For centuries now, humanity hasn’t had anything as reliable to fall back on as faith. When it feels like we’re alone, unable to achieve these impossible goals, there is this sense of a greater being watching over us, guiding us down a path of safety. It’s a subject that has remained evergreen, never ceasing to find interesting ways to explore the dichotomy of good and evil. There is a need for balance, and sometimes the only way to achieve it is to follow the path of righteousness, even if there’s something tempting about the road of revenge, of violence and blasphemy that seems to rot around you.
The Devil All the Time (2020) is secretly one of the best films of the past few years to explore this religious pull. While some may see it ultimately as a call for atheism or even downright nihilism, there is something to be said about every ploy in this story. It’s a story that may revel in murder mysteries and serial killers, but at every turn, the viewer is presented with questions about what would happen if you were presented with this scenario. Would a gun to your face cause you to give in to the evildoer’s way? Would seeing your sister in a manipulative relationship with a hip young priest lead you to raise a fist?
These are the ideas boiling underneath the surface, constantly pitting them against each other. On the surface is the proverbial good and evil, though every segment breaks down into their own fields of competition that include order and chaos, fathers and sons, war and peace, even life and death.
A key moment to understanding The Devil All the Time comes almost an hour into the film when serial killer Carl Henderson (Jason Clarke) is given narration, a “justification” for his actions. During this scene, as he participates in a grisly murder, it’s suggested that Carl chose this path because it was the closest he ever felt to God. As he overlooks the sky between the forest clouds, he finds it justification to continue his terrible behavior, believing that there’s something spiritual to it. Much like later plots, including priest Preston Teagardin (Robert Pattinson), it’s about that point where religion becomes corrupt, where people misunderstand the teachings and lose their way even if they think that they’re staring into altruism.
The protagonist is Arvin Russell (Tom Holland), whose journey takes him through all of these stories. He winds in and out of focus, revealing that he’s wanting to follow the path of the righteous and yet finds himself constantly feeling tempted by evil. The older he becomes, the clearer that there are demonic desires inside of him, wanting to see the world rationalized. Following his adoption to a family, he takes to protecting adopted sister Lenora Laferty (Eliza Scanlen), who constantly finds herself victim to potential assault at school. It’s one of the first examples of him acting out, using violence as a threat against the bullies. Even then, it’s not something he gives into immediately. He tries to do the right thing, eventually settling for the worst when nothing else works.
Parallel characters Carl and Sandy Henderson (Riley Keough) spend their decades giving into trapping their victims. Every hitchhiker they pick up winds up being suckered into taking pictures with Sandy before being brutally assaulted while Carl takes pictures. There is a joy to this that underlies the story, reflecting a parallel to Arvin’s struggle for good. He sees himself as a good man who simply does bad things because he’s forced to. He becomes a wanted man in his later years, following the belief that he murdered Teagardin for unjust reasons.
Some can argue that this is an example of faith crumbling, or that man is too infallible to be truly righteous. However, it’s a reflection of temptation that will be later asking the question as to whether man can be forgiven, if there’s any possibility for righteousness. The same can be said for Silence (2016), Martin Scorsese’s religious epic about 17th century Portuguese Jesuit priests who travel to Japan to save their mentor from imprisonment. The protagonists Rodrigues (Andrew Garfield) and Garupe (Adam Driver) navigate their journey east, finding themselves unable to be out in the open for fear of persecution because of their Catholicism.
Much like Arvin, Rodrigues and Garupe are constantly tempted to give in to temptation, to just turn back and let their colleague face his impending doom. And yet, they persevere down back allies, finding people willing to help them get to Japan. The pacing is much slower and, as the title suggests, the story is full of this interminable silence. It’s maddening because one hopes to find answers, but their prayers are often met with no immediate or recognizable response. Their journey is one full of suffering, and yet they persevere for the belief that they are doing God’s will, that they’re capable of making the world a better place.
Even if Silence is a quieter film, it does have moments that feel parallel to The Devil All the Time in terms of punishment. Further into the story, Rodrigues watches Garupe lose his mind, giving into the punishing forces wishing to capture them. He is alone, unable to have a companion to confide in, or even have a normal conversation with. He can pray, but these moments become clearly full of doubt, unable to have anything satisfying. You begin to understand the power of faith in the absence of attractive propositions, as Rodrigues has no choice but to watch Japanese Christians, tied onto crosses, being splashed by violent waves of the ocean. They are being worn down, hoping to give in to the forces that seek to persecute them.
While both films have been accused of feeling slow, Silence is a lingering force with intent. There are long establishing shots to reflect how quiet and ominous the places that Rodrigues and Garupe visit are. They do not live a glamorous life, having to sleep in caves and in claustrophobic spaces, free of any convenience. They are constantly tested, being stuck with the thought of if this journey was worth it. They continue to believe so, especially as it becomes clear that if they don’t go forward, they are doomed to be lost forever amid a hazy, hostile Japan that their white-skinned identities already feel out of place in. If you’re not a Japanese Christian, it’s likely that you’ll hate these two men.
The Devil All the Time is more of a pulpy journey, full of gross imagery like bloody skulls and corpses. There is a clear awareness of the influence of evil taking over the landscape. There are uncomfortable scenes meant to make you pray for someone to step in and make a difference. Much like Silence, there is an absence of something greater stepping in. The only difference is that Arvin decides to do so. Maybe not in the most polite way, but in a way that reflects his own misunderstanding of religion. He’s somehow the most righteous main character despite being just as flawed, lifting guns to his enemy when negotiating seems to have gone south.
It’s because evil doesn’t hold sympathy. Evil would rather just shoot you in the head and bury the corpse. During this time, there are parallels of events like World War II and, towards the end, The Vietnam War that reflect how mankind uses violence to try and preach justification. The film ends with a rather poignant yet vindictive quote from then-President Richard M. Nixon, suggesting that he’s prolonging the war to teach the Communists a lesson. It happens as Arvin, sitting opposite a hippie (himself symbolic of world peace) on his way to Cincinnati, tries to get some sleep. It’s leaving us with a ton of questions, such as whether Arvin can be redeemed but also if America is as righteous as they claim. In every case, they’re standing behind religion as an excuse for their actions, and it’s all a bit perverted.
To director Antonio Campos’ credit, he has made an incredible film full of subtle symbolism. Everywhere you look in this film, you’ll find Christian imagery, specifically of crucifixes. It’s most obviously seen in churches, but also in the lighting of hotel rooms and even the way that a tie lies across a police uniform at one point. The simple t-shape presents an interesting example of how religion is bled into this community, reflecting a desire to live a righteous path. The soundtrack is full of gospel and folk songs highlighting religion as some jubilant unification. It helps to create something subliminal, of people finding peace through repetition and old-timey values.
The back half of Silence is where the test for Rodrigues begins to take full shape. After being captured by Inoue Masahige (Issey Ogata), he is given the option to repent and deny his Christianity, but he refuses. Every day he is presented with this option, and he refuses. When he finally finds his colleague Cristovao Ferreira (Liam Neeson), he discovers that his faith has crumbled under the pressure, finding him even further alone. For years he denies his chance for freedom, believing that his faith matters more than a cheap act of rejection. He dies in a fire, clutching the crucifix as a sign of his love for his protector.
Rodrigues never lost sight of his faith and he suffered for it. Where he could’ve lied his way out, he chose the more honest path despite seeing how it would make him suffer, unable to help other Japanese Christians live a just life until he returned to Portugal. It’s complicated as to whether this is seen as a great or foolish act, but his honesty reflects what religion often preaches, even if it came with major intimidation and isolation.
The religious politics of The Devil All the Time are a bit more difficult. Arvin isn’t a bad person, at least according to his word. The issue is that his violent outbursts have become notorious, and soon he’s in a trap. He protected out of love, keeping Lenora safe. There is something just about it, but it’s also buried in an inherently American idea of paranoia, of fear that a simple conversation couldn’t end without a gunfight. It becomes most obvious when the final act features him coming to terms with his father Willard (Bill Skarsgard), commenting on how his daughter, Sandy Henderson, deserved to die when Arvin comes into possession of her incriminating photos. It ends after pleas to just stop and listen to each other, but both refuse to drop the gun. They know this is the end of the road.
The Devil All the Time is a pseudo-religious movie in that it comments on the follies of man and their inability to be righteous. They can try, but the devil is such a tempting foe. It’s constantly asking the audience to wonder what they would do when faced with such unbearable evil. Would you stand by and just watch, or would you seek to end it? That itself opens questions as to whether man can be redeemed, if the death has truly brought them closer to God or if it could’ve been achieved through simple conversations. It’s a story that has a hostile heart and maybe not the most encouraging outlook on life. Still, it ends with the hope that this will be it. This will be the moment that Arvin finds redemption, to live a just life as he leaves a town that has only brought out the worst in mankind.
Both of these stories find religious men going into the circles of danger and hoping to make it a better place. In both cases, characters slowly decay and lose their faith when presented with the awful potential of humanity. Even then, the narrator of The Devil All the Time tries to encourage us that better days are ahead, wanting to believe that this was The Lord’s way. Was it? As it’s paralleled with Nixon in the end, it’s difficult to not see this as some homegrown war, realizing an ego that may be informed by natural bloodlust. What is the separation of all of these ideals, and are both needed to counterbalance humanity? While Silence ends with an example of what pacifism leads to, The Devil All the Time leads to something more direct and complicated. It’s more of a moral grey area, but one that presents good intentions even within the most sinister of scenes.
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