Directed by Mel Gibson

Written by Benedict Fitzgerald, Mel Gibson

Starring: James Caviezel, Maia Morgenstern, Mattia Sbragia, Hristo Shopov, Luca Lionello

Rated: R (sequences of graphic violence)

Length: 126 Minutes

In a word: Graphic

 Mel Gibson's "The Passion of the Christ" is an absolute labor of love.  You don't even need to tell me that he spent $25 million of his own money to prove that point—you can see his devotion manifest in every shot.  Each scene, each angle, each and every image of this film is an intricately crafted work of art.

It is a beautiful movie; the use of color is brilliant, and the settings and costumes are visually stunning and gorgeously authentic, a tribute to Gibson's zealous toil for realism.  As part of that realism, the film is in Aramaic, Latin, and Hebrew with English subtitles (although really the subtitles aren't necessary and the scenes without them are perfectly understandable and the more beautiful for it). 

I'm sure I don't need to tell you what this movie is about—any Sunday school dropout knows the plot and most of the dialogue.  Theologically, the film leans towards Catholicism.  Gibson and co-writer Fitzgerald based their script on the four gospels of the New Testament and one or two apocryphal texts.  Fundamentalists may be jarred by the embellishments (but to be fair, the filmmakers had to create a two-hour movie from fewer than ten chapters of the bible).

Needless to say, this is not your grandmother's red-letter bible.

"Passion" is the most brutally violent movie I have ever seen.  Reportedly, James Caviezel, the actor portraying Jesus, underwent six hours of makeup each day to create his bloody, tattered flesh.  Every slash, every whelp mark, every single nick and cut and bruise and scrape and gash and wound are dutifully recreated and shown in their full graphic detail—they must have literally gone through buckets and buckets of blood.

But the violence climaxes far too early.  The sheer savagery of Christ's punishment at the hands of Pilate leaves the filmmakers nowhere to go.  The scene, an exacting recreation of the Romans' merciless cruelty, was shocking and horrific, leaving me emotional drained and physically exhausted (the surreal sound of stifled sobs from within the audience only added to the poignant beauty of the barbarous scene). Their attempts to maintain that intense level of violence throughout the rest of the movie left me numb and totally unfeeling when presented with the remaining cruelties of the grueling walk to Golgotha and the crucifixion.  My sympathy for Jesus ended halfway through the film because I was unconvinced any punishment Caiaphas demanded could be worse than the ferocious lashes from the cat-o'-nine-tails.

Besides the violence (and perhaps because of it), this movie failed to create any real emotional connection—and this despite attempts to blatantly manipulate the audience through silly scare tactics like hideous monsters jumping out from the shadows (you think I'm joking, but I'm not). 

Despite the plentiful embellishments the story seems sparse.  The whole film drags, especially as Jesus plods through all fourteen of the Stations of the Cross (a Catholic ritual, arguably more symbolic than an accurate depiction of actual events).  I do not mean any sacrilege (and indeed, as a conservative Christian myself, I'm almost embarrassed to admit this), but by about the third time Jesus stumbles I was thinking, "let's just get to the cross already."

Gibson's evident passion for the subject matter, however, left an ethereal glow over the entire piece, making for a wonderfully surreal and hallowed experience.  His Christ seemed more real—more sacred—than the other Messiahs to come out of Hollywood.  He does not attempt to analyze or interpret Christ, just to tell what is obviously a very sacred story to him.

Much has been said of pervasive anti-Semitic undertones throughout Gibson's film.  While it is true that Gibson emphasizes the Jewish High Priests' (and especially Caiaphas') role in the crucifixion, and he does seem to completely absolve a brooding and reluctant Pilate of any and all culpability, I did not see any evidence that he blames the Jewish people for Christ's sufferings.  Rather, the accusing look leveled at the audience by the Virgin Mary at the end of the film left absolutely no question in my mind of who exactly Gibson thinks is responsible for Christ's ultimate suffering and death.

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