Why Every Catholic Should See Triumph of the Heart

Why Every Catholic Should See Triumph of the Heart

*Warning: SPOILERS AHEAD!*

by Marge Hynes, Writer

The rain outside my apartment wasn’t polite, misty rain. It was the kind that hurls itself at your windows. Fitting, really, for the moment I pressed play on Triumph of the Heart. Within minutes, I knew this wasn’t a film you could half-watch. It demanded stillness.

What sets this film apart is its refusal to polish St. Maximilian Kolbe’s sacrifice into something glossy. This isn’t your classic portrait of a hero. It’s the story of an ordinary man who chose Christ over survival. It does not flinch from the cost of that choice.

It doesn’t blink. And because of that, neither can you.

About the Film

Directed by Anthony D’Ambrosio, Triumph of the Heart tells the story of St. Maximilian Kolbe, the Franciscan friar who stepped forward at Auschwitz and offered his life in place of another.

Most of the film unfolds inside a single bunker. It is claustrophobic. Heavy. At times, almost unbearable. That’s the point. Over the course of nearly two hours, it refuses easy answers or manufactured hope. Instead, it asks you to stay with the suffering and see what’s left when everything else is stripped away.

Isn’t that the Paschal Mystery? Death of self. Then resurrection. But never without the cross.

• Theatrical release: September 12, 2025
• Screenings: triumphoftheheart.com

A Title with Teeth

In the official Q&A on the film’s press site, D’Ambrosio explained the title:

The title is a kind of answer.

The Nazis had their propaganda machine—they gave us Triumph of the Will, a film meant to glorify power and domination. But Auschwitz wasn’t the end of the story. Kolbe’s love cut through that darkness like a blade. He showed that the real triumph wasn’t in the tanks or the uniforms or the lies. It was a barefoot man kneeling down to take someone else’s place in a starvation bunker. The Catholic story is often a story of the inversion of power. God as a child, a king on a cross. That paradox is renewed in all of our saints—and I saw that dramatized in a profound way in the contrast between Kolbe’s weakness and the Nietzschean Nazi power.

That was how the name the Triumph of the Heart was born.

It’s almost sentimental until you understand the cost of that triumph, and see how unflinchingly the story is told. We thought it would be a great promise to our audience that watching this costly, painful love would be worth it, that there is a Triumph in the end. Love that endures, even when everything else falls apart.

Born of Suffering

What also stood out in the press Q&A was how personally D’Ambrosio connected with Kolbe’s story:

As an American, I came to Kolbe from the outside. I think that afforded me a unique vantage point on how vital and universal it is. You often are so close to your own story that it’s difficult to see its uniqueness. Right now, in a time when we are more isolated, more internally locked up in mental cells, starving for hope, St. Kolbe’s story shines like a brilliant lamp to light the pathway to heaven and to peace. 

I first heard about St. Kolbe when I was young, but it was when I realized that he had survived and been executed WITH other cellmates that I realized that there was a story here that was untold and unplumbed. I didn’t come to it opportunistically. At the time I was suffering with chronic illness that caused life threatening insomnia. During the long, almost unending nights, I had dialogues with St. Kolbe and found him to become a companion in my suffering. His story led me back to life.

My Two Cents

From the very first shot, Triumph of the Heart declares itself a work of art. The bunker isn’t just filmed, it’s felt: dim, dusty light, greenish shadows, sepia gradients, faces carved in chiaroscuro. The camera moves with intention, sometimes drifting, sometimes pressing close, until even the air feels heavy. Suffocating and deliberate.

These carefully chosen visual designs, to me, are deeply Catholic. Our faith doesn’t let us dodge suffering. No shortcuts and no glamour. But what I noticed most was how the film never abandons light. Again and again, quick flashes of dawn cut in—skies breaking open, birds rising, horizons washed pink. Light becomes the grammar of this film, as essential as breath.

Midway through, Kolbe says, “Love is what nature responds to.” I paused the movie here just to write that line down. As someone deeply in love with Franciscan reverence for creation, it struck a particular chord. But more than just a nod to nature, it’s a declaration that even in Auschwitz, love and hope and light cannot be extinguished. This is evident beyond the line itself, an idea that is played out in the film’s cinematography.

Still, the horror is painfully real. Men starve. They unravel. Blood stains the floor. Silence swallows everything. And yet, there is a perseverance, and it is not just a perseverance from St. Kolbe. He inspires the men so much so that they eventually participate in reconciliation with him, they sing with him, they join his “militia,” they let him make the sign of the cross with ashes on their foreheads. Mary also appears again and again to Kolbe, often veiled in black. In one of the most searing images of her, she crushes a serpent under her foot that had crawled up Kolbe’s arm in an earlier shot.

Sainthood isn’t a spectacle. It’s fidelity. Faith that fractures and maybe sometimes even feels maddening or absurd, but rings true anyway. The film doesn’t try to smooth that tension. As a Catholic viewer, I recognized that texture: hope inside suffering is rarely seamless. This film honors that dissonance in every moment, and I was deeply, deeply moved by it.

Why Does It Matter Today?

D’Ambrosio put it best:

We framed it as a rescue mission for a culture that has lost its way . . . We’re living in a culture that’s tired of noise and division. Kolbe’s story is real. It’s raw. It doesn’t flinch from evil. It stares evil right in the face and then offers songs, prayers, and beauty.

St. Teresa of Calcutta said that “for love to be true, it must cost, it must hurt, it must empty us of self.” I find that this is the heartbeat of this beautiful film.

So, Should YOU Watch It?

100% yes.

I wept through pretty much the entirety of Triumph of the Heart (are we surprised?). But don’t mistake it for a film about just death or suffering. It’s about what endures.

My Rating: 10/10!

Paloma & Fig will present a screening of Triumph of the Heart on September 11 (updated to October 3). All donations will support the Kolbe Center, Macon’s pro-life pregnancy resource center. The Kolbe Center is dedicated to building a culture of life through advocacy, education, and unwavering support, offering compassionate care to those facing unplanned or planned pregnancies. Make sure to tune into our podcast, “A Resounding Yes!” co-hosted on this epsiode by the Diocese of Savannah’s “It’s Catholic Y’all” on September 5th for our chat with Director Anthony D’Ambrosio.

Tickets must be reserved through Eventbrite. All attendees will receive  a raffle ticket for a giveaway from Catholic businesses and tiered donation levels include gifts of gratitude. Reserve your tickets now and be part of this unforgettable evening of Catholic cinema and witness to life within our local community, and diocese. Location to be announced. 

 
For more information on Triumph of the Heart, read our recent blog and visit www.triumphoftheheart.com. 

Join us on September 11 (updated to October 3) to view Triumph of the Heart with the Diocese of Savannah. Reserve your seat here.

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With over eight years of experience and a Bachelor’s in Creative Writing, Marge Hynes is a dynamic writer whose portfolio spans SEO-driven copywriting, journalism, and marketing—a versatile skill set that allows her to craft compelling content for Paloma & Fig’s projects.

Marge’s Catholic faith serves as the cornerstone of her work. She approaches storytelling with thoughtfulness and a deep appreciation for the Lord’s own creative power. Her love of the written word shines through in every project, helping clients articulate their message with clarity, heart, and purpose.

When she’s not writing, Marge can be found leading praise and worship, diving into theological books, or exploring the great outdoors with her loyal dog, Augustine (Auggie for short).