Forget the passion, this movie is all about the bashin’. According to the Gospels, the last 12 hours of Jesus of Nazareth’s life were frightfully grueling, and director Mel Gibson has dedicated the entirety of his controversial film to the “how,” not the “why.” The result is a misguided, almost unendurable frenzy of explicit violence intended to inspire exaltation, but that ultimately leads to revulsion. Unless your idea of an uplifting cinematic experience is to be drenched in blood and shredded flesh, it’s likely the two-plus hour beat-down that is “The Passion of the Christ” will leave you feeling vanquished. As for charges that the film will stoke the fires of anti-Semitism, well, those looking for bias will no doubt find it, but truth be told, the barbaric Roman guards come off as bad, if not worse, than the bloodthirsty Jewish Pharisees who fire up the rabble to condemn Christ to the cross. In interviews promoting the film, Gibson has maintained that all of us are complicit in the crime, and his film is testament to that belief.
As Gibson’s Messiah, Jim Caviezel (“Frequency,” “High Crimes”) is given scant opportunity to explore the psychological burden of Christ’s duality as man and mankind’s savior. Instead, he’s a human piñata. As depicted here, Jesus endures relentless, savage torture, that, without some sort of divine intervention, would no doubt have killed him long before he reached Calvary. Gibson’s intent seems to be to force viewers to atone for their sins — again, we’re all complicit — by battering us with grisly visuals of Christ’s intense suffering. With the exception of a few brief flashbacks, he all but ignores the message of love and tolerance that leads Jesus to make the ultimate sacrifice. We witness the carnage, but we’re not adequately informed as to why he’s enduring it since Gibson presupposes a high level of familiarity with the New Testament. The other actors in the film play to extremes, be it Monica Bellucci’s perpetually wailing Mary Magdalene or Mattia Sbragia’s obdurate turn as the high priest Caiphas. The Roman guards are murderous cretins, Christ’s followers tearful bystanders. There is no gray, only black, white and lots of blood red.
Caleb Deschanel, who worked with Gibson on “The Patriot,” was charged with making “The Passion of the Christ” look like the paintings of Caravaggio, and the cinematographer’s mastery of chiaroscuro here is the stuff that wins Oscars. Ditto for production designer Francesco Frigeri and set decorator Carlo Gervasi, who combine to make this a most visually striking film. Gibson’s decision to have his actors speak in the language of the times (with subtitles) works well, and John Debney’s score is appropriately weighty. But,for as authentic as it all looks and feels, there’s no getting around the fact that this is a difficult film to watch. There is unbounded beauty to the so-called greatest story ever told, yet Gibson has chosen to drown it in blood. He forsakes the glory and embraces the gory, and that’s a cinematic sin not easily forgiven. (Rated R for sequences of graphic violence.)
Originally published in the Santa Monica Daily Press print edition on February 27, 2004. Read the original PDF.