Acts. Questions. Steps. Leaps. All words with which 'of faith' can be easily and appropriately clipped on, and applied especially to Caroline Golum's Revelations of Divine Love, a micro-budget marvel of faith-based cinema that dramatises (and implicitly modernises) the writings of Julian of Norwich, a 14th century 'anchoress' whose eponymous and influential text detailed social upheaval from within the thick stone walls of a church.
We find Julian (Tessa Strain) at the beginning of her tale, ailing from a mysterious illness. Her last rites prompt vivid and fervorous visions of Christ which bring her back from the brink, immediately qualifying her for the honored position of local anchoress. For all the spiritual plaudits this brings, she will remain in a bricked-up room at the edge of the church, deep in thought and study, and ready to receive visits from high and low alike. Disputes with corrupt landlords, bitter exchanges with the opulent clergy and the looming threat of plague fuel her manuscript and document a turbulent period for England at large.
Golum's take on Julian's story draws directly from the text itself, as, ultimately, what else is there to work with? The film's poignant coda remarks her story as hers and hers alone, self-documented and defiant in its existence. Furthermore, it's easy to see Golum's attraction to the material; Julian of Norwich is considered the first documented female writer in the English language, with Revelations of Divine Love often being cited as the first text with such provenance.
Her words on the page are inspiring to the faithful and their echoes are still felt today; Golum's choice to dramatise it now is clearly deeply personal and urgent, not least of all through her stylistic approach. Using a troupe of New York performers wielding their own accents and hairstyles, there's something defiantly opposed to portraying the medieval period as grubby and grimy, instead taking a reverential attitude to bringing Julian to life through the art of her time.
The film's colour palette seems mostly refracted through stained glass, rarely settling for a muddy brown or a stony grey, but finding beauty in bold blues or horror in crimson reds. For all the intensely digital texture of the experience, often blindingly showing up the anachronism of it all, it's made up for in vibrancy.
Indeed, anachronism in filmic tales of faith has been baked into the genre since the very beginning. Carl Theodor Dreyer stripped Joan of Arc's final days down to impressionistic close-ups, Luis Buñuel showed Simon of the Desert's temptations as a cheeky story of tradition violated by modernity, and Pier Paolo Pasolini's often scandalous eye never found an ancient story he couldn't spice up with eroticism.
Golum's technique is far more earnest; in settling for obviously handmade sets and costumes (courtesy of Grant Stoops and Nell Simon, respectively), there's not a hint of irony in retelling Julian's struggle, handing it over to the cast to theatrically deliver the drama at a pitch that might seem more at home on the stage. There's rarely anything subtle about the approach, yet there's something compellingly maximalist behind the straightfaced delivery of what could very easily seem uncool in less confident hands.
Tessa Strain's lead performance is the key to making it work. She has a face straight from a tapestry, all sculpted jawline, striking nose and piercing eyes, physically placed often in static poses within tableaus that hold their poise compellingly. It takes a steady hand to act as oneself instead of going for a broad British accent to get closer to what may have been the truth, and Strain is the ideal presence for the film's thesis: statuesque, resolute and just a little iconic.
So it's all there on paper: an unwavering commitment to style, clear messaging and studious accuracy...so why is it more interesting as an idea than a story? There may be many who will watch Revelations of Divine Love and find themselves swept up in its sincerity, and equally just as many who may tire of its single-minded and uncategorisable experimentation. For all of its warm admiration for Julian as a figure, there's also the plodding pace of a sermon at times, silkily assembling its ideas with grace and not a lot of humour.
Anachronism doesn't need to be fun, nor does it need to be ruled by discipline, yet with Revelations of Divine Love, one can be forgiven for wanting a little more flavor from the weighty text it brings to life. Tales of anchorites are rare in cinema, and few have been done like this; the only other than springs directly to mind as a close relative is Chris Newby's Anchoress, an equally studied black-and-white exercise in immersion, which proves to be quite the opposite of Golum's artificial world created on a soundstage.
Given its uncommon lineage, Revelations of Divine Love stands as a bonafide curio for Christian cinema of this moment. The idea of faith in 2026 is undeniably touchy, and Christian stories in particular can often feel close-minded and superior in their tonality. There's nothing as such in Golum's film, which emanates genuine humility and an underdog spirit that speaks quietly to those who are willing to listen.
The film is now playing in select U.S. theaters, via Several Futures. Visit their official site for locations and showtimes.