Unanswered prayers
by Thomas Delapa (buzz@boulderweekly.com)

Heaven only knows why Deliver Us from Evil is only playing at a handful of theaters around the country. For one of the most important films of the year, it's shocking to discover that there's no room at the inn.

Amy Berg's devastating documentary chronicles the exploits of Father Oliver O'Grady, the notorious pedophile priest who raped and molested dozens—perhaps hundreds—of victims in California during the 1970s and 1980s. Despite evidence of O'Grady's criminal behavior, Church superiors furtively moved him around from parish to parish, which only delivered him a fresh supply of victims, one as young as nine months. Not simply a wolf in sheep's clothing, "Father Ollie" was a devil in a black frock.

With his lilting brogue and twinkle in his eye, O'Grady could fit the bill as a Hollywood priest right out of Central Casting. On first impressions to his future victims and their families, he was the "perfect example of what a priest could be." In a chilling series of interviews, O'Grady half-heartedly confesses his sins to the cameras. Living today as free man, O'Grady is textbook example of denial and disassociation. In a bizarre letter of apology he writes during the film, O'Grady extends a friendly invitation to meet with the survivors, as if a handshake or a hug could possibly mitigate their pain.

Berg picks up O'Grady's horrifying saga in the 1970s. Abuse survivors Ann Jyono, Nancy Sloan and "Adam M." give wrenching testimony on how O'Grady used his authority and charm to get access to them, first by ingratiating himself into their families. In one instance, the priest initiated an affair with a mother, then moved on to her daughter.

O'Grady's sickening spree of molestation, rape and sodomy was all accomplished under the purview of the California dioceses. Accusatory letters from parents to church superiors only resulted in a constant cycle of parish transfers. Amazingly, this shell game eventually resulted in O'Grady's appointment as pastor of a San Andreas church. There, Father Ollie counseled engaged couples in preparation for marriage.

Berg's remarkable interviews include excerpts from depositions given by Cardinal Roger Mahony, archbishop of Los Angeles, who insists he knew nothing of O'Grady's criminal behavior. Letters—and O'Grady himself—suggest that Mahoney was complicit in the cover-up. Similar scandals at Boston and other dioceses around the country only underscore that O'Grady's monstrous crime spree was not isolated.

It wasn't until 1993 that O'Grady was tried and convicted of his crimes and sent to prison. He served a grand total of seven years, and now lives as free man in his native Ireland. He shows little remorse. For his recovering victims and their families, the nightmare goes on. It took 25 years for Ann Jyono to tell her parents what O'Grady had done to her. Jyono's father can barely speak about it without sobbing in anguish.

Berg's powerful indictment also points fingers at the Vatican and, in general, the Church's medieval precept of clerical celibacy. When canon law expert Thomas Doyle accompanies three of the survivors to Rome in an attempt at redress and reconciliation, Vatican officials slam the gate of St. Peter's in their face.

In the New Testament, Jesus said the truth shall set you free. In the case of O'Grady and other pedophile priests, the truth is the last thing the U.S. Catholic Church is practicing, let alone preaching.

Shear madness
by Thomas Delapa
(buzz@boulderweekly.com)

It doesn't matter where I begin, because no one is going to believe it anyway." So begins the incredible story of writer Augusten Burroughs (Joseph Cross), who tells how he survived his crazy childhood in Running with Scissors. To cut to the chase, Burroughs' movie memoir runs out of inspiration before he takes a stab at adulthood.

Based on Burroughs' best-selling 2002 book, Scissors is another semi-functional comedy about the American dysfunctional family. As Augusten's divorcing parents, Annette Bening and Alec Baldwin hit the ground running. But when Baldwin walks out, he takes a good measure of the dysfunctional fun with him.

Burrough's slash-and-burn memoir begins in the late 1970s. Bening's Dierdre is a failed writer desperate to find her unconscious inspiration. She bullies her poetry circle to dig deep into themselves, just like she does. When in doubt, she blames everyone—especially her husband—for her mediocrity. "All my life I've been oppressed," she declares with I Am Woman conviction.

In the sure hands of Bening and Baldwin, Burroughs' sharp dialogue hits its targets with brutal accuracy. Director Ryan Murphy (creator of TV's Nip/Tuck) gets in the spirit with the clever entrance of Dr. Finch (Brian Cox), a psychiatrist who may be the last hope to save the family from hellish meltdown. Like The Exorcist, Finch arrives at the Burroughs' door in the dead of night, ready to beat the devil.

No savior, Finch is almost as mad as Dierdre is. Clicking pen in hand, Finch feeds Dierdre's hysterical egomania with Valium and an overdose of psycho-babble. With Svengali-like power, he convinces her that his home is the best place for the teenage Augusten. Finch's two loony daughters (Gwyneth Paltrow and Evan Rachel Wood) and dog-food munching wife (Jill Clayburgh) make the Addams family look positively All-American.

Running with Scissors loses it edge after Bening and Baldwin move on and Augusten moves into the Finches' horror-movie home, a pink neo-classical mansion furnished with wall-to-wall junk. Augusten's gay affair with Bookman (Joseph Fiennes), another Finch-"adopted" patient, brings the film's pace down to a crawl. All that remains of the tatters of the plot is a smattering of snippy dialogue ("You're so oral, you'll never get to anal") that skewers the pretensions of psychiatry. To be blunt, whether running, walking or standing still, Cross is one dull lead.

Thomas Delapa reviews the latest movies on KUVO (FM 89.3) Fridays at 8:40 a.m.

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