The modern church has
manoeuvred itself into a position whereby it is
mainly hidden from contemporary culture. By association
then, Jesus remains mainly hidden, as a bridegroom
shielded by a forgotten bride: a name relegated
to a swear word, historically anonymous to a whole
new generation of youngsters.
Christians of four hundred years ago knew the value
of keeping God in the minds of men by scattering
icons of faith here, there and everywhere. These
huge cathedrals, stained glass windows, towering
angelic statues and explicit wooden crosses served
a purpose: to point those who were preoccupied with
the temporary to a spiritual, eternal world; to
a God; to a Christ. The church post Calvin enjoyed
a hard backlash against these icons of faith instead
challenging people to live in relationship with
Jesus. The pendulum has arguably swung too far and
now physical representations of God, Jesus and the
Christian story are few and far between outside
of the ghetto gates. So The Passion of the Christ
is arresting in principal as it represents a return
to the art of pointing people to God devoid of a
preach. It stands alone, no pamphlet, no response
song: a piece of art for and about God: a resolutely
modern icon of faith. The hard facts of the film are just that:
hard. Its an 18 and enjoys perhaps the most incessant
flow of violence ever committed to a mainstream
film. Imagine the closing scenes of Scorsese’s
Taxi Driver coated in Tarantino’s Kill Bill
blood letting. The film starts in Gethsemane and
ends (almost) with Jesus dead at the foot of the
cross. The violence is ugly, explicit and harrowing.
But the purpose of the violence is different in
tone to so many other violent offerings. There is
no revenge plot, the image is of a man blameless
in life and blameless in death and director Gibson
pulls no punches as to the purpose of the sacrifice.
Turin shroud aside, the screenplay pulls its elements
from all four gospels, mixing and matching to paint
a scarring, entirely believable, yet blunt and distasteful
portrayal of the events leading up to Jesus’
execution. Spin on the gospel narrative is minimal.
Pontius Pilate is perhaps a little too sympathetic,
the Pharisees perhaps a little too antagonistic,
but this is down to personal preference rather than
a misreading or license with the scriptures.
The general attitude of churchgoers is that Gibson
has done a wonderful job. He could never please
all the Christians all the time: diversity sees
to that, but apparently Gibson has generally succeeded
in appeasing the Lion’s share of Christians
the world, and denominations over.
But what as to its success as a film? In a sense
it is hard to dissect as the myriad varying postulations
of the critics attests. The film is beautifully
shot but the start, middle and end are clearly defined
from the start. By sticking so closely to the gospels
Gibson has limited any artistic license. It is almost
movie making by 2004 numbers. Critics have been
predictably divided: this is after all an art house
movie in that it is self-funded, rejected by Hollywood,
subtitled, and filled with unknown actors. Those
who can stomach the elongated torture scenes may
well complain at the obvious clumsy editing (e.g.
every cry of anguish from Jesus is without fail
underlined by a cut to a weeping Mary).
This movie is the Passion Narrative caught on camera.
Gibson has pushed a towering icon of faith (albeit
in modern expression of film) into the skyline and
Christians stand back and watch in slight bewilderment
as the world sits up, takes notice, even discusses
it over a pint. And that is something the church
hasn’t done for many a year.
