Is God a Woman? Female Faces of God in Contemporary Cinema

Abstract

Film, as a medium, serves not only as a significant source of entertainment but also as a powerful instrument in shaping attitudes, beliefs, behaviours, social norms, and identities. Since its inception, cinematic art has been closely intertwined with religious themes, with many film narratives drawing implicitly or explicitly from biblical texts and religious traditions. Consequently, theologians and ecclesiastical authorities were quick to identify film as a potential locus theologicus. Given film’s ability to spark debates on deeply ingrained views and beliefs, feminist theology, which critically reflects on gender power relations within religious communities and theological texts, finds it intriguing to explore how cinematic narratives can challenge the millennia-old depiction of God as a man. This article aims to examine how the art of cinema contributes to theological reflections on the female metaphors of God, particularly through female Christ-figures and God-figures, which occasionally appear in films such as Chocolat, All That Jazz, Always, Dogma, and The Shack. These characters defy traditional religious language, which often employs masculine imagery and metaphors for God, portraying female God as an independent chocolatier, a single mother, an elegant hairdresser, a beautiful young seductress, a curvaceous African American bread maker, and a witty, clownish girl. In these cinematic depictions, female God is compassionate, empathetic, kind, witty, forgiving, and profoundly in love with her human creations. At the same time, all of these female characters are powerful, assertive, strong, and self-confident.

1. Introduction

Despite the fact that 130 years have passed since its “invention”, the medium of film continues to captivate audiences worldwide with undiminished power and effectiveness, transcending age, social class, ethnicity, and religious affiliation. Cinematic art is still often perceived by the general public primarily as a medium of entertainment (which it certainly is, due to the profit-driven market forces that strongly impact the film industry), often overlooking the far more significant “side effects” of the seventh art: its power to educate, encourage, provoke thought, offer insight, raise awareness, inspire hope, and influence change in attitudes, emotions, and behaviours. As a haptic and somatic medium of perception-cum-expression (Lorenz 2024), film indeed entertains through the stories it tells, but it can also teach and transform through images, symbols, metaphors, and analogies.

Italian sociologist Milly Buonanno, who studies the social functions of audiovisual fictional narratives, asserts that such narratives are invaluable to contemporary individuals as they provide a unique resource that enables them to better understand the world they inhabit. Thus, the imaginary becomes real, not only because we suspend disbelief during the viewing experience but also because it reshapes our perception of certain aspects of life and our relationship to reality (Buonanno 2004, pp. 18–22). As we follow characters and their dramas on the big screen, we learn about the values and myths that underpin our culture, as well as the models through which we can shape our attitudes, value systems, lifestyles, and perceptions of the world around us and its social norms. At the same time, film offers models for shaping both our personal and social identity (Goethals 1990, p. 108; Gripsrud 2011, pp. 17–18; Braga 2004, pp. 226–27).

In addition to their cultural, esthetic, ethical, and educational roles, films can also provide a “space” for transcendental experiences (Schrader 2018) and, consequently, serve as a locus theologicus within popular culture (Greeley 1988). This suggests that the content and esthetics of film narratives can provoke, implicitly or explicitly, questions about God and ultimate realities, challenge theological assumptions and beliefs, inspire the search for the sacred, and engage with spirituality. Catholic theologian Julie Clague also argues that despite the fact that art cannot replace the work of theology, the creativity of artists can indeed guide viewers into unexplored realms of associations, connections, and meanings within human imagination, provoking theological reflections and deepening our understanding of the transcendent (Clague 2008, p. 108). Films can function as modern parables (Johnston 2004, p. 88) if they fulfil their “prophetic” role as cultural critics (Graham 1998, p. 39). According to Graham, if a film narrative unsettles religious worldviews by provoking and challenging the audience’s beliefs rather than just reinforcing their preconceived notions, films can contribute to the development of theology (Graham 1998, p. 42). For this reason, the Church’s magisterium has encouraged studies and analyses of films on numerous occasions, recognizing them as tools that can serve the faith (cf. ecclesiastical documents such as Vigilanti cura, Miranda prorsus, and Inter mirifica), as “instruments of moral, social, cultural, and spiritual upliftment for all humanity” (Viganò 1994, p. 9). Thus, academic research should never ignore the powerful influence film has on its audience, particularly on the youth. More than any previous generation, we are immersed in the culture of “moving pictures” while, at the same time, perceiving religious texts, rituals, and the conceptual language of theology as uninteresting and incomprehensible. Consequently, it is not uncommon for film (and many other artefacts of popular culture as well) to become one of the primary sources through which people gain knowledge of religious texts, norms, and beliefs (Kozlovic 2003, p. 318). Film, as a widely accessible and influential art form, possesses immense pedagogical and catechetical potential. Through its popularity and unique artistic capabilities, film can become a vital instrument for theological and vocational formation, offering viewers novel approaches to engage with and internalize complex theological concepts.

From the very beginning of cinema, directors and screenwriters have drawn inspiration from biblical and Christian motifs for their film narratives. The first “religious film” was a short documentary feature from 1896, which showed Pope Leo XII blessing a crowd gathered in the Apostolic Palace. A year later, the first feature film about Jesus was produced, La Passion du Christ (The Passion of Christ) by Albert Kirchne, followed by La vie et la passion de Jésus-Christ, directed by Georges Hatot and Louis Lumière in 1898. To date, over 150 films have sought to reconstruct the story of Jesus of Nazareth—explicitly or implicitly—or to depict God in some form within their narratives, most often referencing Judeo-Christian traditions.

Monotheistic religions primarily refer to God in masculine terms, employing, among others, male metaphors, analogies, and symbols, which have consequently led to the marginalization of women in many religious and faith communities. In light of the patriarchal context that has unequally shaped religious imagery, Catholic theologian Sandra Schneiders argues that a “therapy” of religious imagination concerning God is rather necessary (Schneiders 1986, p. 19). The feminist movement, feminist theology, and the evolving roles and rights of women in society, culture, and the Church have undergone significant transformations in recent decades toward greater egalitarianism and equality. It is to be expected that these developments will be reflected in cinematic storytelling through innovative narratives that open the door to more critical, profound, and non-stereotypical reflections on the role of women in the mysteries of the sacred and the transcendent (L’Osservatore Romano 2024) Examining modern film narratives is, therefore, a means of shedding light on contemporary cultural perspectives about religion and gender. Film images have an impact on gender identification as well as the religious values in contemporary society: they have the power to satisfy, to shock, to educate, to convert, to transform; they have the power to re-form or to shape our attitudes toward ourselves as individuals and social beings, and even toward God (Apostolos-Cappadona 1997, p. 114). That is why I share the opinion of Sofia Sjö regarding the relationship between religion, gender, and film: “(…) gender and religion (and for that matter gender and film) must be understood as being interrelated. Religion is deeply gendered, in film as well as in real life. Ideas about gender shape religious structures, beliefs and behaviors and can be argued to influence ideas about gender in society at large as well” (Sjö 2016, p. 124).

In this regard, my interest lies in exploring whether, and in what ways, the medium of film has questioned the millennia-old tradition of the male image of God, and the understanding that even a single mindful analysis of women’s portrayals in contemporary cinema significantly contributes to discussions about the role of women in modern social and religious life (Apostolos-Cappadona 1997, pp. 113–14).

In this article, I will focus precisely on this aspect of the seventh art, seeking to examine how cinema can contribute to theological discourse, particularly in relation to feminist theology and its reflections on the creation of women in the image of God and their role in the history of salvation. More specifically, I aim to analyze several films that, perhaps unintentionally, challenge the notion of God’s “maleness” through depictions of female Christ-like figures and characters representing God in female form, thereby contributing to a more inclusive theological language. This is also a way to observe how films, as products of popular culture, construct gender and religion. To this end, I will conduct a qualitative analysis of the film Chocolat (2000), where the protagonist Vianne serves as a Christ-figure, alongside God-figures in four other films where the directors have defied collective imagery by portraying Almighty God as a woman. These films are All That Jazz (1979), Always (1989), Dogma (1999), and The Shack (2017).

2. Feminist Theology and God Imagery

Most believers affiliated with monotheistic religions hold an image of God as a white male in their religious imagination. But is this the only valid, possible, and truthful conception of God? The theologian Mary Daly’s statement “If God is male, then male is God” (Daly 1973, p. 19) sparked numerous debates and created fertile ground for discussions on the gender of God. The mystery of God, after all, transcends all human imagination, mental constructs, and visual representations. However, we use familiar images, words, and symbols to speak about what lies beyond our intellectual grasp. Biblical language and imagery predominantly depict God as male; the lexicon of Christian preaching and prayer is full of references to men (brothers; sons; the God of Abraham, Isaac, and Jacob; the Good Shepherd; the Merciful Father) while excluding any possible reference to God as female. For this reason, feminist theology today emphasizes the importance of using so-called inclusive language, which either avoids gender-specific terms when referring to God or incorporates both genders to highlight that God transcends gender characteristics and encompasses both male and female qualities (Mollenkott 1993, pp. 7–10).

Many Catholic and Protestant theologians argue that it is unjust to depict the first and second Persons of the Trinity exclusively in masculine terms, pointing to the phenomenon of inculturation, which allows Jesus of Nazareth to be represented as belonging to a different race, nationality, or social class than the historical Jesus. The only scandal, they argue, arises when Jesus’ gender is altered in visual representations, as in the case of the figurative portrayal of “Christa” (McLaughlin 1993). In that context, Catholic theologian Teresa Berger wonders “If inculturation is not a problem when such matters as class (the poor Campesino) and race (Jesus as a black African, the Apostles as Asians or the Holy Family as Native Americans) are involved, then why […] is inculturation in matters of gender so problematic (by now, I have to say, practically suspected of heresy)?” (Berger 1996, p. 35).

Elizabeth A. Johnson similarly contends that it is myopic to consistently prioritize gender over other dimensions of existence (Johnson 2018). In addition, Christ, unlike the historical Jesus, is not male, or more precisely, not exclusively male. Christ is a pneumatological being, a creation of the Spirit. For this reason, Christ can be depicted as an old man, a Black man, Asian, a woman, or any baptized person (Schneiders 1986, pp. 54–56). Referring to Saint Paul’s letter to the Galatians (3:28), in which he proclaims that “there is neither Jew nor Greek, there is neither slave nor free, there is neither male nor female”, we are now facing a Church in which all societal, cultural, religious, national, and biological divisions between men and women have been transcended, and all structures of domination have been rejected (Schüssler Fiorenza 1994). Moral theologian Bernard Häring thus asserts that Christ became a man precisely in order to break the shackles of sexism and male dominance with his absolute humility and freedom for others: “ (…) anyone who wants to place excessive emphasis on the masculinity of Christ in order to establish privileges for males (‘priests’) over women has not understood Jesus as the liberator of all, men and women, and has not understood the way in which he has liberated us” (Häring 1979, p. 171).

In the Holy Bible, we can find different images, metaphors, and analogies that mention the invisible God, relying notably on the experiences and images of everyday life. Therefore, the mystery of God is properly understood as a mystery; neither male nor female, but beyond these categories, beyond any imagination. When Jesus speaks of God and his Reign, he also uses “female” metaphors and/or analogies1, comparing them to the woman who seeks the lost coin (cf. Lucas 15:8–10), the woman who kneads yeast into dough to make bread (cf. Matthew 13:33), or the hen that protects its chicks under her wings (cf. Matthew 23:37). Although they are not prevalent, female metaphors and analogies are also present in the Old Testament. God is compared to a mother bear (Hosea 13:7–8), a female pelican who offers her blood to bring her children back to life (Psalm 102:7), and a female eagle (Deuteronomy 32:11–12). One of the most popular metaphors is the one depicting God as mother in her different segments and functions: God as a woman in labour (Isaiah 42:14); as a mother nursing her child (Isaiah 49:15); as a midwife (Psalms 22:9–10); and as a mother who protects, heals, educates, comforts, washes, makes clothes, etc. (cf. Genesis 3:21; Isaiah 46:3–4; Job 10:10–12; Luke 12:28; Galatians 3:27) (Mollenkott 1993).

In the 2nd century, Clement of Alexandria dedicated an entire chapter to describing the maternal image of God, as nourishing with milk that flows from the Father, and Christ as being both father and mother to His children (Heimmel 1982, p. 15). In the early 5th century, a Libyan bishop from Ptolemais also wrote about Christ in a similar vein: “You are father, you are mother, you are male, and you are female” (Heimmel 1982, p. 21). In one of his poems from the 12th century, Anselm of Canterbury depicts Jesus Christ as a hen gathering her chicks under her wings, comforting them and bringing them redemption: “But you too, good Jesus, are you not also a mother? Are you not a mother who like a hen gathers her chocks beneath her wings? And you, my soul, dead in yourself, run under the wings of Jesus your mother and lament your griefs under his feathers. Ask that your wounds may be healed and that, comforted, you may live again. Christ, my mother, you gather your chickens under your wings; this dead chicken of yours puts himself under your wings. Warm your chicken, give life to your dead one, justify your sinner” (Anselm of Aosta 1973, p. 153). The 14th-century mystic Julian of Norwich had visions of God as a mother and spoke of “Jesus, our Mother”. She found Jesus in terms of maternal attributes such as creating, saving, loving, and nurturing (Bynum 1982).

In one of Rembrandt’s most renowned paintings, The Return of the Prodigal Son, art critics have observed that the hands of the father embracing his son are distinctly different. The left hand is feminine, while the right hand is masculine. Henry J. M. Nouwen, in his book dedicated to analyzing this Rembrandt painting, remarked: “This is both father and mother. This is therefore God, in whom both the masculine and feminine being, fatherhood and motherhood are fully present” (Nouwen 2009, p. 145).

The type of relationship suggested when God is depicted solely in the form of a man is one of subordination, as opposed to the reciprocal relationship communicated when God is portrayed in both male and female forms (Mollenkott 1993, p. 13). Nevertheless, the legitimate use of female images and symbols for God remains a rarity in Christian language and practice. Until the practice of using female symbolism is established, imagining God equivalently as both female and male remains an abstraction (Johnson 1984). Sandra Schneider also believes that it is absolutely imperative to purify the language of metaphors, symbols, gestures, music, painting, and film by removing “the patriarchal overtones, male exclusive references to God, and the presentation of male religious experience as normative. We must learn to speak to and about God in the feminine; we must learn to image God in female metaphors; we must learn to present the religions experience of women as autonomously valid” (Schneiders 1986, p. 71).

Therefore, the aim of this article is to assess the contribution of female Christ-figures and depictions of God in a feminine form in contemporary cinema as visual symbols of a new theological expression. This does not question the male gender of the historical Jesus of Nazareth, nor does it suggest that God would be female or that male metaphors and analogies are invalid. Instead, it seeks to contribute to the development of an inclusive theological language regarding God, who transcends both male and female identities. Without this inclusive approach, we risk perceiving God exclusively as male, thereby considering all that is male as divine. Feminist theologian Elizabeth Green notes that “We are confronted with the one and triune God in whom there is no trace of femininity. In our minds, therefore, God is entirely male; God and the male human being are intertwined” (Green 1998, p. 25). However, if according to Christian anthropology both men and women are created in the image of God and are thus theomorphic, then God should be able to be depicted as either male or female (Radford Ruether 1993, pp. 10–11, 22). Johnson asserts “But insofar as God creates both male and female in the divine image and is the source of the perfections of both, either can equally well be used as metaphor to point to divine mystery. Both, in fact, are needed for less inadequate speech about God, in whose image the human race is created.” (Johnson 2018, pp. 56–57). This does not imply that certain characteristics traditionally considered feminine by our culture should be attributed to a male God, nor that a feminine dimension of God should be discovered. Rather, it suggests that God, both singular and triune, should be fully articulated in feminine terms (Green 1998, pp. 27–28). Feminist theologians therefore demand that God be portrayed from the perspective of women’s experiences, utilizing feminine imagery and figures. I believe that the medium of film—which plays a key role in how gender is understood—with its rich audiovisual narratives and metaphors, can significantly contribute to this aim.

3. Female Christ-Figures in Films

Besides films about the historical Jesus—over 150 of which have been produced, with varying degrees of success, including works such as The Greatest Story Ever Told (1965) by George Stevens, Jesus of Nazareth (1977) by Franco Zeffirelli, and The Passion of Christ (2004) by Mel Gibson—there are films that take a more metaphorical approach in retelling the story and mission of Christ. These are often referred to as “Christ-figure films”.

Figures of the saviours, redeemers, liberators2, and martyrs who transform the lives of people around them are present in films, but more and more “disguised” in these secular protagonists, distant, at first glance, from a specifically religious context. Many scholars have identified Christ-figures throughout the century-old history of cinema and its various genres, from westerns and dramas to science fiction and action movies (Baugh 1997, 2001, 2006; Greeley 1988; Kozlovic 2005, 2020).

What or who is a Christ-figure in a film? It is the central figure of a story that reproduces the dynamics of the history and mission of Jesus Christ as described in the New Testament. The plot of these films is parallel to the story of Jesus’ life, death, and resurrection, as the characters in some way experience what Jesus experienced in his life. The themes of films featuring Christ-figures often revolve around concepts of selfless love in the sense of agape, freedom, redemption, and sacrifice for others. However, these themes are frequently situated within contexts that do not initially seem explicitly connected to Christianity, while the protagonists themselves, at first glance, appear to be ordinary individuals. They do not bear the personal name of Jesus, yet a careful analysis allows the viewer to identify numerous parallels with the life of Jesus Christ: characters of unknown pasts and unknown parents, who have their own followers and perform some sort of miracle, after which they are betrayed or falsely accused. Elements reminiscent of the Last Supper, death, and metaphorical resurrection may also be present in the narrative. Thus, Ronald Holloway claims that a Christ-figure “in allegory follows the main thread of the Christ story, while disguising it through a surface narrative and relying on the viewer to provide the necessary continuity” (Holloway 1977, p. 187). Christ-figure films are features in which “the Christ-event, or some of its elements, is drawn over or behind the events narrated in the story. The narrative of the film has its own meaning, which increases in moral and spiritual strength in the moment that we recognize and appreciate the Christ event that it reflects. In a sense, the film develops on two parallel levels: the literal and the metaphorical one, and the deeper meaning of the film recognizes the dynamic interplay between these two levels, between two narratives” (Baugh 2006, pp. 112–13). It is the subtext that is sacred and able to hide an “anonymous religiosity” (Gallagher 1997, p. 151).

Being fully human, a Christ-figure is subject to the limitations constraining all human beings; they may be weak and uncertain, and a sinner as well (Baugh 2001, p. 721). Different characters can therefore embody Christ-figures in a movie: a man (e.g., John Coffey in The Green Mile), a woman (e.g., Babette in Babette’s Feast), children (e.g., Trevor in Pay it Forward), saints and martyrs (Joan d’Arc in The Passion of Joan d’Arc), consecrated people (e.g., father Logan in I Confess), and even aliens (e.g., E.T. in E.T.) and animals (a donkey in Au hasard, Balthazar).

Given that Christ-figures are expected to embody and mirror the behavioural traits and life parallels of the historical Jesus Christ, female protagonists, on equal footing with their male counterparts, can serve as legitimate and authentic representations of Christ-figures in cinema (Kozlovic 2005, p. 6). Christ can thus be metaphorically “embodied” in various characters and genders, but today, female Christ-figures in film are theologically compelling because they inspire contemplations on the theological significance of Christ’s masculinity in the history of salvation, as well as on how Christ might appear if He were incarnated in the present day (Guďmundsdóttir 2002, p. 27).

Nevertheless, their presence in films is quite rare. In various articles and books, religion and film scholars most often list the following films as having a female Christ-figure protagonist: The Passion of Joan of Arc (1928), La strada (1954), Cries and Whispers (1972), Babette’s Feast (1987), Bagdad Café (1987), Bad Lieutenant (1992), Dead Man Walking (1995), Antonia’s Line (1995), Breaking the Waves (1996), The Fifth Element (1997), Alien: Resurrection (1997), Dancer in the Dark (2000), and Chocolat (2000) (Telford 2000; Baugh 1997; Kozlovic 2005). I personally consider that among the listed films, authentic Christ-figures are present only in four films and their protagonists, due to strong and consistent parallels within the film—both in narrative and cinematographic style—between their lives and that of Jesus Christ: Joan in The Passion of Joan of Arc, Jasmin in Bagdad Café, Babette in Babette’s Feast, and Vianne in Chocolat. So, what are they like, and what do they have in common? Although the four women differ in various ways, what connects them is their mysterious origin, a significant marker indicating a Christ-figure. Joan of Arc is not what she appears to be: she is a woman disguised as a man, with her true identity hidden until the very end. Her real identity is revealed only when she embarks on her Via Crucis, particularly through her redemptive death, by which she saves France and reveals her true self. Among films featuring authentic Christ-figures, Joan is actually the only woman who sacrifices her life—a powerful Christological marker—to save others and to remain faithful to her values. In this way, Joan becomes a redeemer figure, as innocent suffering (whether it be illness, imprisonment, disability, marginalization, or death) is one of the most apparent characteristics of redeemer Christ-figures. The other three characters—Babette, Jasmin, and Vianne—do not undergo physical death but belong to the category of saviour figures; those who transform the lives of others or guide them towards a new life. A saviour figure may suffer, and they often do, but their significance lies primarily in their leadership, protection, and salvation, as well as in the assistance they provide to lead people to “heaven”. Such figures bring freedom, joy, fullness, and peace. All three arrive in communities in need of salvation in similar ways, coming from afar and as refugees: Babette and Vianne arrive on a day of storm and strong winds, biblical metaphors of the divine presence, while Jasmin arrives on a sunny day, guided by the shining sun, reminiscent of the star that led the Magi to Jesus, to people in need of salvation. While these initial indicators of the protagonists’ messianic nature are not difficult to integrate into the film’s structure, the same cannot be said for the resurrection—another important element in defining a protagonist as Christ-like. Perhaps the most successful example is found in Bagdad Café, where Jasmin’s metaphorical resurrection is clearly suggested: she returns from exile, dressed in white, always accompanied by sunlight shining directly into the camera lens.

All four Christ-figures are strangers who bring life and grace to communities whose harmony is out of balance. In many narratives, the stranger is the one who can awaken the dormant sense of life within the community’s inhabitants. These figures open new doors, uncover unknown horizons, and reveal self-awareness that the characters had previously concealed from themselves. Interestingly, the three women—Babette, Jasmin, and Vianne—first offer their salvific power to other women: to Martina, Philippa, Brenda, and Josephine. It is also worth noting that all the protagonists, except for Jasmin, are placed in explicitly religious contexts, either Catholic or Protestant, where true Christian values have been forgotten and where a superficial and formal religiosity is practised, far removed from the individual and from genuine love. The female Christ-figures arrive in such communities, which are imbued with reversed values and pervasive unrest, to redeem them and show the path to salvation, even though they are often perceived by other characters as stumbling blocks due to their deviation from patriarchal norms. Only one of these figures is explicitly Christ-like: Joan of Arc, as the director portrays her as someone aware of the similarities linking her to Jesus Christ. The other protagonists, though situated in religious contexts, do not exhibit this explicit awareness.

Two of the Christ-figures analyzed here, Babette and Vianne, are very similar. Both are culinary artists who bring salvation and harmony through food, a symbol of grace. Babette redeems a Puritan Protestant community, while Vianne redeems a Catholic one. Both arrive with strong winds, seemingly sent by the Holy Spirit, to places where they are desperately needed. Jasmin in Bagdad Café, although not a professional cook, serves in the restaurant and helps to repair the café’s machinery. All three figures serve others to the point of self-forgetfulness; they live modestly, arriving with only one suitcase, giving everything they have—themselves—for the salvation of others. Their true identities are revealed only through this vision of joyful and conscious self-sacrifice.

Joan of Arc, Babette, Jasmin, and Vianne are strong, non-conformist women, aware of both themselves and their mission. They go against the grain, making choices rooted in freedom and love. They demonstrate strong autonomy and bring salvation and redemption to the oppressed. They are gentle, loving, and do not use violence in their liberating efforts (unlike many male Christ-figures often cited in film literature like Neo in The Matrix, John Connor in The Terminator, James Cole in 12 Monkeys, etc.); their power lies in their unconditional love. Their suffering, their own Via Crucis, often comes precisely from their refusal to conform to patriarchal rules and their steadfastness in remaining true to themselves. There is almost a sapiential quality in these female Christ-figures, inviting comparison to Lady Wisdom in biblical tradition.

Since the character of Vianne from the film Chocolat, which was made at the dawn of the 21st century, has received the least scholarly attention of these four films, the following text will devote more space to the analysis of this particular film. Thus, the next paragraph will rely on a qualitative research approach, including a detailed textual analysis, with the aim of exploring the narrative structure of the film and its Christological subtext, particularly the sequences which connect the female protagonist to Jesus Christ.

Vianne as a Christ-Figure in Chocolat (2000)

The film Chocolat (2000) is a romantic drama with comedic elements, directed by Swedish filmmaker Lasse Hallström and based on the novel of the same name by Joanne Harris. As noted by Porro (2001, p. 32), the novel is “part of a new, useful, and beloved strand on tolerance, acceptance, and the challenge of being different”. The film was released during the Great Jubilee year, marking two thousand years since the “birthday” of Jesus Christ. Interestingly, the director, hailing from Sweden—one of the most secularized countries in Europe—sets his story in predominantly Catholic France, the very country where the secularization of Europe began with the French Revolution. The director criticizes Catholicism, portraying it as having lost its vitality and its role as “the salt of the earth,” in need of renewal to reinvigorate the faith of believers.

Set in 1959 in a small French village during Lent, the narrative unfolds against a backdrop of puritanical, legalistic moralism, rigidly enforced by the mayor, Count Paul de Reynaud, who acts as the town’s “moral police officer”. The extra-diegetic narrator, little Anouk—now an adult—recounts her personal story of growing up in the village, setting the context for the film’s events in the prologue: “Once upon a time, there was a quiet little village in the French countryside whose people believed in ‘tranquillité’. Tranquillity. If you lived in this village, you understood what was expected of you. You knew your place in the scheme of things. And if you happened to forget, someone would help remind you. In this village, if you saw something you weren’t supposed to see, you learned to look the other way. If by chance your hopes had been disappointed, you learned never to ask for more”. The film portrays a world in desperate need of change, a community of believers who have lost their connection with God—a connection meant to be based on love and freedom. Instead, their lives are governed by fear and rigid obedience to laws devoid of spirit and truth. The faith represented by the ecclesial and state authorities is a faith rooted in the religiosity of the Old Testament, focused on performing works to appease the wrath of a distant, austere God, detached from joy, pleasure, and human needs. This God is depicted as entirely transcendent, demanding continuous sacrifice from humanity.

The director conveys the village’s spiritual and moral decline primarily through visual imagery: grey and cold tones dominate scenes of bare trees, an old, abandoned boat, pale stone walls enclosing the village, and a wild dog wandering the streets. These images evoke a sense of existential emptiness, the absence of life, and the stark bareness of existence. In contrast to this bleak environment, the mysterious protagonist, Vianne Rocher (Juliette Binoche), and her daughter Anouk arrive, both dressed in vibrant red. They are filmed in a long shot, standing in absolute opposition to the muted tones around them. Metaphorically, from the moment of her entrance, Hällstrom depicts Vianne as the bringer of life and ‘colour’ to a town that has lost its vitality. Other characters in need of redemption, who initially appear in cool, neutral colours, gradually start wearing clothes in warmer, livelier tones as new life is breathed into them. Through parallel editing, the next scene shifts to the interior of the church, where a young, naive priest, bewildered and uncertain, continues his Lenten homily with the telling words: “Where will we find truth? Where do we start looking? Where will we find truth? We will find it…” But before finishing the sentence, the priest is interrupted by the wind that grows stronger and stronger as Vianne approaches the church, causing the once-still candles to flicker and extinguish. The increasing wind, accompanied by its eerie whistle, serves as both a visual and auditory omen, signalling an impending disruption at the very start of Lent—a narrative decision that is far from coincidental. The wind thus symbolizes the coming change, the Holy Spirit that blows wherever s/he wants (who was also invoked in the opening scene by parishioners at the beginning of the mass while singing “Come Holy Ghost, Creator come from the bright heavenly throne. Come take possession of our souls and make them all thine own.”). The camera dramatically shifts to a God’s-eye view, soaring towards the sky and lending a mysterious, almost transcendental quality to the scene. When the church door is flung open by the force of the wind—and metaphorically by the force of truth (or Truth?) heralded by this enigmatic newcomer—it is not surprising that the mayor, portrayed as a modern-day Pharisee, rushes to shut the door, refusing to let the Truth enter.

From the outset, Vianne is depicted as a Christ-figure: she moves against the current, arriving with a powerful wind that foretells change. These are the signs and symbols of divine action, familiar to anyone versed in biblical narratives. She comes and goes with the wind across the world like a missionary, but even more like the Holy Spirit, which blows where and to whom it wills, bringing its gifts: “We lived in Andalusia for a while. Before that in Vienna, and before that in Athens, Pavia”. A very strong visual allusion to a female Christ-figure hidden within the film is the drawing made by a boy during Sunday mass in the opening scene, just before Vianne enters the village. While others participate in the religious ceremony, he draws a crucified woman on a piece of paper, which the camera then zooms in on.

Vianne is not a member of the religious community from which she hails. She arrives in the village with the intention of transforming an old, dilapidated house—its yellow, dirty water and pervasive dust serving as a metaphor for the community’s fractured harmony—into a charming chocolate shop. This transformation foreshadows the “cleansing” and the profound changes that the villagers themselves will need to undergo to achieve redemption. The shop and its owner quickly become targets of the town’s moralistic intolerance and its objects of persecution. However, the shop also becomes a sanctuary for those yearning for freedom and contentment, including women oppressed by their husbands, lonely children, and the elderly, as well as some handsome wanderers.

Much like Jesus, Vianne faces the wrath of both spiritual and secular authorities but chooses to remain true to herself. She defies conventional norms and is unafraid to express her opinions or act according to her convictions. Though she identifies as a non-believer, her capacity for unconditional and profound love surpasses that of the other inhabitants, who grapple with deep-seated disharmony in their daily lives. As the director introduces various characters who live in Lansquenet, it becomes evident that all of them face personal struggles preventing them from fully embracing the freedom and happiness characteristic of a Christian life. To be more exact, the elderly Armande suffers from diabetes but continues to indulge in sweets, as she no longer finds meaning in her life. Her daughter, Caroline, refuses to speak with her due to Armande’s nonconformity to the village’s rules. The Count, abandoned by his wife, refuses to acknowledge the reality of his situation, deceiving both himself and others. Josephine is subjected to rape and abuse by her alcoholic husband, while the pastor is portrayed as a fearful, confused, and naive individual who is under the control of the mayor, who writes and edits all his sermons. All the characters are somehow enslaved by habits and customs that deprive them of any pleasure, as it is viewed as sinful. This hypocrisy is ironically described in the sequence in which the Count drafts an article extolling the value of the family, yet he does not speak to his own wife. His secretary, Caroline, who praises the article wholeheartedly, similarly refuses to communicate with her mother and prevents her from seeing her only grandson.

Since Vianne does not attend church, does not fast during the period of Lent, has an illegitimate daughter, and dresses in red—unlike the other mothers in the village—she does not conform to the community’s norms and is therefore not well accepted. As a result, Vianne is labelled with numerous negative attributes and becomes a stumbling block in the community: she is labelled as radical, indecent, an atheist, a bad influence, etc. Due to all these factors, as well as the fact that it is “shameless […] opening a chocolaterie just in time for Lent”, Vianne’s establishment is met with scepticism and eventually boycotted by most of the villagers. Her first “disciples”, i.e., the first tasters of her chocolate—children and marginalized individuals such as the poor, the uneducated, and those mistreated by life—mirror the profile of Jesus’ disciples, as outsiders who are not part of the elite and do not conform to mainstream views.

It is interesting to note how Vianne alludes to the tradition of making chocolate that has lasted for two thousand years. The film, which was directed in 2000, traces the ‘recipe’ back to the year of Jesus’ birth, which restores the taste of life to all those who taste it. The allusion to the story of Christ and Christian tradition is evident and serves as a key indicator that the director uses to draw a parallel between the female protagonist and the Christ-figure. It soon becomes apparent that Vianne possesses special abilities; she can intuitively determine which type of chocolate will best suit each individual who comes to the chocolate shop to taste her pieces of art. Her chocolates seem to have magical powers, as consuming them leads to personal change: Vianne’s chocolate awakens hidden passions and makes you a better person as soon as you start confronting your own demons and hidden fears. Aware that her products have the ability to bring happiness and positive change, Vianne does not impose her chocolates on anyone but instead offers them freely. She extends the gift of salvation only to those who willingly seek and choose it, much like Jesus did. The divine intention is for us to approach God with full freedom and consciousness, not out of fear.

One of the first to experience Vianne’s liberating and transforming work is a woman: Josephine Muscat. As an extremely fearful woman who suffers abuse from her husband and is marginalized for her kleptomania and because “she waltzes to her own tune”, she is viewed with disdain by others. Vianne, however, shows her kindness and does not condemn her when Josephine steals chocolates; instead, she chooses to overlook the theft and even calls Josephine a friend while visiting her in her own home, thus reminding the viewer of the encounter between Jesus and tax collector Zacchaeus (Luke 19:1–10). Initially, Josephine feels unworthy of Vianne’s friendship and refuses it, believing herself to be friendless, indecent, brazen, and a bad influence—echoing the words of the centurion who responded to Jesus. “Lord, I am not worthy that you should come under my roof” (Matthew 8:8). To Vianne, this does not matter. On the contrary, she extends her love and salvation to Josephine, a woman abandoned and condemned by all, who will eventually inspire many other women. As a female Christ-figure, Vianne initially focuses on redeeming broken, unhappy, and marginalized women. Later, Josephine returns to the chocolaterie to acknowledge her wrongdoing and seek forgiveness for not paying for the chocolates. Although she initially tries to justify her actions by saying, “I don’t steal. Not on purpose”, her attempt at rationalization once again echoes the New Testament story of Zacchaeus, who had been stealing from his fellow Israelites but underwent a transformation upon encountering Jesus. Following Vianne’s warm acceptance with a simple “yes, I know”—as if she were aware of all the secrets of the human heart—Josephine collapses before this Christ-figure and confesses: “I’m weak. I don’t love my husband and I lie”. Vianne’s response acts as a kind of absolution for Josephine’s sins: “Things could be different for you, Josephine”, also mirroring Jesus’ words to the woman caught in adultery, “Neither do I condemn thee: go thy way; from henceforth sin no more” (John 8,11). The Christ-figure that gradually reveals itself in Vianne embodies the promise of hope and new life. Over time, Josephine undergoes a profound transformation, embracing redemption more fully. She alters her appearance, adopting a more modest and vibrant wardrobe, particularly incorporating the colour red, and begins to care for herself more diligently. Her demeanour becomes more cheerful and radiant. She stops stealing and deceiving, growing more courageous in the process. When her husband assures her that “from now on everything will be different,” Josephine confidently replies: “Everything already is different”. Salvation has arrived and she is finally free. However, her husband is not easily deterred and attempts to seek retribution by trying to kill the person who dared to announce the good news to the oppressed people. This incident marks the beginning of Vianne’s own Via Crucis, symbolizing her trials as she faces opposition for the freedom she had offered his wife.

While the second part of the film is focused on the opening of the chocolate shop and Vianne’s character, the third part of the film is centred around the struggle between the mayor and Vianne, now accused of being Satan, diabolical, a person who eats everything during Lent (cf. “The Son of Man came eating and drinking, and they say, ‘Here is a glutton and a drunkard, a friend of tax collectors and sinners.’” [Matthew 11:19]). Consequently, the mayor calls for a boycott of the chocolate shop, which incites Vianne’s anger. As Easter approaches, the priest’s homilies become increasingly vehement and direct: “Satan wears many guises. At times, Satan is the singer of a lurid song you hear on the radio. At times, the author of a salacious novel. At times, the quiet man lurking in the schoolyard—asking your children if he might join their game. And at times, the maker of sweet things. Mere trifles. For what could seem more harmless, more innocent, than chocolate?” Thus, Vianne is accused similarly to how Jesus was after he cured the blind and dumb demoniac: “But when the Pharisees heard this they said, ‘The man drives out devils only through Beelzebul, the chief of the devils.’” (Matthew 12:24). It seems that her daughter Anouk also has moments of crisis and suffers because her mother is different. Her question “Why don’t you wear dark shoes like other mothers?” serves as a cinematic critique of patriarchal society, which imposes rigid roles on women that they must conform to in order to avoid ridicule, moral condemnation, and ostracism. This moment underscores the pain experienced by women who fail to meet societal gender expectations. To prevent her from leaving the village due to bigotry, Armande—now suffering from diabetes but delighted to have rekindled her relationship with her grandson—asks Vianne to organize her 80th birthday party.

The celebration takes place on Holy Thursday, with Vianne preparing a sumptuous feast for all the guests who have been touched by her grace and, in a sense, redeemed by her kindness and friendship—her most loyal “disciples”. It is interesting how the director chose to seat thirteen people around the table on Holy Thursday, visually alluding to the twelve apostles and Jesus Christ. To emphasize the joy they feel during the shared meal, Hällstrom uses slow-motion close-ups to highlight their enjoyment and the grace of their communion. The guests appear transformed and liberated from their old afflictions.3

After the dinner, everyone moves to the gypsy boat to dance and celebrate. However, Serge, metaphorically representing Judas, becomes enraged upon seeing his wife happily socializing with Vianne’s disciples and hearing the disapproval of the mayor and other self-righteous villagers. He sabotages the festivities by setting the boats on fire, endangering many lives. That way, he sets off Vianne’s Via Crucis and her suffering as a Christ-figure. On Good Friday and Holy Saturday, a strong northern wind once again urges Vianne to explore new places, as her mission in the village did not go well. The Christ-figure appears ready to leave the village and those in need of her. As she prepares to depart, the camera shifts to the kitchen, where Josephine and the other “disciples”—the people who felt the touch of grace through Vianne’s presence, including Caroline, one of Vianne’s former adversaries—continue to prepare chocolate to keep the shop alive even after the departure of their teacher. On the night between Holy Saturday and Easter, the Count, determined to put an end to the chocolate shop because “we must renounce shallow, worldly temptations of our mortal flesh,” breaks into the shop with the intention of destroying it. However, as a piece of chocolate falls on his lips, he becomes enraptured by the taste of the chocolate and falls asleep in the shop window, only waking on Easter Sunday with the help of the parish priest. Vianne finds him helping the priest prepare for the solemn Easter Mass, and then we learn that the village saviour has decided to stay. In a metaphorical sense, when all hope seems lost, Vianne “resurrects from the dead”. For the citizens of Lansquenet, Easter Sunday not only commemorates the resurrection of Jesus Christ but also represents their own metaphorical rebirth. They experience a renewal, having both forgiven and been forgiven. Thus, during the sermon, the priest, for the first time, speaks without a text prepared by the Count, delivering a message of love and hope: “I don’t want to talk about His divinity. I’d rather talk about His humanity. I mean, you know, how He lived His life, here on Earth. His kindness, His tolerance… Listen, here’s what I think. I think that we can’t go around… measuring our goodness by what we don’t do. By what we deny ourselves, what we resist, and who we exclude. I think… we’ve got to measure goodness by what we embrace, what we create… and who we include”. And Vianne actually epitomizes the divine humanity that the priest is talking about.

As the narrator of the film says, on that day, the parishioners were seized by a new feeling: a spiritual illumination, a release from their old, stagnant “tranquillity”. In the square in front of the church, a grand celebration ensues, with everyone singing and dancing. Vianne emerges as the most admired guest, embodying love and friendship for all. A married couple finds renewed happiness in their marriage, thanks to their friendship with Vianne and her chocolates. Serge leaves the village, Josephine gains freedom and independence, Armande reconciles with her daughter and grandson, old Guillaume wins over the old woman, and the priest becomes self-assured. Even the previously antagonistic Count is transformed by allowing himself to enjoy the simple delights of everyday life. The town is transformed by the gracious chocolatier and her chocolate (a symbol of the Eucharist). The Holy Spirit has clearly infused the community. The camera ascends to a God’s-eye view, revealing the town, but this time bathed in warm colours: red-orange rooftops, green hills, and a blue sky. Through this use of vibrant extra-diegetic colours, Hällstrom underscores the redemptive impact of Vianne, the female Christ-figure.

Nominated for multiple Academy Awards, Chocolat is a modern evangelical parable with numerous parallels between Vianne’s life and that of Jesus Christ. Vianne’s mysterious origins and enigmatic nature are key characteristics of the Christ-figure. She “has no place to rest her head” (cf. Luke 9, 58), so she wonders from place to place like the wind (in Greek neuma—spirit). She silently challenges the religious concepts established in a community she had entered, living “outside the box” and welcoming all the marginalized, as Jesus did. On the other hand, Count de Reynaud represents modern Pharisees and the adversaries of Jesus, exerting control over both the populace and the church officials. Vianne is a Christ-figure not only because she is able to identify people’s internal wounds and knows how to heal them, akin to the miracles and healings performed by Jesus, but also because she does not shy away from associating with “sinners”. She understands their need for forgiveness better than anyone else in the town. Almost everyone who encounters her is changed and experiences liberation and redemption. She prepares a special “heavenly” lunch on Holy Thursday with the twelve “apostles” in attendance. She navigates legal challenges and changes people’s hearts, offering protection to women from gender-based violence, akin to shielding them from stoning. She heals on a “Saturday” (i.e., Lent) and promotes forgiveness and inclusiveness. Her chocolate shop becomes a sanctuary where gratitude enters the village, offering everyone a taste of divine goodness and fostering a sense of communion. The power structure strengthens Lent as a time of fasting, but, as Jesus noted, when God’s grace arrives, it is a time for celebration rather than fasting (Mark 2:19). One of the recurring motifs in the film is the wind, symbolizing the Holy Spirit in the Bible, which blows where it wills. Vianne, as the Christ-figure, carries the Holy Spirit and brings renewal to the Catholic community, breathing into it a new life filled with joy and peace. As a parable, the film presents the image of God in the form of a woman, prompting us to consider how the Son of God might be incarnated today if He were to walk among us. Perhaps, instead of a carpenter, He would take the shape of a vibrant and passionate thirty-year-old chocolatier: a free-spirited, joyful, and autonomous globetrotter who embraces all without judgement, empathizes with those in need, and liberates oppressed women and men; a figure that challenges traditional gender roles and stereotypes, criticizing the patriarchal system grounded in unequal power dynamics. Ultimately, the film stimulates our imagination and illustrates how a woman can embody and bring the Christ event closer to contemporary audiences.

4. Female God-Figures in All That Jazz, Always, Dogma, and The Shack

When it comes to Christ-figures, it is not essential for the audience to recognize them as such, since they exist independently of the theological context that is typically revealed by viewers with some knowledge of Christianity and the presence of Christ-figures in popular culture. These informed viewers are capable of drawing parallels at a secondary level of film analysis. However, there are films that explicitly depict the Almighty God, making them theologically significant as they prompt reflection on divine identity, human creation in God’s image, and the potential for using various representations and lexicons to discuss the invisible Creator. For instance, in many overtly religious and catechetical films, as well as biblical epics, God is often presented solely as a voice from the heavens or manifested as powerful light, such as in the case of the burning bush. In terms of cinematic “depictions” of God’s voice, filmmakers have usually favoured deep male voices that connote strength and authority. In biblical epics, the language is predominantly American English from Southern California, sometimes infused with a British English accent (Shohat 2006). An exception to this trend is the 1991 film Switch by Blake Edwards, in which the director chooses to give God two simultaneous voices—one male and one female—emphasizing the egalitarian nature of both genders before God.

There are also films that portray God anthropomorphically, as a human figure. For example, in the comedy Oh, God! (1977), God is depicted as an elderly white man, while in Bruce Almighty (2003), God appears as an elegant older Black man in a white suit (played by Morgan Freeman).4 Nonetheless, the most common form of God in popular culture films remains that of a white man, with a few exceptions that spark debates and open discussions, as they “disrupt” the collective image of God (at least within Christianity) as an elderly white man, preferably with grey hair and a long beard.

American sociologist and Catholic priest Andrew Greeley in his article “Images of God in the Movies” posed the following questions: “What judgment can we make about God in the movies?—if we dare to make any judgments about God at all! Is She gentle enough, loving enough, affectionate enough, tender enough, forgiving enough? There does not seem to be any doubt about those questions: She certainly is. But is She too soft, too forgiving, too tolerant, too indulgent of our freedoms? Might it be better if the God of movies showed some outrage, some sense of justice?” (Greeley 1997, p. 9). What is interesting is that Greeley uses the pronoun “She” for God, and although God is embodied as a male figure in most films that he studied, there are also several films that feature a female representation of God. In this section, I will mention four films that I have identified as featuring God in the form of a woman, or a female God-figure, and I will briefly describe the scenes in which this character appears, without delving into a detailed analysis of the plot, in order to explore how God behaves, how she appears, and what her character traits are when embodied in a female figure.

4.1. All That Jazz (1979)

The first film depicting a female God-figure is All That Jazz, directed by Bob Fosse and released in 1979. This musical showbiz drama follows the career and existential reflections/crisis of Joe Gideon (Roy Scheider), a successful theatre director and choreographer, who actually represents, in a semi-autobiographical manner, the film’s director, Bob Fosse. Gideon is a workaholic, a careerist, and a perfectionist. He is a self-destructive womanizer that indulges in alcohol and various other vices. On his path to success, he does not hesitate to use others to achieve his goals. The plot primarily revolves around his efforts to balance the production of his latest Broadway musical, NY/LA, and the editing of his Hollywood film, The Stand-Up. He begins his days listening to Vivaldi while taking pills like Visine, Alka-Seltzer, and Dexedrine, after which he exclaims, “It’s showtime, folks!” The film intertwines reality and fantasy in a Fellini-esque manner, reflecting Gideon’s fears, internal monologues, and contemplation of death as his heart begins to fail due to his stressful lifestyle. In these surreal scenes, which can be interpreted as his dreams or moments of “judgement” after death—when we find ourselves face-to-face with the Ultimate Judge—he encounters a beautiful, ethereal, and mysterious woman named Angelique (Jessica Lange). Dressed like a bride, in a white dress with a veil and a hat, she has been identified by some film critics as a representation of God. As Greeley has noted: ”Angelique is the image of God in this movie and an unusual image of God she, beginning with the fact that Angelique is a woman. Not only is Angelique a woman, but she is a sexually attractive woman and, as death nears, Angelique removes her hat and veil and lets her hair down, becoming even more sexually attractive” (Greeley 1997, p. 2). Joe primarily responds to her questions, which she poses in a Socratic manner, focusing mostly on the interpersonal relationships he has often messed up throughout his life: his relationship with his mother, women, his work, his daughter, his ex-wife, his current girlfriend, and with himself.

Joe Gideon: I always look for the worst in other people.

Angelique: A little of yourself in them?

Joe Gideon: A little of myself. And generally, I find it.

Although Joe demonstrates an awareness of his immaturity and the inadequacies in his relationships with people who are close to him—particularly with women—and even expresses shame for how he had treated them, She remains endlessly gentle in her questioning and listening. Despite already knowing his answers, she responds without judgement, maintaining a playful flirtation throughout. “Joe cheerfully admits that he’s a jerk, an incorrigible womanizer, an obsessive worker, a man who lives off drugs. Yet the woman remains affectionate, even tender. She is in fact far more sympathetic to Joe Gideon than he is to himself” (Bergesen and Greeley 2000, p. 39). In spite of Joe’s numerous transgressions and sins, She avoids any form of condemnation, presenting herself as alluring and charming. As the narrative progresses and Joe’s health continues to deteriorate, Angelique draws physically closer to him, becoming more intimate, as though to suggest that beyond death, She embodies the fulfilment of all his desires and needs, desires he sought to satisfy with other women but never fully achieved. Greeley concludes that “She will only take him as her lover when he is ready to go” (Bergesen and Greeley 2000, p. 46).

The role of the female God-figure in this film is to help the protagonist accept his own life and self, recognize his weaknesses and flaws, forgive himself, say farewell to those close to him, and mature for eternal life. She acts as a sort of judge who listens and acknowledges that Joe has made many mistakes in his life, yet still considers him worthy of her unconditional love. The God-like Angelique is “merciful and gracious, slow to anger, and abounding in steadfast love” (Psalm 103:8); she is a flirtatious, attractive, and gentle girl who takes on the role of both psychotherapist and angel of death, as well as a compassionate judge. Greeley finds that “out of all the metaphors for God to be found in movies, none is more startling, more original and more profound than the image of Jessica Lange as God …” (Bergesen and Greeley 2000, p. 40). At the same time, her portrayal conforms to classic Hollywood gender stereotypes, where emphasis is placed on her physical attributes—youthfulness, beauty, and sex appeal. According to Laura Mulvey’s theoretical assumptions published in her famous essay “Visual Pleasure and Narrative” in 1975, she is a passive object of male desire and the male gaze (Mulvey 2009), as well as an object of beauty (White 1998). So from a theological perspective, God in All That Jazz is tender, non-judgemental, quick to forgive, and flirts with her creation, who is physically attracted to her. She offers understanding, empathy, and compassion, ultimately inviting him to salvation. God is described as a “tender and sexy woman” and “not merely love, but passionate love” (Bergesen and Greeley 2000, p. 40), who forgives the sexual transgressions of a sinful and fallen man obsessed with sex. From a feminist perspective, the portrayal of God in female form perpetuates gender stereotypes, as she is depicted as young, visually pleasing, and eroticized—created in line with the principles of the heterosexual male fantasy, desire, and gaze. This mirrors the representation of other female characters in the film, designed to serve as objects of male lust—both for male viewers, the male protagonist Joe Gideon, and for the film’s director Bob Fosse, who is embodied in many ways by the character of Gideon. According to Fosse, God’s love for humanity is unconditional and passionate, but in terms of physical appearance, she is tailored to fit the desires of men.

4.2. Always (1989)

Exactly ten years after All That Jazz, Steven Spielberg directed one of his less-successful and lesser-known films, Always (1989), which is particularly interesting because it also features a divine being in the form of a woman, this time portrayed by a somewhat less gender-stereotyped sixty-year-old Audrey Hepburn. This romantic drama follows the story of Pete Sandich, an aerial firefighting pilot, who is in a happy long-term romantic relationship with Dorinda. Despite their deep love and compatibility, Pete’s risky flying missions cause Dorinda great anxiety, and her fears ultimately come true when Pete loses his life during a dangerous aerial rescue mission to save his best friend Al. At the moment of Pete’s death, he encounters a mysterious woman named Hap (played by Audrey Hepburn in her final film role), who sends him back to Earth to serve as a kind of guardian angel to a young pilot, Ted Baker, who begins a romantic relationship with Dorinda. For Pete, even though he is no longer alive, this is a painful experience through which he matures, guided by Hap’s wisdom. Hap appears in only two brief sequences, and while she is never explicitly identified as God, her appearance and manner of speech strongly imply a divine nature. She meets Pete after his death, dressed in a white ribbed turtleneck sweater and matching slacks, appearing middle-aged, with dark hair tied in a bun. Her calm and serene presence is complemented by a voice that is gentle yet authoritative, imbued with knowledge and wisdom. Supporting the interpretation that Hap represents a divine figure, the film’s photographer, Eva Sereny, asserted: “I’ve been working with Frank Marshall for some time who is one of Spielberg’s top producers. He called me one day while I was in the States and asked if I would like to come to Montana to work a few weeks on Steven’s new film, a romantic comedy called Always that he was directing, and that Audrey Hepburn was in the cast playing the part of God. That was indeed an unexpected plus.” (Iconic Images 2020).

When Pete dies in the plane crash during a fire, he finds himself wandering and humming in a charred forest, unaware that he has passed away. Soon, he notices a woman in white leaning against a blossoming birch tree in a small green circle amid the devastated land. She gazes at him expectantly, exuding charm with a radiant smile and greeting him warmly. “Hi, Pete. That was some show”. Introducing herself as Hap (God as a source of happiness?), she invites him to sit on a stone beneath the tree so she can cut his hair—coincidentally, his girlfriend had told him just the day before that it was time for a haircut—and engages in a casual conversation, much like one would expect during a visit to the hairdresser. It is at this point that Pete realizes he did not survive the plane crash and is, in fact, in the afterlife. The dialogue between Pete and Hap is light-hearted, and at times even humorous:

Hap: Comfy about the neck?

Pete: Yeah, that’s fine. Listen, how did I get out of that one?

Hap: You didn’t get out, Pete.

Pete: My plane did blow up. I think I do remember that.

Hap: A real fireball.

Pete: Yeah, and now I am sitting here in the woods getting my hair cut. Well, either I’m dead or I’m crazy.

Hap: You’re not crazy, Pete.

Pete: Dorinda.

Hap: She is still not over it.

Pete: Well, I hope not. I’ve only been dead, what, 20 min?

Hap: Well, yes and no. Down there they think it’s six months. Time’s funny stuff, Pete. A lot funnier than Einstein ever figured out.

Then, in the midst of an endless wheat field over which a plane flies, Hap teaches Pete that the inspiration which moves us to accomplish beautiful and significant things in life is, in fact, divine inspiration—Spiritus, the divine breath. His new role, now as a spiritual being, will be to serve as a guardian angel and a source of inspiration for a young pilot, i.e., passing on the gift he himself received from God. Hap cautions him that everything he does for himself from now on is a “waste of spirit”, suggesting that his task is to release his attachment to earthly things and people. A Catholic viewer might interpret Pete’s situation as him being in Purgatory, where God assigns him a mission to earn his place in Heaven. Hap, as a God-figure, is portrayed as an aristocratically refined, tall, and slender middle-aged woman with a gentle appearance yet confident demeanour. She converses with great empathy, compassion, and a sense of humour with the deceased. She sees and feels his pain, reflecting it on her own face during moments of Pete’s suffering, patiently and calmly teaching him the meaning of life and death. Although kind, Hap clearly expresses dissatisfaction with Pete’s previous attitudes and behaviour, balancing gentleness with firmness and assertiveness.

Pete: You know what I’ve been going through?

Hap: Yes.

Pete: What do you want from me, Hap? If I’m really dead, how come I hurt so bad? What kind of a deal is this anyway? (…) And you didn’t tell me that I’d see Dorinda. So what do you really want from me, Hap?

Hap: Pete, what we gave you was a chance to say “I’m glad I lived. I’m glad I was alive. Now it’s my turn to give you a hand. Let me give you what I had”. But I also sent you back to settle with the one you love. I sent you back to say goodbye. And until you do that, Pete, she won’t be free, and neither will you.

Pete: I am not ready to say goodbye.

Hap: You’re such a good man, Pete. But you still have to learn that to gain your freedom, you have to give it. So go find out.

In this dialogue, Hap refers to herself using the pronoun “we,” reminiscent of how God speaks in the Old Testament Book of Genesis. This “we” could also be a reference to the Trinitarian God. Their conversation suggests that, despite being on the other side, Pete has not yet reached the place destined for him, which he can only attain by freeing himself from all earthly attachments. As Father Greeley noticed, “God wants us to be free, but in order to be free, we must let others be free as well. God does not want the memory of love to make us unhappy for the rest of our lives—whether on earth or elsewhere. And God wants us to help others, again whether we are on earth or elsewhere” (Greeley 1997, p. 8).

Always reveals God in the form of a woman who is full of compassion and understanding, unconditionally loving her creation, desiring its salvation and redemption. She is patient, offering wise and thoughtful counsel to help Pete realize his full spiritual potential. Her tenderness with her creature is irresistible (Bergesen and Greeley 2000). She is a dignified, wise, elderly lady in casual white clothes, nurturing and funny, compassionate and bright, “a brilliant metaphor for an always attractive God” (Bergesen and Greeley 2000, p. 31). A Lady Wisdom who invites and advises. A skilful hairdresser and a tender soul-keeper at the same time.

4.3. Dogma (1999)

The third film that challenges the traditional portrayal of God is Dogma by Kevin Smith (1999). This satirical fantasy comedy follows two fallen angels, Bartleby and Loki, who have been banished from Heaven and condemned to live in Wisconsin for 2000 years. However, they find a possible escape from their predicament in a loophole within Catholic doctrine concerning the forgiveness of sins. This loophole could allow them to return to Heaven by entering a cathedral in New Jersey during a plenary indulgence ceremony, as that would cleanse their souls of existing sin. By doing so, they would also demonstrate God’s fallibility, potentially leading to the destruction of the universe. Their destructive plan is thwarted by Metatron, the Voice of God, with the help of Bethany Sloane, an abortion clinic worker and lapsed Catholic who is unable to have children. Bethany is also revealed to be the last descendant of Mary and Joseph, destined to become the Mother of All Humanity. She is joined in her mission by the prophets Silent Bob and Jay, as well as the thirteenth apostle Rufus. They are accompanied on their mission by the muse Serendipity, a metaphor for the Holy Spirit in female form, providing wisdom and inspiration. Serendipity also claims that she had encouraged the authors of the Scripture to understand that God was a woman, but that male scribes portrayed God as male in the Bible. She laments that this is the reason why The Bible is biassed against women. Dogma is a controversial film that relies on satire and irony in questioning Catholic dogmas and beliefs. However, beneath the surface-level humour, the film opens up serious philosophical and theological inquiries about redemption, salvation, grace, and faith. As Greeley has noted, “I suspect, however, that God understands that the humour of the film is a prelude to making some very serious (and also funny) theological points” (Bergesen and Greeley 2000, p. 173). In the film, God is presented as a spiritual being without a specific gender, capable of taking on various shapes and forms. As a result, Bartleby and Loki address God as “He”, while Serendipity, Metatron, and Bethany refer to God as “She”. In this sense, the dialogue from the final scene in the film is rather interesting:

Serendipity (to Bethany): I told you She was a woman.

Rufus (The 13th Apostle): She is not really a woman; she is not really anything.

Bethany: She is something.

This reflects the film’s underlying theme that God appears differently to each individual, and that it is impossible to imagine God in a singular form or gender, or with a set of characteristics that apply universally. Rufus even remarks that God “isn’t really anything in terms of a specific gender”. While the characters in the film perceive God differently regarding gender, the audience encounters God as a young, long-haired woman played by singer Alanis Morissette. She appears briefly at the film’s conclusion, depicted as a lively, playful, warm-hearted, and fun being who looks like a child, a clown, and a comedian and who does not speak because her voice is so powerful that humans cannot endure it. We observe her as she emerges from the cathedral, enveloped in white smoke and wearing a golden-brown gown, with white flowers in her hands. When he notices her, Bartleby—now mortal after losing his wings after a killing spree—kneels before her. As they lock eyes and she places her hands on his shoulders, the fallen angel begins to cry and asks for forgiveness. She embraces him like a mother welcoming a lost son and forgives him. Then, she opens her mouth, producing a sound so intense that it causes Bartleby’s head to explode. Afterwards, the Female God sorrowfully observes the destruction and with a soothing smile heals and restores order. She cleans up and behaves playfully, quirky. She is an interesting God-figure, embodying the Christian deity, primarily because she communicates non-verbally through gestures and facial expressions, which gives her a dynamic and playful demeanour. In the film, God is depicted anthropomorphically, with distinctly human traits: extraordinarily empathetic and compassionate, quick to forgive, frequently smiling, and delighting in play and amusement. She performs miracles and fulfils wishes, such as blessing Bethany with the child she so deeply desired. She even resurrects Bethany by laying hands on her. Metatron describes God as “a clever girl” who is “lonely but funny”; who enjoys playing skee-ball and exhibits childlike playfulness, even doing handstands in the park. When Bethany finally finds herself face to face with God, she is given the opportunity to ask a single question—a profound, philosophical–theological one about the meaning of existence: “Why are we here?” The Female God pauses at the question, smiles, taps Bethany’s nose, and playfully makes a sound like a clown’s horn.

All three main female characters in Dogma—Bethany, Serendipity, and God—are portrayed in non-stereotypical gender roles, as intelligent, strong, brave, and fearless figures.5 Although both male and female pronouns are used in reference to God in the film, “there most definitely appears to be a strong female aura within this God, demonstrating the idea that women are better at seeing the ‘big picture’ of life because their lives are not compartmentalized into work, family, sex, leisure, etc. but rather encompass all those areas at once” (Schleich 2003, pp. 80–81). She is a nurturing and compassionate figure who understands sinners and shows them grace regardless of their transgressions. Reflecting on all the female characters in the film, Kathryn Schleich therefore concludes: “Dogma has moved to a higher level where women aren’t just smart, strong, and sexy, but are allowed to reach their full potential while saving humanity in the process” (Schleich 2003, p. 82).

4.4. The Shack (2017)

The 21st century has brought yet another film that challenges traditional gender stereotypes in relation to the divine—namely, the 2017 film adaptation of William P. Young’s best-selling novel The Shack, directed by Stuart Hazeldine. The protagonist of the film is Mack Phillips, whose youngest daughter Missy was kidnapped and killed by a mass murderer during a family camping trip in the woods. Unable to overcome his grief and anger on his own, one day Mack finds a letter in his mailbox, supposedly written by God, inviting him to meet at the shack where his daughter was killed. Though he initially believes the letter to be a cruel prank, Mack’s curiosity drives him to visit the shack, not expecting to actually encounter God. However, upon arriving, he is met by the Holy Trinity embodied in three men—departing from the traditional depictions of God in Christian iconography and marking a significant cinematic first, as the three persons of the Trinity are represented together in human form on screen for the first time. The Triune God in the film is thus portrayed in the characters of the Mother, a chubby black woman who calls herself Elouisa (Octavia Spencer) or Papa, representing the first divine person who likes to cook; the Son, in the character of a handsome young Middle Eastern carpenter; and the Holy Spirit as a mysterious wispy Asian woman called Sarayu who enjoys gardening. When Mack enters the shack and is greeted by the African American woman, the process of introduction begins:

Mack: Do I know you?

Elouisa: Not very well. But we can work on that. I’ve been so looking forward to this, to finally see you face to face. Can I take your coat? And that gun. I understand. It’s confusing. We all do. You will do this on your terms and time. How about some introductions? I’m Elouisa. I have a lot of names, but that’s one of my favourites. Or, if you want to, you can call me what Nan does.

Mack: You know Nan?

Elouisa: Oh yes, very well.

Mack: Are you saying that you are…

Elouisa: I am

Mack: The “I am”?

Elouisa: I am that I am. Look at that, already quotin’ Scripture.

By meeting this unconventional Trinity, Mack experiences love, faith, forgiveness, and the true nature of God. The author, on the other hand, reflects on theodicy, addressing profound questions such as the origins of evil in the world and why, if God is perfect love, S/He permits the suffering of the innocent, especially children. The most unconventional portrayal of God in this film is that of the First Divine Person, traditionally referred to as the Father, who here appears in the form of an older African American woman characterized by exceptional warmth and kindness. She rejoices in every person and explains to Mack that she chose this appearance to make it easier for him to connect with God as a motherly figure, given his strained relationship with his earthly father. Throughout the film, Elouisa/Papa comforts, guides, and communicates wisdom, compassion, warmth, tenderness, and understanding. She tries to help Mack confront his anger, pain, and grief, encouraging him to forgive both himself and others, and to live life in its fullness. “You may not believe it, but I’m especially fond of you. I wanna heal that wound that’s growin’ inside you and between us”.

This portrayal of God as a woman also challenges the traditional image of God as an old, white male, emphasizing the theological truth that God transcends human conceptions of race and gender. What is essential is the nurturing and compassionate aspect, central to the idea of God as unconditional love. God is depicted as a perfect communion, harmony, and love shared among the three divine persons, who dine, laugh, and complement each other, all the while caring deeply about human beings and their emotions. God is shown to empathize profoundly, even shedding tears with those who suffer, collecting human tears like precious treasures in a small vial. The God of The Shack does not prevent suffering, as it is the reflection of human freedom, but remains present with humanity in their suffering. The female God-figure, Elouisa, is simultaneously joyful and playful; she laughs, jokes, wears headphones, listens to music, dances, and wears a red skirt and apron while baking bread. Mack, surprised by her feminine appearance, does not hide his astonishment at her attire. When he comments, “You’re wearing a dress”, She turns to him, for the first time frowning, and responds with a rhetorical question.

God: Excuse me?

Mack: I always pictured you with a white beard.

God: I think that’s Santa. After what you’ve been through, I didn’t think you could handle a father right now.

This film thus contributes to theological reflection and critiques the assumption that a man might be more suitable to reveal God to the world than a woman. Since God is referred to both as Elouisa and as Papa, the director aims to convey that these are different manifestations of the one God, transcendent and mysterious, whose nature cannot be reduced to a specific human trait or gender. In this way, cinema perfectly complements the discussions in the domain of feminist theology regarding God and His representation thanks to its effective audiovisual narratives, emphasizing that God is neither male nor female and can manifest with equal power as both man and woman.

5. Conclusions

Film, as a traditional mass medium in society, fulfils various functions and meets the diverse needs of its audience, including entertainment, escapism, education, information, parasocial interactions, etc. Through their content, films can either affirm the prevailing social and cultural norms and support a status quo, critique them, or, in their most creative form, transcend them by offering viewers an entirely new perception and vision of reality (Bryant 1982, pp. 106–8). When considering the relationship between religion/theology and cinema, it is precisely the films that fall into this latter category—those that address religious topics in unconventional ways—that provide fertile ground for theological reflection and re-examination. By employing esthetically appealing means of expression, and particularly images and sounds that primarily appeal to our emotions, films can create a space for a fruitful dialogue on topics that would otherwise remain confined to a small circle of scholars, rarely reaching a wider audience. One such topic, which this article sought to explore, is the image of God and how this image might influence gender (in)equality. To be more concrete, if we perceive and imagine God exclusively in masculine terms and imagery, it becomes easy to view everything associated with masculinity as more important, powerful, and divine. Feminist theology, in its effort to contribute to the greater equality of women and men within religious communities and to rethink the subordinate position of female believers in religious traditions, emphasizes the need for incorporating female images and metaphors in our conception of the divine. Recognizing and acknowledging biblical images of God as female, introducing positive female images, symbols, metaphors, and analogies into religious discourse, and achieving a balance between male and female references could contribute to the renewal of our spiritual and religious “health” (Mollenkott 1993, p. 54).

Popular culture is one of the spaces that has the potential to promote inclusive theological language in the context of depictions of God, transforming itself into a locus theologicus. Certain directors have used their artistic talents, consciously or unconsciously, to create films that can be interpreted as modern parables, challenging the conventional, one-dimensional patriarchal image of God as a man—an image that has been constructed and transmitted for centuries, becoming an unquestioned part of the collective imagination (May 1982, p. 33). My aim in this article was to explore how cinema uses metaphors and imagery to speak of the divine mystery through female symbols and images. Two key types of films are therefore highlighted in this article, as they challenge the patriarchal portrayal of God as male: films featuring female Christ-figures and those with female God-figures. While the history of cinema is predominantly filled with male Christ-figures and God-figures, there are occasional female characters that infiltrate this tradition, providing space for theological reflection. One article focuses on five films that defy gender stereotypes in their portrayal of the divine: one with a Christ-figure protagonist, Vianne, in Chocolat, and four films that depict Almighty God in the form of a woman, namely All That Jazz, Always, Dogma, and The Shack.

Who, then, is the cinematic God revealed to us in the form of a woman? She is portrayed as an elegant hairdresser, a captivating young seductress, a single mother chocolatier and globetrotter, a homemaker who bakes bread, a witty clown and comedian with a killing voice, and an empathetic, tender soul-keeper. The five analyzed characters share many traits, depicting God in a female form as radiant, pleasant, humorous, benevolent, wise, compassionate, dignified, empathetic, forgiving, and deeply caring for Her creation. At the same time, all of these female characters are powerful, assertive, strong, and self-confident. Even though the roles inhabited by these God-like and Christ-like figures may sometimes seem gender-stereotypical—such as the mother homemaker in The Shack, the sexually appealing woman in All That Jazz, the hairdresser in Always, or the chocolatier in Chocolat—they also subvert these stereotypes. Despite their traditionally feminine occupations, the ultimate power, though gentle, lies in the hands of the female God-figures. For instance, while Hap is shown as a hairdresser in one scene, her appearance defies the typical portrayal of women. Her demeanour, facial expression, and style convey strength, assertiveness, determination, and an almost boyish nonchalance. She embodies the qualities of both brother and sister, father and mother, tenderness and strength. Notably, with the exception of Angelique in All That Jazz, the other God-figures are not subject to the male gaze, nor are they portrayed through the patriarchal lens that objectifies women as mere objects of desire or as paragons of physical beauty. It is also interesting to note that most of these female divine figures engage directly with male characters who are suffering, weighed down by sin, or in need of guidance, redemption, and salvation—such as Pete, Joe, and Mack. Dogma is the sole exception, as the character receiving divine guidance to renew her faith is a woman, Bethany. However, she also takes on the role of world saviour. Nonetheless, even in Dogma, those most in need of salvation are men: the fallen angels Bartleby and Loki. Thus, the traditional, stereotypical depiction of salvation—usually represented by male saviours in cinematic history—is reversed in these films, as the saviours are women, and the ones being saved are men. The Christ-figure of Vianne in Chocolat brings freedom and redemption to an entire community, but most notably to those who initially opposed her, all of whom are men—the Count, the priest, and Serge.

These films have provoked criticism, controversy, and polemics among certain groups of believers due to their content, which challenges the conventional image of God as male and white. In this regard, I am particularly fond of Father Greeley’s statement regarding female metaphors for God and the objections raised by their critics: “The point here is not that one must imagine God as a woman and indeed as a passionately loving woman, but that one may; religious metaphors are opportunities, not obligations. Religious conservatives shout in horror that the image of God as woman will ‘confuse the ordinary’ people. […] People are free to choose the metaphors they like. If Jessica Lange is a shocking metaphor to some folks then they are utterly within their rights when they reject the metaphor. But they have no right to deny the metaphor to others. In our research on Catholic young people some time ago, we found that the womanly metaphor for God had no religious or human payoff for young women, but substantial payoff for young men. They were more likely to pray, to be socially active, to be concerned about environment, to attend Mass, and to report sexually fulfilling marriages” (Bergesen and Greeley 2000, p. 42).

Films featuring female representations of God challenge our ingrained image of the divine and compel us to reflect on the true nature of God, which is far more complex than our human conceptions. The depictions of female characters that implicitly or explicitly embody the divine essence “challenge the idolatry of maleness in classical language about God, thereby enabling a rediscovery of divine mystery and pointing toward the recovery of the dignity of women created in the image of God” (Johnson 2018, p. 47). In this way, female Christ- and God-figures in cinema serve as powerful visual symbols of theological expression. They are particularly intriguing because they raise the question of whether women can fully represent God in artistic expression and within the entire human community. These Christ- and God-figures in films can significantly contribute to contemporary theological discourse, especially in addressing questions about the person and message of Jesus Christ in today’s context. Furthermore, they can also make a positive contribution to overcoming the predominantly androcentric imagery of the Christian God (Malone 1990, p. 22). These films reflect the feminist idea that God is neither exclusively male nor female but both. That is why they represent a creative and significant contribution to contemporary cinema and theology; they are a response to the feminist theological efforts to portray God exclusively through female metaphors and analogies.

One limitation of this study is its primary focus on Western films. While these films offer valuable insights into the exploration of feminist theological themes within a Western context, they do not account for the diverse cultural perspectives found in non-Western settings, such as those in Asia, Africa, or Latin America. This focus was influenced by the availability and accessibility of films directly addressing feminist theological themes within Western cinema. Throughout the research process, I encountered difficulties in locating comparable non-Western films with similar thematic content or mainstream visibility. The inclusion of non-Western films could provide a richer, more nuanced understanding of how feminist theology is interpreted and represented across different cultural contexts. Future research could benefit from a comparative analysis that incorporates both Western and non-Western films, which would shed light on cultural variations and commonalities in feminist theological representations. Such an investigation could also broaden our understanding of how diverse religious and social frameworks shape the portrayal of female-centred theological themes in global cinema.

As the study of inclusive language in theology continues to expand, it becomes increasingly important to consider how such language influences both theological understanding and pastoral practice. This article has emphasized the symbolic richness of feminine imagery of God within cinema, but further research is needed to examine how these representations could influence doctrinal beliefs, worship practices, and spiritual formation. Understanding these effects could contribute to the development of a theological language that is not only inclusive but also spiritually meaningful for diverse communities.