From Salon.com:
At a moment when the world's attention is intensely focused on the internal divisions of the Arab and Muslim world, "Of Gods and Men" also strikes me as a strikingly important film imbued with the kind of wisdom that can't be summarized in words. (Go ahead, roll your eyes. It's true anyway.) As a cinematic study of religious faith and its consequences, it may well rank alongside the work of Robert Bresson ("Diary of a Country Priest") or Carl Theodor Dreyer ("The Passion of Joan of Arc"). Little by little, French director Xavier Beauvois (who co-wrote the screenplay with Etienne Comar) draws you into the worldview of his characters, who may at first seem like a passel of doddering, deluded and hopelessly naive fanatics. By the time the movie is over, you understand that their decision to stay and face a fate they could clearly see coming was the natural and even inevitable consequence of their convictions.
None of which is to say they weren't kind of nuts. To most European viewers, the general story of the monastery of Tibhirine, and what became of its monks in 1996 as they were pinioned between the rising tide of terrorism and a corrupt Algerian regime, is well known. Beauvois' film has plenty of dramatic tension, but it is not terribly concerned with suspense in the ordinary sense. In fact, the "what" and "how" of Tibhirine is not his subject -- there are definitely unanswered questions about the monks' fate, and "Of Gods and Men" makes no effort to answer them. What he conveys, through austere but spectacular visual language, magnificent liturgical singing and an ensemble cast headed by the terrific French veteran actors Lambert Wilson and Michael Lonsdale (the latter's career goes back to the late '50s), is something of the "why." In particular, Beauvois is trying to reclaim the terrible story of Tibhirine from right-wing xenophobes who might use it as an excuse for anti-Muslim propaganda when the monks, as the evidence suggests, had something very different in mind.
Excerpt from John Kiser's book The Monks of Tibhirine :
From a certain angle, the Basilica of Notre Dame d'Afrique looks like a giant camel on its haunches, contemplating the Aleppo pine and eucalyptus covered hills that form an amphitheater around the port of Algiers. Its tall neck is formed by an elegant Byzantine tower connected to a large redbrick body trimmed with blue tile, surmounted by an enormous gilded cupola that for over a hundred years was a beacon for Christian Europe to come and civilize the land the Arabs called the maghreb-where the sun sets. The newcomers did their work well. French visitors sailing into the Bay of Algiers experienced a sense of homecoming and breathtaking beauty. Algiers was the Nice of North Africa, France's Mediterranean pearl with promenades along the sea, bustling cafes, elegant gardens with elegant women, and imperial architecture. La Grande Poste, la rue de la Republique, la place Delacroix provided a reassuring sense of familiarity.
In the spring of 1996, Algiers, "la blanche," looked like a scabrous bag lady. Once admired for the brilliant snowiness of the white washed Casbah rising up the Sahel Hills, she now reeked of decay and failure with crumbling, pock marked buildings, ubiquitous stray cats and putrid, garbage filled streets. Churches that had been mosques before the French arrived were again mosques. Notre Dame d'Afrique is the last citadel of a Christian presence that measures itself in hundreds in a country of twenty nine million Muslims.
On Sunday afternoon, June 2, mourners had gathered on the steps to watch the seven coffins be carried into the basilica. There were simple fellaghs in white skullcaps, sun baked Algerian working men in ill fitting dress jackets and a scattering of European men and women. Each casket was covered with a blanket of red roses, supported by four sapeurs pompiers in the traditional dress of the French fireman: white spats, gray uniform with red stripes down the pants, topped by an oversized silver helmet of medieval proportions, polished to a mirror finish. Soldiers with Kalashnikovs patrolled the area around the basilica and kept watch from rooftops. Killing people who came to the funerals of their victims was a favorite tactic of the terrorists...