The movie begins as a studious piece of religious history, and only rarely goes further. In the early 16th century, Luther is presented as a shivering, cowering mess of doubt and self-flagellation. He has a hard time making his way through his first Mass and remains unconvinced that God loves him. No matter how much he prays for deliverance ("Save me!"), his spiritual house is not a home.
Things worsen when, on a trip to Rome, he witnesses scores of poor folks spending what few ducats they have for Church indulgences, the holy equivalent of Lotto tickets. Worse still, as Luther's disillusionment and psychological freakouts increase, his spiritual adviser, John von Staupitz (Bruno Ganz), advises him against challenging the establishment. (The film recharacterizes their intimate friendship to enhance Luther's alienation.)
Teaching at the divinity school in Wittenberg, Luther reacts with pointed anti-indulgence lectures, which draw big, stand-up comedy laughs from the class, and with the dissemination of his inflammatory 95 Theses, which make him rock-star popular. Naturally, his theological misgivings and drive for reform chafe against the Church's commercial interests, namely its intention to use indulgence profits to help finance the building of St. Peter's Cathedral.
"Luther" wisely appeals to your sense of morality. Screenwriters Camille Thomasson and Bart Gavigan and director Eric Till (the recent documentary "Bonhoeffer") do an intelligent job of structuring their story so that the arguments of the conflicting sides hold water. But the film suffers from a declarative tone that, if anything, gives it the air of scholarly reenactments. It's not as bland as it looks (gray is the operative color), but it's never exactly rousing, either. When, after a half-hour or so, "Luther" leaves Martin to depict the Church and the state wheeling and dealing to run him out of business, things seem headed for fireworks. Wearing a persuasive tonsure, Fiennes in particular appears passionately devoted to the proceedings.
But the movie remains curiously flat, choosing to conduct things in the manner of a History Channel docudrama. The framing is often less than careful, the rioting extras a little too zealous, and the photography often too dim -- there's neither a sense of naturalness nor a sense of style. There are also the sorts of menacing harrumphs you might expect from movies about revolutionaries: "This drunken little German monk is intoxicated with himself. [Long, threatening pause.] Sober him!"
Luther's big refusal to recant for Cajetan (Mathieu Carriere), the cardinal acting as a papal legate in Germany, produces real ideological debate. But the movie's priorities are worrisome: Luther's excommunication, wobbly psyche, and appearance before the Diet of Worms get short shrift. And why cast Alfred Molina as shady preacher and indulgence stumper Johann Tetzel, getting us good and ready for sly and sinister acting, if you intend to use him for only two measly scenes? There's more of Peter Ustinov as Luther's powerful ally Frederick III, and he's as big and regal as a pregnant hen.
"Luther" aspires to similar ambitions -- girth and eloquence, but mostly girth -- only to overstay its welcome. The film winds up stranding us in a desperate wilderness of collapse and betrothal. "We need Luther," someone says. "Luther's getting married," someone else replies. "To a runaway nun!" If Martin Luther's stint on "Days of Our Lives" comes as news to you, you won't be alone.
** 1/2
Wesley Morris can be reached at wmorris@globe.com.
