The ponderous At Play in the Fields of the Lord commits the cardinal sin that befalls so many well-intentioned films based on highly regarded literary works: it forgets it’s a movie. Peter Mathiessen’s 1965 novel about modern-day Evangelicals converting the fictional Niaruna Indians in Amazonia may be a compelling read, but this film adaptation of his novel, undoubtedly faithful to the letter, is lackluster in almost every respect. Indeed, the staggering beauty of the exotic Brazilian rainforests — stunningly photographed by cinematographer Lauro Escorel — overwhelms the film’s narrative to the point of oblivion. Granted At Play in the Fields of the Lord is provocative in its depiction of an ill-fated clash of “civilized” and “uncivilized” cultures, but Babenco and Jean-Claude Carriere’s screenplay never finds the momentum to bring Mathiessen’s intriguing moral and philosophical questions to cinematic life. Despite its three-hour length, this movie leaves you wanting; the gaps in narrative and character motivation are often confounding. For example, why does Bates’ character, a neurotic woman who defines her life according to her strict religious beliefs, agree to a mission in a country she instinctively finds disgusting? Of the cast, only Quinn makes any sense out of his character, an idealistic missionary whose faith is shattered in his naive quest to enlighten the Niarunas through Christianity. As for the others, it’s depressing to see so much misguided talent. At times, Lithgow rants as if possessed by the demons of bad acting, while Bates’ descent into madness might be funny if it weren’t so embarrassing. Ultimately, At Play in the Fields of the Lord is a prestige picture tainted by an unmistakable sense of self-importance. Although forgivable, it’s a transgression you wish you didn’t have to endure every time a movie like this comes along.
This article appears in January 24 • 1992 (Cover).
