at the shopping mall is the alpha and omega of human experience.

Résumé

Jeanne est médecin. Elle se croit responsable de la mort d'une patiente et de son bébé, assassinés par un mari violent. Désespérée, elle quitte Montréal et roule dans la nuit. À l'aube, elle s'arrête près du sanctuaire de Sainte-Anne-de-Beaupré. Elle veut se jeter dans le fleuve au quai du village. Mais un jeune homme venu prier pour sa grand-mère mourante l'en empêchera. Quelque chose en François touchera Jeanne. Ce n'est pas sa foi, qui la rebute. Mais elle est sensible à la simplicité de ce jeune homme énigmatique. François amènera Jeanne dans son village pour qu'elle soigne sa grand-mère. Mais il n'y a rien à faire et la vieille femme mourra dans les bras de son petit fils. Cette mort paisible et sereine réconciliera Jeanne avec l'existence.

Director and writer: Bernard Émond
Original Score: Robert Marcel Lepage
Élise Guilbault: Jeanne Denise Gagnon: Grandmother
Patrick Drolet: François Isabelle Roy: Lise