ased on real events, occurring around the borderlands of Argentina, Paraguay, and Brazil during the 1750s, Spanish Jesuits work to “save” the noble souls of the indigenous people (here, the Guarani, called Indians by the Europeans) by preaching to them in missions. Teaching the ways of their religion is viewed as a righteous path, though the locals aren’t always keen to be forced into such education. In fact, when they kill a priest, ironically by strapping him to a giant wooden cross – and then sending him into the rapids and over a waterfall – additional men arrive to correct this misguided interpretation of their arrival and the ensuing death.

“We’re gonna make Christians of these people.” Father Gabriel (Jeremy Irons) ventures into the rainforest to locate the Guarani, scaling watery cliffs and trekking through dense foliage before luring them out with gentle woodwind music. And although he’s peacefully brought back to their village, where he introduces them to various religious concepts and iconography, hoping to convert as many as possible, it’s not long before the ruthless mercenary Captain Rodrigo Mendoza (Robert De Niro, giving an absolutely exceptional performance) and his men begin invading the territory to capture Indians for slaves.

“Little in this world unfolds as we predict.” Alongside the clear battle of good and evil between the oppressed natives and the raiding Spanish, there’s a love triangle that surfaces, involving Rodrigo and his brother Felipe (Aidan Quinn) and their competing interests in Carlotta (Cherie Lunghi), which could turn violent. It’s another premise to paint Mendoza as a decisive villain, setting up a vastly more complicated, nuanced character study and arc, as this wicked man unexpectedly seeks a path for penance. Forgiveness, particularly for the most heinous of sins, turns out to be an exceptionally poignant position, as well as the formidability of having a dangerous man on the side of pacifists. “For me there is no redemption.”

Ultimately, more uncertain is the mission itself (both the task of recruiting followers and of setting up a physical church), which brings with it the question as to whether or not the priests’ presence is positive or negative. Did these villagers need an organized religion to better their lives? Or did this intrusion forever alter the course of their independence and solitude and societal successes? The Jesuits do present an avenue of protection against their fellow, conquering Europeans, but that could have been accomplished without indoctrination and the folly of selfish, corruptible men presuming to dictate how others should conduct themselves – notions that are directly brought up in the course of the picture (including why a mere man would know what God intends, and if God has abandoned the Guarani). Of immediate, less controversial note, however, is the cinematography and location shooting, which look stunning, alongside the costuming and props of a serious-minded period piece. If nothing else, “The Mission” is a sharp looking film.

“The Jesuits are much too powerful here.” As the pro-slavery Portuguese begin their own encroachment on the Indians (the mission areas previously under Spanish control), establishing the means for an eventual cataclysmic showdown, the pacing starts to drag, too focused on taking in the visuals of the mission and its denizens. It may be historical (with an impressive insistence on shying away from the glamorization of combat), but it’s not all essential or engaging, considering that the climax (with a considerable lead-in) is bound to generate tension and action. Yet even with lulls, it’s impossible to disregard the music, which is not only a factor of communication between the disparate peoples (and a point of humanization), but also a stirring, striking link between major components of the story. Composed by the inimitable Ennio Morricone, the main theme is breathtaking – and used far too seldom. Nevertheless, it’s surely one of the primary reasons for “The Mission” to be remembered.

– Mike Massie