A Passionless "Christ"
Yes, I realize the irony in critiquing a film almost five years after its release but the reason for the delay is that I hemmed and hawed about watching “The Passion of the Christ.” After hearing that Mel Gibson was making the film, I too worried about the “virulent anti-Semitism” and the “graphic depictions of violence and torture” alluded to in the press surrounding this film.
But my curiosity and my continuing interest in religious-themed media overcame my personal hesitation and growing distaste for what appeared (and continues to appear) to be Mel Gibson’s anti-Semitism and ultra-conservative Catholic world view.
I watched “The Passion of the Christ” on a cloudy Saturday afternoon. I will admit that I had many preconceptions about the film and that these may have clouded my first impressions. I had steeled myself for what I thought would be an almost never-ending blood bath. Therefore, I was taken aback to find that the film did not begin with the immediate flagellation I had heard. Instead, the film opens in the Garden of Gethsemane. Actually, the first image of the film is a card with the text of Isaiah 53:5. This was to be the thesis statement of the story; I think it may even be the driving raison d’être of this film, a reminder of the suffering and pain Jesus endured.
The film chronicles the last thirty-six hours of Jesus’ life, starting in the garden where Jesus antagonizes over what is to come and ending with his death on the cross. Gibson touches on all of the familiar bits of the story: Judas and those thirty pieces of silver; the chopping of the servant’s ear; Peter’s denial; Judas’ lament of his betrayal; Pilate’s hesitation; the scheming of the Sanhedrin to attain a death sentence for Jesus. It’s all there. There are some hints of anti-Semitism: grotesque facial caricatures in the angry mob; pompous Sanhedrin members doing their best to emote their scorn. However, this is not a discussion on anti-Semitism in this film.
We follow Jesus as he is brought before the Jewish council. After they pronounce him a blasphemer, men in the crowd begin delivering blows to him. He is then taken before the Roman procurator who tells the angry mob to instead send the Galilean to Herod. After Jesus fails to amuse the king, he is sent back to Pilate who orders him flogged.
The flogging sequence marks the beginning of the “graphic” nature of the film. It is definitely not for the squeamish. Jesus is already sporting a swollen eye and bloody wounds from his encounters with the Jewish council. When he is flogged, the Roman soldiers take a peculiar delight in first caning him and then whipping him with a lash that the murderous monk Silas (from “The Da Vinci Code) would have envied. There is one particular cat-o-nine-tails that sports metal barbs (they looked like discarded razor blades to me); when the Roman soldier slaps Jesus with this particularly nasty whip, the barbs get stuck in Jesus’ side. The soldier laughs and yanks the sparks out, splashing blood everywhere.
A centurion stops the flogging, admonishing the gleeful soldiers that they were only to punish the prisoner, not kill him. Before returning Jesus to Pilate, the same soldiers present Jesus with his crown of thorns and a robe. Jesus is returned to Pilate a bloody stump of a man. Pilate finds no reason to condemn him, of course, and instead offers the people a choice between Jesus and Barabbas. The crowd chooses Barabbas (and it is in this scene that the line “his blood be on us and on our children” is uttered, though no subtitle is given).
Now begins the painful walk to Calvary. As I mentioned, by this time, Jesus is nothing more than bloody pulp. And again, Gibson makes sure he completes the “events” checklist (aka the Stations of the Cross): Simon of Cyrene is conscripted to help the battered Jesus carry his cross; a young woman comforts Jesus and thus the origin of “Veronica’s Veil;” Mary, the Magdalene, and Baby John (as I call him) follow in despair.
Gibson tells the story of the crucifixion faithfully. Jesus tells God to forgive those who persecute him. He asks for drink. He promises paradise to the kindly criminal dying beside him. He calls out to his mother. He asks God why he has been forsaken. He then declares his purpose accomplished and commends his spirit to God. With a final breath, Jesus dies. And tears fall from heaven (literally—and I must say that was a tad melodramatic) and the earth shakes in protest.
The film fades to black and then begins a slow pan to a shroud that deflates as we see the resurrected Jesus standing, naked, with the requisite holes in his palms (historically inaccurate but again, not the point of this essay). The final shot has Jesus walking toward the light of day, resurrected. No angels, no bells, no whistles.
The film does have a certain point of view. There is an effeminate Satan who confronts Jesus in the Garden; who taunts and teases Mother Mary by standing in the crowd of Jews who cry for Jesus’ crucifixion. His final scene depicts a screaming madman in the pit of Hell, protesting his irrevocable loss. There is Judas, immediately aware of his betrayal and tormented by child-like specters that drive him to the tree and the rope off a decaying cow in the desert. There is Mother Mary who mourns but carries on with strength and a secret knowledge that Jesus was never truly hers. There is the Magdalene, again confused with the “woman of easy virtue” (will no one correct this?), looking forlorn as she mops up the blood left by Jesus after his flogging. There is even a dove hovering over the scene, keeping an eye on the events.
So, what is missing from this film? In a word: Passion.
The word “passion” evolved from the Latin pati, which means “endure.” And this is what Gibson shows in his film. Think of it as “The Endurance of the Christ.” Gibson is so relentless in his quest to show the wounds, the scourging, the pain Jesus endured that more time is spent on the flagellation than the flashbacks showing Jesus at the Sermon on the Mount or at the Last Supper. And that is the flaw of the film. There is nothing to the man.
Compare this film to Franco Zeffirelli’s 1977 television mini-series “Jesus of Nazareth.” The mini-series devotes the last three hours to Jesus’ Passion. (Why it is called the Passion I don’t know. Perhaps someone can explain it to me?) But why “Jesus of Nazareth” succeeds is because the Passion is not the sum of the story. Zeffirelli devotes much more time to Jesus’ life, his ministry, his person (as described in the Gospels) that when that awful day comes, we actually feel compassion for him because we have had the chance to get to know him as a friend, a rabbi, a brother.
Now, I will be the first to admit that I am cynical about all this. But I am not made of stone. Robert Powell’s portrayal of Jesus is someone I would not mind sharing a meal with. He’s open, a natural story-teller, a compassionate man who looks beyond the faults of those around him, embracing each person individually and acknowledging them as brother or sister.
Jim Caviezel does not act in Gibson's film; he reacts. That’s all he has to do, really. He suffers well (which is, ironically, a praise the film’s director received back in the early days of his own career) but his Jesus is as wooden and untouchable as Max Von Sydow’s in “The Greatest Story Ever Told.” You see, I prefer the portrayals that show Jesus as a man. Robert Powell in “Jesus of Nazareth” is probably the best. Caviezel’s Jesus, aside from the fact that he is Jesus, is cold. I am not connected with his suffering. I see it but I do not feel it. Why?
Because Gibson has focused this film on the “endurance.” He has shown us that Jesus suffered but he has not shown us why. Instead of flashing Isaiah 53:5, he should have flashed John 3:16 to remind us that it is for us that God sent his son so that we could be saved through him. Right? I’m not misreading that, am I? It says nothing of about Jesus having to suffer and die. It just says that God sent his son that whoever believes shall not perish but have eternal life. This is my greatest criticism of Mel Gibson’s film. He wants us to feel guilt and shame for what Jesus endured. He feels it. Listen to him discuss the film and you can tell that Gibson is wracked with guilt. But I believe that it is not in Jesus death that we should focus. It is in his compassion. His love for those who are outcast, scorned, and reviled. It’s the message of Jesus—to love God and to love each other—that matters and even though it is spoken in Gibson’s film, it is lost in the wailing and torment of a beaten and broken man on his way to death.
I suppose one could argue that a film about Jesus life must include his crucifixion or it is pointless but I disagree. While a film focusing on Jesus ministry would not be as “exciting” or “shocking” as Gibson’s film, I think it would better illustrate the truth of what it means to be a Christian—that God loves us as we are and because of that love, he sent his son to remind us and if we hold to that, we shall see him in paradise. That Jesus suffered is one thing; that God loved us—out of all of creation—to send Jesus in the first place is something much more.
But my curiosity and my continuing interest in religious-themed media overcame my personal hesitation and growing distaste for what appeared (and continues to appear) to be Mel Gibson’s anti-Semitism and ultra-conservative Catholic world view.
I watched “The Passion of the Christ” on a cloudy Saturday afternoon. I will admit that I had many preconceptions about the film and that these may have clouded my first impressions. I had steeled myself for what I thought would be an almost never-ending blood bath. Therefore, I was taken aback to find that the film did not begin with the immediate flagellation I had heard. Instead, the film opens in the Garden of Gethsemane. Actually, the first image of the film is a card with the text of Isaiah 53:5. This was to be the thesis statement of the story; I think it may even be the driving raison d’être of this film, a reminder of the suffering and pain Jesus endured.
The film chronicles the last thirty-six hours of Jesus’ life, starting in the garden where Jesus antagonizes over what is to come and ending with his death on the cross. Gibson touches on all of the familiar bits of the story: Judas and those thirty pieces of silver; the chopping of the servant’s ear; Peter’s denial; Judas’ lament of his betrayal; Pilate’s hesitation; the scheming of the Sanhedrin to attain a death sentence for Jesus. It’s all there. There are some hints of anti-Semitism: grotesque facial caricatures in the angry mob; pompous Sanhedrin members doing their best to emote their scorn. However, this is not a discussion on anti-Semitism in this film.
We follow Jesus as he is brought before the Jewish council. After they pronounce him a blasphemer, men in the crowd begin delivering blows to him. He is then taken before the Roman procurator who tells the angry mob to instead send the Galilean to Herod. After Jesus fails to amuse the king, he is sent back to Pilate who orders him flogged.
The flogging sequence marks the beginning of the “graphic” nature of the film. It is definitely not for the squeamish. Jesus is already sporting a swollen eye and bloody wounds from his encounters with the Jewish council. When he is flogged, the Roman soldiers take a peculiar delight in first caning him and then whipping him with a lash that the murderous monk Silas (from “The Da Vinci Code) would have envied. There is one particular cat-o-nine-tails that sports metal barbs (they looked like discarded razor blades to me); when the Roman soldier slaps Jesus with this particularly nasty whip, the barbs get stuck in Jesus’ side. The soldier laughs and yanks the sparks out, splashing blood everywhere.
A centurion stops the flogging, admonishing the gleeful soldiers that they were only to punish the prisoner, not kill him. Before returning Jesus to Pilate, the same soldiers present Jesus with his crown of thorns and a robe. Jesus is returned to Pilate a bloody stump of a man. Pilate finds no reason to condemn him, of course, and instead offers the people a choice between Jesus and Barabbas. The crowd chooses Barabbas (and it is in this scene that the line “his blood be on us and on our children” is uttered, though no subtitle is given).
Now begins the painful walk to Calvary. As I mentioned, by this time, Jesus is nothing more than bloody pulp. And again, Gibson makes sure he completes the “events” checklist (aka the Stations of the Cross): Simon of Cyrene is conscripted to help the battered Jesus carry his cross; a young woman comforts Jesus and thus the origin of “Veronica’s Veil;” Mary, the Magdalene, and Baby John (as I call him) follow in despair.
Gibson tells the story of the crucifixion faithfully. Jesus tells God to forgive those who persecute him. He asks for drink. He promises paradise to the kindly criminal dying beside him. He calls out to his mother. He asks God why he has been forsaken. He then declares his purpose accomplished and commends his spirit to God. With a final breath, Jesus dies. And tears fall from heaven (literally—and I must say that was a tad melodramatic) and the earth shakes in protest.
The film fades to black and then begins a slow pan to a shroud that deflates as we see the resurrected Jesus standing, naked, with the requisite holes in his palms (historically inaccurate but again, not the point of this essay). The final shot has Jesus walking toward the light of day, resurrected. No angels, no bells, no whistles.
The film does have a certain point of view. There is an effeminate Satan who confronts Jesus in the Garden; who taunts and teases Mother Mary by standing in the crowd of Jews who cry for Jesus’ crucifixion. His final scene depicts a screaming madman in the pit of Hell, protesting his irrevocable loss. There is Judas, immediately aware of his betrayal and tormented by child-like specters that drive him to the tree and the rope off a decaying cow in the desert. There is Mother Mary who mourns but carries on with strength and a secret knowledge that Jesus was never truly hers. There is the Magdalene, again confused with the “woman of easy virtue” (will no one correct this?), looking forlorn as she mops up the blood left by Jesus after his flogging. There is even a dove hovering over the scene, keeping an eye on the events.
So, what is missing from this film? In a word: Passion.
The word “passion” evolved from the Latin pati, which means “endure.” And this is what Gibson shows in his film. Think of it as “The Endurance of the Christ.” Gibson is so relentless in his quest to show the wounds, the scourging, the pain Jesus endured that more time is spent on the flagellation than the flashbacks showing Jesus at the Sermon on the Mount or at the Last Supper. And that is the flaw of the film. There is nothing to the man.
Compare this film to Franco Zeffirelli’s 1977 television mini-series “Jesus of Nazareth.” The mini-series devotes the last three hours to Jesus’ Passion. (Why it is called the Passion I don’t know. Perhaps someone can explain it to me?) But why “Jesus of Nazareth” succeeds is because the Passion is not the sum of the story. Zeffirelli devotes much more time to Jesus’ life, his ministry, his person (as described in the Gospels) that when that awful day comes, we actually feel compassion for him because we have had the chance to get to know him as a friend, a rabbi, a brother.
Now, I will be the first to admit that I am cynical about all this. But I am not made of stone. Robert Powell’s portrayal of Jesus is someone I would not mind sharing a meal with. He’s open, a natural story-teller, a compassionate man who looks beyond the faults of those around him, embracing each person individually and acknowledging them as brother or sister.
Jim Caviezel does not act in Gibson's film; he reacts. That’s all he has to do, really. He suffers well (which is, ironically, a praise the film’s director received back in the early days of his own career) but his Jesus is as wooden and untouchable as Max Von Sydow’s in “The Greatest Story Ever Told.” You see, I prefer the portrayals that show Jesus as a man. Robert Powell in “Jesus of Nazareth” is probably the best. Caviezel’s Jesus, aside from the fact that he is Jesus, is cold. I am not connected with his suffering. I see it but I do not feel it. Why?
Because Gibson has focused this film on the “endurance.” He has shown us that Jesus suffered but he has not shown us why. Instead of flashing Isaiah 53:5, he should have flashed John 3:16 to remind us that it is for us that God sent his son so that we could be saved through him. Right? I’m not misreading that, am I? It says nothing of about Jesus having to suffer and die. It just says that God sent his son that whoever believes shall not perish but have eternal life. This is my greatest criticism of Mel Gibson’s film. He wants us to feel guilt and shame for what Jesus endured. He feels it. Listen to him discuss the film and you can tell that Gibson is wracked with guilt. But I believe that it is not in Jesus death that we should focus. It is in his compassion. His love for those who are outcast, scorned, and reviled. It’s the message of Jesus—to love God and to love each other—that matters and even though it is spoken in Gibson’s film, it is lost in the wailing and torment of a beaten and broken man on his way to death.
I suppose one could argue that a film about Jesus life must include his crucifixion or it is pointless but I disagree. While a film focusing on Jesus ministry would not be as “exciting” or “shocking” as Gibson’s film, I think it would better illustrate the truth of what it means to be a Christian—that God loves us as we are and because of that love, he sent his son to remind us and if we hold to that, we shall see him in paradise. That Jesus suffered is one thing; that God loved us—out of all of creation—to send Jesus in the first place is something much more.
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