I am the king of repression… It is a known fact that when an alien element is incorporated into a consolidated group, the primary unit breaks. Regardless of its nature, the nucleus gets messed up. On the Pacific seacoast, in a remote region, perfect for those who do not wish to be found, lives a small community of religious men and a sister. This particular club created by Pablo Larraín leads a life of submission, penitence and repentance. Between the shades of a melancholic camera, the new production of a director who knows the meaning of provocative cinema, a storm bursts out and the apparent calmness –which unravels between prayers and chants- is lost amidst the fog.
A decease is the beginning of the end, and the beginning of several questionings to divine and human laws, to the restrictions the Church imposes in the name of God. God is the only one who knows, God knows!, says the woman who calls herself wardress, guardian of an order that must not be disturbed. Little by little, and pierced by a destabilizing element –a priest who dares interrupt the brothers’ peace-, the plot reveals the true reason for the segregation, with a superb projection of human demons between saint words and "dishonest bodies”.
Pablo Larraín faces us with uncomfortable realities and dissects, with Machiavellian art, the crossroads of men before their faith, before the designs against human instincts and nature and, finally, the consequences they have on their lives and other people’s lives. Crimes justified in the name of God and beliefs burst in the face, revealing a mark of time, a distressing and silent accomplice transformation, which goes beyond the walls of this prayer house.
The Club overshadows everything in order to shed light on the paradoxical view on sanctity, sin and divine love. It is man faced with himself the one who is being questioned, human condition with all of its flaws and fears. And from there, there is no way to escape.