"Beyond the Gates" | Even the credits are wrenching

Michael Caton-Jones' devastating story of the 1994 Rwandan genocide, "Beyond the Gates," ends on a note that transforms everything you've seen before it. After the drama ends, the credits roll, but it's not just a list of names on the screen. We see snapshots of the film's Rwandan crew members, and brief histories of what they lost in the genocide: husbands, sisters, families. One was raped and contracted HIV; others escaped from a sea of corpses. There are no words to describe the horror, or the kind of bravery that brought these people to work on this film.

Based on real events, "Beyond the Gates" takes place within a very brief period of time, at a school that became a shelter for thousands of Rwandans fleeing the murderous soldiers in the streets. (The film's specific characters are fictional, though some are inspired by real people. Its locations are historically accurate, with most of the filming taking place at the actual Kigali school.) Father Christopher (John Hurt) and young teacher Joe Connor (Hugh Dancy) are devoted to their students, promising their safety as the frightened crowds gather.

At first, the grounds are protected by U.N. soldiers — somewhat. "This is a military base, not a refugee camp," huffs one of them to Father Christopher. ("Actually, it's a school," the priest replies.) Eventually, the soldiers announce that they are withdrawing. The chaos beyond the school's gates will soon enter the enclosure; a massacre is inevitable. As non-Rwandans, Christopher and Joe can, if they wish, leave with the soldiers. Do they stay and face certain death, or flee and live with their consciences?

"Beyond the Gates," unlike the equally fine "Hotel Rwanda," makes its central characters outsiders; the story unfolds mostly from the point of view of the two British teachers. You feel the lack of a Rwandan perspective (until the final credits), but the film is nonetheless extremely affecting. It has moments of wrenching, nearly unbearable violence — rivers of blood, literally, flowed on the dry ground — and moments of transcendence. The cry of a baby, born in a dark and crowded schoolroom, fleetingly suggests hope for a better world.

But ultimately there's little respite from the terrible history that this film retells — just a determination (made stronger by the faces we see after the credits) to tell it, to be sure that history doesn't forget. In the movie, Joe speaks with his favorite student, Marie (Claire-Hope Ashitey), with the reflexive optimism of his character. "It's all right," he says, without really believing it, hoping to soothe her. Her reply is quiet. "For you, maybe," she says.

Moira Macdonald: 206-464-2725 or mmacdonald@seattletimes.com