I admit that I went in to “The Days God Slept” with no real idea of what it was about. And then when it ended I felt like I’d been sermonized, which left me with a cringe. It’s the all too familiar religious guilt aspect that bothered me, and really doesn’t mesh with the story of “The Days God Slept” too well. I really liked the idea of men building up the image of a stripper and or erotic performer and never quite allowing themselves to see the human beneath the image. But once the religious aspect is introduced, it’s completely lost.
Is character John as much of a rapist as the men that gang raped Kristen, the stripper he’s in love with since he’s indulged in sin as they have? Is losing faith in the colorful image you have in your partner the same as losing your faith in your God? And are you a better person in the end for giving yourself over to ideas of angels and religion, which allow for some kind of awakening of some kind? Is John perhaps in the Garden of Eden e.g. a strip club, and is unfolding the tragic life of Kristen somehow introducing his world to pain, suffering, and absolute misery?
And is knowing everything you want to know a curse on man, or is it better to merely not eat the apple of knowledge and remain in the dark? Kipp and writer Fiorillo seem to hold great disdain for knowledge as a whole, and parallel John knowing the truth about Kristen to man embracing complete and total reality which somehow destroys the euphoric image of a deity and or God. “The Days God Slept” has top notch production quality with beautiful imagery and intriguing dialogue, it just lacks any coherence.
What little there is seems to sneak in subliminal ideas about how knowing too much is as sinful as anything else religion can concoct, and will tarnish the idea of a God. Hence why I didn’t particularly enjoy “The Days God Slept” when I was finished with it. Kipp is definitely a talented filmmaker and a fine storyteller, but “The Days God Slept” isn’t his best effort. It’s a very confusing and jumbled narrative that takes finger wagging about God and staying woefully ignorant and couches it in to aesthetically pleasing art house surrealism.