The Passion of the Christ

by John

Much like Mel Gibson's recent arrest that has contrasted his weaknesses against his professional success, the director's 2004 film The Passion of the Christ is a work of contradictions that displays a powerful yet flawed vision. It is also a film that reveals more insights about Gibson than about ancient history or contemporary Christian faith.

The Passion is very much the Gospel according to Mel, just as The Last Temptation of Christ is the Gospel according to director Martin Scorsese and Nikos Kazantzakis, the author of the book on which that film is based. It would be hard to imagine a director who does not incorporate something of himself or herself when helming a fictional movie about religion, but some directors have made more of an effort to be faithful to commonly accepted Christian beliefs. Franco Zeffirelli's 1976 miniseries, Jesus of Nazareth, is one such excellent example. Gibson's version, like Scorsese's, is a highly personal adaptation of Christ's suffering. The main difference between these two films is that while Last Temptation offers a reinvention of what could have happened, a hypothetical meditation on the conflict between spirit and flesh, The Passion focuses almost exclusively on Christ's final hours before, as Christians believe, he chose to sacrifice himself for all humanity in accordance with God's will.

This final chapter in the life of Jesus is inherently brutal, and Gibson certainly does not choose to gloss over its violent nature. The camera doesn't pull away as Christ is scourged and his flesh ripped from his body, or when a nail is driven into his left palm. Initially, this unflinching approach is effective, but the relentless torture soon becomes so repetitive that it loses its power, almost to the point that the violence becomes a parody of itself. Perhaps in an effort to counter all that brutality, there are a handful of scenes between Jesus (Jim Caviezel) and the Virgin Mary (Maia Morgenstern) that convey a certain amount of sensitivity. The scene that contrasts Mary running to a falling Jesus, burdened by the weight of carrying the cross, with a flashback of her running to Jesus as a child falling to the ground, is a painfully emotional scene. Another scene, in which Jesus builds a table for his mother, also features a rare glimpse of gentleness. But it's confusing that such empathy could coexist with an assortment of bizarre elements that could only alienate the audience. Scenes that feature a monster, a maggot-ridden carcass, and satanic children tormenting Judas feel lifted directly from a cheap horror flick. The film's curiously healthy dose of mysticism is further developed through its depiction of Satan, a gaunt woman with shaved eyebrows and a voice that could either belong to a woman or man. The scene in which she carries a satanic baby, meant to be a perversion of the "Mother with Child" iconography associated with Christianity, is another example of when the mysticism detracts from the film's overall effect.

What is most disappointing about The Passion, however, is the mixed message it sends. There are scenes that briefly touch upon Jesus' message of loving one's enemies and forgiving all, but the film does not do enough to show it agrees. When a crucified criminal laughs at Jesus, a crow promptly lands on the criminal's cross and begins violently pecking out his eyes, directly at the point of view of the audience. When Jesus dies, an earthquake splits apart the temple of the Sanhedrin, the Jewish high council. For scenes depicting the Jewish crowd as jeering and spiteful, Gibson points to the Gospels as his defense, saying that such a portrayal is found in those texts, which he feels are authentic accounts of the life of Jesus. However, he cannot use this defense for the gratuitous eye-pecking scene, or any of the horror-show elements of mysticism. The leading members of the Sanhedrin are regrettably portrayed as cardboard villains, and the truly tedious amount of time devoted to depicting most of the Roman guards as sadistic brutes, laughing with glee as they flagellate Jesus again and again, deeply challenges the audience to forgive them. Gibson seems committed to depict these characters as completely unforgivable.

Caiaphas, leader of the Sanhedrin, is given no context to his actions in the film and is painted as a spiteful, conniving villain, yet Pontius Pilate is given a sensitive and especially forgiving portrayal, with considerable context given to his dilemma. This is certainly not the Pontius Pilate that scholarship describes; rather, his depiction of Caiaphas and Pilate are obviously Gibson's selective interpretations informed by his faith. Gibson obviously has a right to depict the story of Jesus' suffering any way he likes, but such arbitrary and contradictory depictions put roadblocks in front of Jesus' message, and confuse instead of inspire. Most of the flashbacks that focus on Christ's peaceful statements are like bland afterthoughts, scenes that cannot help but seem weak when placed alongside such an intense and labored emphasis on violent malice. Ironically enough, the concept that's displayed most strongly in this film about Jesus isn't forgiveness, but vengeance, a concept popular during the reign of the Catholic Church in medieval Europe. The satanic, mystic imagery also typifies Christian attitudes of that period in history. When Jesus is resurrected, drums are heard on the soundtrack, which suggests the medieval portrayal of Christ as warrior.

The Passion, drawing from varying parts of the Gospels, other religious texts and clearly Gibson's own fertile imagination, is a highly personal vision, but one bathed in a distinctively medieval light. This is treading dangerous territory for the director, as it recalls a period of history dominated by the Catholic Church's oppression, specifically targeted at heretics and Jews. Although the film certainly does not communicate anti-Semitism, as both evil and good are displayed equally among Jews and Romans, one can't help but ask this crucial question: if Gibson allowed himself to take certain liberties in the portrayal of Christ's suffering, why didn't he take others that would more strongly illustrate Jesus' message of love and forgiveness?

What is clear, however, is the level of attention Gibson has directed toward pure filmcraft. Convincing sets, locations, and costumes, as well as vivid photography, all create a striking rendition of an era set 2,000 years in the past. Also, the performances delivered by Caviezel, Morgenstern, and others are strong and compelling across the board, and Gibson's decision to have the film's dialogue spoken only in Latin and Aramaic give the film a unique sense of believability. The score by John Debney functions perfectly by making use of sweeping choral passages that recall traditional European religious music, and also staying true to the story's Middle Eastern roots with percussion and authentic woodwind instruments. These strengths, combined with Gibson's intense and insistent imagery, result in a film that's genuinely gripping from the first frame to the last. As graphic and mind-numbing as the violence is, The Passion has a consistently visceral power that few movies ever achieve.

However, where the movie fails is in its flawed depiction of an event with barely enough context. Where that context should've been is mostly occupied by Gibson's counterproductive interpretations, which assume both a working knowledge and belief in Christianity that undermine the film's impact and its ability to communicate. It's a shame that Gibson missed a chance to make a truly universal film with a clear, effective message of love and forgiveness, instead of dwelling so much on wrath and adding elements of vengeance.

The director has said the goal of the film is to be inspired by Jesus' message. His particular rendition of Christ's suffering makes this an arduous task for non-Christians.