Broken Mary: The Kevin Matthews Story, in Theaters October 7

Broken Mary: The Kevin Matthews Story, in Theaters October 7

If you knew of Kevin Matthews in the 80s and 90s, you probably knew him as a “shock jock.” A celebrated Chicago radio comic with 10 million weekly listeners, he counted the likes of Bill Murray, Michael Jordan, and Ted Nugent as members of his thriving social sphere. His over-the-top style was heavily dosed with a raunchy, irreverent sensibility and uncanny impressions—assets that came naturally to him during the glory days of talk radio.

When you meet Kevin Matthews on the big screen this October, he will have his back turned to you. Wheeling a statue of the Blessed Virgin wrapped in bungee cord and reclined on a dolly up the aisle to the altar of a small, charming Catholic church, he will park her at the altar, facing you in the sanctuary’s glow with her familiar, cloudless hint of a smile. Crucially, you won’t see Kevin’s face at all: he will immediately walk off-screen. 

And so begins Broken Mary: The Kevin Matthews Story, Jonathan Cipiti’s new documentary about Kevin Matthews’ reversion experience to the Catholic faith. As we see in the film, Kevin’s story hinges upon his relationship to a broken statue of Mary that he finds beside a dumpster. But our experience of this conversion—our buy-in to Matthews’ redemption arc as viewers—hinges upon the subject’s apparent heart on display, which is authentic and raw without glamorizing his past. As we all know, God’s interventions often unfold in places we find unlikely or are prone to overlook. Refusing to shy away from Matthews’ provocative nature, Broken Mary establishes the murky moral world of celebrity as it is experienced both publicly and privately. At many turns, the radio star tries to do right in the eyes of the world (and even, at moments, in the eyes of the Church he was raised in). Eventually, a devastating diagnosis finds the broken pieces of a human soul dusted off, glued together, and tended to under the watchful eye of an equally decrepit statue of Mary. For all its focus on a life saturated by a volume of attention, money, and fame that many of us cannot fathom, the documentary really lives in a space of thoughtful meditation on the quieter ways that Our Father promises our redemption. What begins as a colorful recounting of Matthews’ celebrity shifts seamlessly into an almost prayerful treatment of a subject who proudly needs Christ in his life. 

Hedonism, the detachment of modernity, and the consequences of a life lived hard are all on display in Broken Mary, with Matthews’ story mirroring that of countless converts both famous and commonplace. At one point, Matthews describes himself as a “zombie Catholic”—a “Sunday, weekend, ‘look-at-me’ Catholic.” The “look-at-me” comment strikes me the most, as it is an apt frame for much of Matthews’ behavior during his life in the spotlight. At one point, he invites a priest to a charity function meant to benefit drug-addicted mothers, but winds up attended by strippers and descending into debauchery. The vast sum of money raised ends up mostly wasted on bar tabs and fixing the destruction caused to the venue. Reminiscing, Matthews chuckles before moving on to discuss his inability to be serious even in the face of a brain tumor: “I said to my wife, ‘Look, I do have a brain.’”

He calls comedy his “shield,” and the viewer hurts alongside him as he poignantly reflects on all that shield actually failed to protect him from—the loneliness of fame and its transient nature, illness, familial pain, spiritual torment:

“It wasn’t until I said ‘I’m so broken, I give up . . . Here: the pieces, the
garbage, the beatings. I give it to You. Help me.’ Boom, my life changed.”

Matthews’ encounter with Christ and his subsequent relationship with the broken statue of the Blessed Virgin—which he never fixes—is too moving to give away in a review. While peers from Matthews’ former and current life are interviewed for the film, the bulk of the documentary is Matthews himself telling his story. Clocking in at only an hour or so of runtime, the documentary treats Matthews’ story in a visually and narratively compelling manner, and to hear this man regale the tales of his fame is nothing short of entertaining. But the film’s power lies in the concentrated attention to the details of his spiritual message. Matthews is neither canonized nor demonized, but presented with grace as a man who has made himself available to both God and fellow man. It is obvious that Cipiti is listening attentively to a version of Matthews previously unheard, and his film makes us listen, too. 

The personal and theological heart of Matthews’ story centers around a striking image of redemption that I’ve thought of most days since watching the film: Matthews meets the Mother of God in a form that is not enthroned in her rightful glory but discarded, damaged, and sharing in the broken heart of our world. In her shattered state, she meets Matthews where he is, and helps him divorce from a culture prizing image, ego, status, and vice and acknowledge the power that can be drawn from the state of humble “weakness” that can so often lead us closest to Christ. It’s a turn of events that will move many to tears as Matthews comes to know himself as “Mary’s Roadie.” As caretaker to this broken icon, Matthews embraces the opportunity time and again to serve others with his new calling, confounding some but also inspiring countless other members of his following. We are left to contemplate much about the ways we invite, meet, and carry Mary in our own hearts, but also, vitally, to contemplate Christ Himself’s ultimate and redemptive descent into human suffering. The film offers Matthews’ experience as an example for us all to reorient our minds and hearts towards Christ’s love. Without our chosen “shield,” we can find our place in the ongoing story of that love and embrace the true, perfect protection it offers. Like the statue he finds, Matthews is never “fixed,” but continually submitting himself to the process of being made whole in the truest of senses. The performative Matthews no longer calls us to look at him, but instead to look at Christ. 

In Broken Mary’s quiet grandeur, we hear that small voice calling us home, a little bell among the many noises of the fallen world—we at Paloma & Fig wholeheartedly recommend it. On October 7, the Feast of Our Lady of the Rosary, find a theater near you to witness God’s grace alongside Kevin Matthews.

Mary, Queen of the Holy Rosary, pray for us. To watch the trailer, click here. Tickets are available for sale via Fathom Entertainment here. For the film’s official website, click here.

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Writer and editor Franci Revel Eckensberger holds a Master of Fine Arts in Poetry from Cornell University. With years of experience as a copyeditor for academics, fellow writers, and various small businesses, she takes pride in maintaining clarity, consistency, and beauty in each client’s voice. 

Franci finds grace and insight in the Catholic Church’s rich relationship to language and invites that relationship to influence both her literary and editorial work. Saint Cecilia and Catherine of Siena continue to play a vital role in her journey to the faith as an artist. She lives in coastal Delaware with her husband.