Film Review...

I'm not a bishop-basher on the topic of sexual abuse of children. I'd just like them to go and see a new film documentary, Deliver Us from Evil, and take their clergy and parishioners along with them..

'Pedophiles' — a misnomer if ever there was one as the perpetrators do not 'love' children and frequently torture and kill them — come in all shapes and sizes and sometimes they are Catholics, and worst of all they are also priests who have been protected by the structure in which they lurk, like rock spiders awaiting their prey. They are slayers of the soul. In my 54th year as a journalist and my 34th as a Catholic I find this subject more perplexing than any I have encountered.

They do not think what they do is morally wrong because of their deep-frozen emotional and sexual immaturity, their 'show-me-yours-and-I'll-show-you-mine' mentality. This mindset has also been found in judges, senior police, teachers, mayors, politicians, priests, religious — those prepared to use Power against the most powerless of all, children.

There is no cure for this illness at time of writing because of the reluctance of those who hold Power to allocate money, time and research into the perpetrators and their obsession.

Nor is there any excuse for child sexual abuse. No excuses, ever.

Recently a friend of mine died. I wanted to organize a memorial service for him. I had to belay that when his best mate told me that he had interfered with his son. The young victim, understandably, would have probably disrupted the funeral celebrations.

The friend had been drunk at the time. But, as I say, there are no excuses, ever. What to him was a bit of foreplay, an introduction to his personal homosexual world, was a devastating blow to a developing mind, a lifelong wound. Please God, he'll recover, otherwise the deceased perpetrator has won.

Once again a 'best friend' had broken the hearts of a family. Many families, including my own, can tell similar tales.

The heartbreak is even greater when it's a charismatic, handsome Catholic priest who as a Persona Christi Devil repeatedly acts out his phantasy in a masturbatory, celibate presbytery bedroom into the reality of a child's playroom. He also breaks the hearts of other priests, his congregation. His panicky bishop may transfer him to another place, to perpetrate again. The establishment lives in constant fear of another million dollar court case.

I'm not a bishop-basher on the topic of sexual abuse of children. I'm not a priest-basher either. I have helped my friend Columban Father Shay Cullen [he goes out 'wired' at night to entrap the perpetrators] in his campaign to uncover pedophiles in the Philippines, and other priests who support End Child Prostitution in Asian Tourism — ECPAT.

I'm glad I have helped to put some dozen of these bastards behind bars. And I'm glad to have tried to encourage a better protocol for disclosure of offences. It has, however, a long path to tread. We are all children of God. That piece by Jesus about the millstone applies to all of us.

I'd like to invite every Catholic bishop in this country to watch a new documentary, Deliver Us from Evil, out this week, which recounts the chilling exploits of an unrepentant reverend serial child molester, which offers a compelling insight into a problem with which Ireland is, like Australia and the US, tragically, all too familiar.

To use Cliff's original headline to this article, this is a film about
"A Reverend Hannibal Lecter in a Cheap Cardigan"

Directed and written by Amy Berg, the film describes how Irishman Father Oliver O'Grady moved from one parish to another in Northern California during the 1970s. Father Oliver O'Grady quickly won each congregation's trust and respect. They did not know that O'Grady was a dangerously active pedophile that Church hierarchy, aware of his predilection, had harbored for over 30 years, allowing him to abuse countless children. Juxtaposing an extended, deeply unsettling interview with O'Grady himself with the tragic stories of his victims, filmmaker Berg bravely exposes the deep corruption of parts of the Catholic Church and the troubled mind of the man they sheltered.

Writing in that splendid newspaper, The Irish Echo in Sydney, reviewer Markham Nolan observes that the film reveals 'nothing but deception, perjury denial and deceit at the highest levels of the Catholic Church.'

'Many Catholics will find it a challenge to sit through, of that there is little doubt. It challenges their faith in the structures in which many of them were raised. It tears down comfortable notions of the Church as a place of sanctuary, but it is indispensable viewing, and it is the truth.'

Well, I am not sure I'd go all the way with that, but I think bishops, priests and laity should demonstrate true grit and go and see the film. Otherwise pious, eloquent noises on this topic from the Cathedral will sound very hollow. Whole parishes should go and see the movie, with their children, too. The Church is strong enough to bear the burden, and cast off the shame. This is a bigger problem than monetary compensation.

Here's Markham Nolan's report in The Irish Echo. It's a fine piece by a young award-winning Irish journalist:

There is a moment in Amy Berg's startling new documentary when you realise how detached Fr Oliver O'Grady is from his awful crimes.

The chilling moment comes just after Fr O'Grady has written a letter of apology to the children, now adults, that he molested over a period of 15 years.

He wrote using a black bic biro, which cheapens him further. His victims deserve better.

He's just asked the victims to fly to Ireland at their own expense to meet him so he can explain and absolve himself, and help everyone get on with their lives, happily ever after.

Fr O'Grady looks into the camera, and says: "I hope to see all of you real soon."

In that instant, he becomes Hannibal Lecter in a cheap cardigan.

There's a smirk, or something like it, that appears on his face, and he is at once the embodiment of blank innocence and pure malevolence.

He's the worst villain of them all, more real, more threatening. He's the movie baddie that sells you buns at a parish cake sale.

For the litany of abuse in the United States, the buck stops way up the Vatican ladder, but this film hinges of the testimony of Fr O'Grady, the only member of the Church who agreed go on camera.

He left a trail of destruction through California as he gained the trust of parish families, abused and raped their children, and was then moved on to new parishes by his superiors to do the same.

The abuse started in 1976, and continued up until his imprisonment in 1993.

Director Amy Berg tracked the sex scandals in California for CNN as a documentary maker. Having spoken frequently to Fr O'Grady, she finally convinced him to go on camera and confess.

He goes through his abusive history in disturbing detail, but narrates the chain of events with detachment, as if he wasn't really there.

It is clear, however, that Fr O'Grady just wants everyone to forgive and forget. More specifically, he wants to be forgiven and forgotten. After his tell-all appearance in Deliver Us From Evil, neither is likely.

Father Ollie, as he was known, smiles, child-like, throughout his on-screen confession, while saying he's sorry. And he's believably sorry, so believable, in fact, that you might consider forgiving him if he hadn't just detailed his crimes to the camera and explained, step by step, how he molested children.

He feels that full disclosure is the path to healing, but it leaves an open wound with the viewer.

For those that cry entrapment, Berg says that she merely let Fr O'Grady tell his story, without having to add anything herself. The film uses no narration, other than on-screen footnotes.

"O'Grady is so shocking and real, I couldn't have scripted a better villain," she says.

"It seemed redundant to make that point using narration."

A prize-winner at Toronto, and weighed down with praise from all comers, the film is an important piece of work. Only the Catholic Church (and, briefly, the Irish Independent) have come out against it. Cardinal Mahony, who was in charge of Fr O'Grady during his tenure, would not return Berg's calls.

Every request for interviews or information from the Cardinal was met with a cut-and-paste email, saying: "We have no confidence that your project is anything other than dishonest and slanted."

Counter-claims come from the lawyers for the victims, who say their inquiries unearthed "nothing but deception, perjury, denial and deceit at the highest levels of the Catholic Church."

Director Amy Berg spent eight full days interviewing Fr O'Grady in Ireland, where he now lives unfettered by any obligation to check in with police, unregistered as a sex offender. He roams free. His crimes, for which he received a 14-year sentence but served only seven, were committed in California, a wholly separate legal jurisdiction.

Although he stands in St Stephen's Green and admits, with a gleeful smile, that the thought of children in their underwear arouses him more than anything, no restrictions are placed on him. The film shows him surrounded by children on the street, and peeking into Dublin playgrounds.

As if his self-incriminations aren't sufficient, we hear the calm, measured testimony of the Jyonos. Maria Jyono was a devout Catholic girl who left for America in 1964 with a head of red, Irish hair and her Japanese-American husband.

Bob Jyono, formerly a Buddhist, was baptised a Catholic at the behest of Maria's strict, religious parents.

After their daughter Anne was born, Fr O'Grady became their parish priest, a friendly face from home for Maria.

The Jyonos backed Fr O'Grady to the hilt while accusations of "inappropriate touching" were being flung around. They stood behind him, fended off criticism, and made him a regular guest in their home.

When Bob Jyono eventually realised that their daughter, Anne, had been one of Fr O'Grady's victims, the betrayal was too much.

His rage at what happened doesn't lie far below the surface, and Mr Jyono's voice suddenly raises to a howl of despair.

"He was in here saying morning prayers, during the night-time he's molesting my daughter," Bob Jyono wails.

"Raping her, not molesting her. Raping her."

His voice reverberates with hatred and anger and tears roll down his cheek.

"At five years old! How can that happen? That's just what he did."

It's at this stage I realise that the person sitting behind me in the cinema is crying. Jyono's grief is literally pouring off the screen and into the audience.

Many Catholics will find it a challenge to sit through, of that there is little doubt. It challenges their faith in the structures in which many of them were raised. It tears down comfortable notions of the Church as a place of sanctuary, but it is indispensable viewing, and it is the truth.

Cliff Baxter is a highly awarded journalist with a lifetime experience gained on the principal Australian secular newspapers, the Australian Broadcasting Corporation and The Catholic Weekly.

We welcome your thoughts in response to this review in our forum.

Cliff Baxter can be contacted at: Cliff Baxter <cliffbaxter@catholica.com.au>

©2007 Clifford Baxter

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