Babette’s Feast (Babettes gaestebud) (1987)
Slow and monotonous could be the two words to describe this
masterpiece of cinema. In our age of fast-paced video clips and sensory
overload, snappy dialog and ADD, few have the time to seep in the mood of the depiction
of a real atmosphere, surrender to a sense of another time and another place
and to wait for a true story to unfold. Yet, this is exactly what this story
aspires and fulfills to do.
In renowned author Karen Blixen’s short novel Babettes gaestebud,
the characters are the unknown little people of a remote village among the
snowy, austere seaside towns of Denmark. The venerated celebrities of this
paradigm are the two sisters, daughters of the late minister of the village,
who, with their modesty, aged beauty and spiritual heritage are the tokens and
leaders of the morality of the villagers. Religion is in the center of their
lives, observed as best as they know how: through foregoing and good deeds.
They preach and demonstrate simplicity and the rejection of all pleasures and
ostentation. A woman from another world is dropped in their care and in the way
of this goodwill. How will they respond? How could they reject the request to
open their home to give refuge to a fleeing worldly woman from Paris, in need
of their mercy. They must do as they say. With caution, they embrace the person
and vow to resist her ways.
She is a conundrum, unbroken code to them. Her humility
takes her past all of their (and the villagers’) scrutiny, and yet she remains alien.
Her prudence earns her respect and yields financial savings to the sisters’
household, as their new housekeeper exercises her unexplained ability to save,
to cook, to bargain, to multiply. She learns their ways and language, and
submits in all things to them, respecting their lifestyle, making their food as
they want. She was a chef in Paris once, as they were told.
Stories of the virtues of the late father of the sisters
dominate conversations among the villagers. They must keep his memory and
observe his teachings, as best as can be done with someone more of a legend now
than the living source of guidance. Love and sexuality have long since
sublimated from the lives of the two old maidens, with only prudish, blushing
stories of old suitors from olden days—namely, the General Lorens Löwenhielm, a dapper young man in
uniform, as we see him in flashbacks to a time when, in transit through this
remote province between the great cities of the world—his playground, he
encountered the acquaintance of its minister and his fetching young daughters.
Religion is rigid,
guides but does not inspire here, as bickering ensues from loves run dry. The
sisters are having a hard enough time to make sense of their own faith, let
alone fan it in their fellow men.
And there’s Babette.
Hidden and hibernate, yet brought here for a purpose. And, fate would have it,
news is brought to her from Paris: She has won the lottery, 10,000 franc that
is.
A turning point is
brought to the mundane. Will it flash and die away, leaving all things as
normal? Babette tells the sisters, who have now grown quite fond of her
character and accustomed to her indispensable presence, that she has come to a
great fortune. The two are worried: will she leave now? Why would she stay? The
dangers threatening her life which had driven her here have passed, as has her
need of their caretaking. She is ready to resume her independence. She only has
one request: She would like to treat the sisters, and their friends, to a
French dinner. Which she would prepare.
The sisters,
thinking it would be rude to refuse, accept the gesture; only to be assailed by
more worries; a worldly French feast would infect their puritan ways; not to
mention the financial sacrifice Babette proposes to make to accommodate them,
which would burden their conscience.
Politely they agree,
and preparations are made. Unknown ingredients are ordered and delivered, in
huge contrast to the dried-bread-soup the sisters are used to, elevating
worries and concern among now not only the sisters but also the villagers.
Preparations still
proceed and a guest of honor is invited. Babette prepares the feast and the
time is come: All must gather and partake, eat but not enjoy as their covenant
and pact dictate that they have made.
Wine is poured,
turtle soup is eaten, yet not a word is spoken as each sip is life and spirit
to those who are taking it. The guest of honor, the General himself, can only
place the value and one-of-a-kind prestige of the main course, “Le Sarcofage,”
as it is served. Puzzled, he inquires of the person by whom it was made.
Babette, the famous chef, an artist, has been harbored here, as it turns out.
Spirits are lifted,
conversations flow, forgiveness and love remain after the dinner that seems to
have quickened the dead has replaced dried bones.
Babette now, the
next day, must come before her keepers with one more request: in their
employment she requests to remain. She does not have any money. They do not
understand. She had won the lottery and come into the possession of a great fortune,
ten thousand francs. The ten dinner guests, a thousand francs each.
Babette remains with
the sisters, not because of need but because of love. She elevates, not
abolishes, their religion.