Born into a claustrophobic medieval life, young Brendan has never been outside the ever-growing walls of the Irish Abbey of Kells. His uncle, the Abbot, was once a great illuminator, but no longer. Now, with the Norse raids growing ever nearer, all the Abbot can do is obsess over increasing the abbey's fortifications and keeping Brendan from any possible dangers.
Brendan's life drastically changes when a legendary illuminator, Aidan of Iona, arrives with the great book of Iona . . . the work of some 200 years and many illuminators.
The master, his book (and his delightful cat) are all that remains of the isle of Iona, which has also fallen to the Norsemen. Aidan no longer has the eyes or the steady hands needed in an illuminator. But he sees potential in Brendan . . . and spurs him to disregard the Abbot's wishes and venture outside the walls of the abbey. What for? Why for ink and inspiration, of course!
The forest looks inviting here . . . but as anyone familiar with fairy tales (or Irish legend) knows . . . it is also full of dangerous beings of both the light and dark variety. Beings which may or may not help Brendan in his quest to help the master illuminator finish the great book.
Meanwhile, the Vikings draw ever closer to the abbey, and everyone but the Abbot knows that the great walls will eventually give way. And what will happen to the Book in the pillaging haze of blood and smoke?
This film is technically "about" the Book of Kells, which is considered by most to be the greatest piece of illuminated literature to survive the Dark Ages. Virtually nothing is known about the artists responsible for it . . . and the location(s) of its creation is (and probably will remain) in dispute. This film takes the prevailing theory--that the book was begun at Iona and finished at Kells upon Iona's destruction--and turns it into a gilded, panoramic battle between light and darkness.
And yet, the larger powers of light and darkness are not really in the center of this stage. Humans are. Brendan is not charged between choosing light over darkness, nor is he tasked to defeat darkness at all costs. This story takes pains to suggest that not all evil forces can be repelled all the time.
Frustratingly, as the arc of the invading Norseman suggests, Darkness often "wins" for a time, despite herculean efforts. The villagers hiding in the chapel below, waiting for the Norseman to inevitably break down the great doors, was one of the most poignant moments in the whole film.
But the inevitability of defeat only underscores the need for a beacon of hope . . . something to steal past the darkness, outlast it, and emerge unscathed in a later time time and place.
In the quasi-spiritual world of this story, I think we could call Uncle Abbot the ultimate temptor--or force to be reckoned with. The abbot shames, scolds and finally locks Brendan away for his jaunts into the woods and his interest in illumination over protecting the abbey. And while this may seem practical and judicious, the Abbot is more fearful than wise . . . more obsessed with the impossibilities of the present than the possibilities for the future. He doesn't understand that Brendan has a higher calling of sorts . . . that his nephew has a chance to not only protect knowledge, but create a better world, a brighter world . . . namely through the intricate work of illumination.
Without the pen and the paintbrush, without art and story, we all might as well be animals, huddling hungry in the dark. Thank the powers that be for the Illuminators, now and then.
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