***1/2 (out of ****)
Starring Jim Caviezel, Maia Morgenstern, Monica Bellucci, Hristo Shopov, Mattia Sbragia, Luca Lionello, Francesco De Vito, Rosalinda Celentano, and Sergio Rubini
Directed by Mel Gibson & written by Benedict Fitzgerald and Mel Gibson, with Aramaic and Latin translations by Fr. Bill Fulco
2004
127 min R
We live in a silly age obsessed with silly concepts like “historical accuracy.” If all religious writing is essentially spiritual autobiography, then we should take all the hub-bub about historical and Biblical accuracy that has surrounded “The Passion of the Christ” with a grain of salt. So before you start throwing around words like “definitive” or “inaccurate,” keep in mind that what we are learning about is the spiritual journeys of director Mel Gibson, star Jim Caviezel, screenwriter Benedict Fitzgerald, and everyone else involved in the film. This is the Gospel According to Mel and Jim. And how wonderful that we can find something so sincere on film, because what is the purpose of serious cinema if not to share the feelings of a filmmaker?
Speaking of historical accuracy, debate what you will about the sets, costumes, methods, or whatever in “The Passion,” but I must say that it is very much a movie of our time. There’s slow-motion, shaky camerawork, knives that go “shink” when you draw them, music straight out of “Gladiator,” and the editing strategy of an above-average summer blockbuster. When an Apostle goes for a sword he knows how to use it. I’d be lying if I said none of Gibson’s stylistic choices, in their sometimes too loud modernity, distracted me. I was hoping for the contemplative pacing of Andrei Tarkovsky, whose movies always feel like church even when he takes us into outer space, and I shouldn’t have been surprised that “Braveheart” is what we get instead.
Much ink has been spilled and many have succumbed to foot-in-mouth syndrome over Gibson and his film, not least of whom is Gibson himself. And much has been made of his Catholicism because, as we all know, no worthwhile film has ever been connected to any Catholic, besides Scorsese, Coppola, Capra, Rohmer, Fellini, Oscar Wilde, Bill Murray, Graham Green, and J.R.R. Tolkien. And there was that one fat guy from Britain, what was his name? Alfred something.
But let’s stop wasting our time with all the noise that surround the making and marketing of “The Passion” and get back to the movie itself. Gibson has made a straightforward and heart-wrenching film about the last hours of Jesus Christ (Jim Caviezel), beginning with his prayers in Gethsemane and going on to his arrest by the religious authorities, his trials under the Roman Pontius Pilate and the Jewish King Herod, and all the Stations of the Cross. The movie only deviates from this path for occasional tangents and flashbacks involving the Twelve, the Virgin Mary (Maia Morgenstern), and a seriously hot Mary Magdalene (Monica Bellucci). After his trial, Jesus spends a lot of time getting tortured, crucified, and generally getting his ass kicked. I can’t stress enough just how violent this movie is; parents who take small children to it should go to confession afterwards. “The Passion” is the “Saving Private Ryan” of Biblical films, with blood dripping, flesh flying, and bones breaking until Jesus is literally blackened with gore. But, like “Private Ryan,” “The Passion” is tetanic bloodshed with a purpose. The equation is simple and powerful: the more Jesus suffers, the more he must love us.
Since “The Passion” begins with Jesus’ arrest we are coming in at the end of his story and his struggle with the Jewish authorities. Within the realm of the movie, their motivations and history are shrouded and unknown to us. We feel as if we are entering a large and iconic piece of history, in which characters are already trapped in their destinies and the best we—like the many onlookers at the Crucifixion—can do is watch and react. When churches across the world reenact Christ’s Passion every Easter and churchgoers get to yell out “crucify him!” the effect is the same. We reflect and ask ourselves, who are we in this story? When the world changes, shifts, or moves around us, how do we react? Do we become a part of the mob? Do we comfort those suffering, even if we cannot ultimately save them (the movie’s finest scene, which brought tears to my eyes, belongs to the Blessed Virgin as she runs to comfort her poor little boy)? Do we see the hand of God in the world, or do we see the universe as without order? Do we try to convince ourselves, using our great intellects, that we are powerless or not to blame? Is our first instinct to make sure everyone knows we are not a part of this situation?
Jim Caviezel’s performance as Jesus is almost entirely physical, as he suffers and suffers and suffers, to the point that his pain almost reduces him to an animal. He gets down to one working eye after a while and through it peaks a mighty spirit of pity and forgiveness. In flashbacks he is beatific and gentle, and his greatest, quiet pleasure at the Last Supper is time spent with his best friends. Caviezel played a similar character in Malick’s “The Thin Red Line,” and gave an even more empathic performance in which his love of the whole world goes beyond palpable.
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