Jesus' well-traveled cinematic road
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Has any Western filmmaker's career ever before been perceived to be on the line over a rendition of religious literature? Did experts, authentic and merely self-appointed, readily weigh in on the interpretative nuances of the many previous screen versions of Jesus' life? The scrutiny is unprecedented, with the lion's share of it attributable to Gibson's celebrity. After all, none of the star-director's advance detractors bothered commenting on the recent "The Gospel of John," a very good film that unequivocally represents the source's critical view of the "Jewish authorities" in first-century Jerusalem.
In a broad sense, the rancorous tenor of the public discussion is just another distressing sign of the times, in which political divides have deepened, civilized discourse is at a minimum, emotions run roughshod over common sense, long-standing historical bridges are being burned and controversial hot-button flashpoints make for sexy soundbites.
Given that self-styled sophisticates shun religious films in general and Jesus stories in particular, there is no doubt that many people will view "The Passion of the Christ" in a cinematic vacuum without knowing how the looming question -- of who bears prime responsibility for killing Jesus -- has been dealt with in previous screen interpretations of the story.
Not surprisingly, it is the films derived directly from New Testament scripture that lay primary responsibility for the crucifixion at the feet of the Jewish religious leaders in Jerusalem. Setting a precedent for "The Gospel of John" in basing itself strictly on one version of the Jesus story, Marxist poet-filmmaker Pier Paolo Pasolini presented in his 1964 "The Gospel According to St. Matthew" a challenging, polemical Jesus whose overriding concern lay with the poor common people of Judea. But Pasolini also had Caiaphas, the high priest of the Jerusalem temple, telling his fellow Jewish elders before Jesus' arrest that, "The hour has come to take Jesus... to put him to death." After judging the upstart preacher a blasphemer at a hastily convened hearing, Caiaphas announces, "He must die. Deliver him to Pontius Pilate."
Later, after Pilate has bowed to the crowd's clamorings for Jesus' execution, a disembodied voice calls out the line, notorious for its role in excusing anti-Semitism over the centuries, "His blood be on our children!"
Extending more considered treatment to the matter are three early-'60s spectaculars. Political and arguably Zionist in intent, Nicholas Ray's 1961 "King of Kings" makes several radical choices: It refrains from even showing Jesus' interrogation by the Jewish elders, has a Roman officer vigorously argue Jesus' case before Pilate and shows Pilate ordering Jesus' scourging to "make him confess." Alone among all versions based on scripture, Philip Yordan's script avoids depicting the braying mob entirely, inventing instead a scene in which the Roman officer informs the manacled criminal Barabbas that he's being freed instead of Jesus: "Your followers yelled the loudest," he reports.
Richard Fleischer's much-underrated 1962 spectacle "Barabbas," written by poet Christopher Fry , opens with the former film's missing scene, which has the crowd calling Jesus' and Barabbas' names in roughly equal numbers. After Pilate has Jesus flogged, in an eerily stylized sequence, Pilate washes his hands of the Nazarene's blood and frees Barabbas, who is told, "He listened to the voices that chose you." The subsequent crucifixion, incidentally, was filmed in Italy during a total eclipse of the sun on Feb. 15, 1962.
George Stevens' 1965 "The Greatest Story Ever Told" goes to the greatest lengths to be even-handed in its attempt to offend no one with its reading of scripture. Caiaphas' hearing is shown to be rigged against Jesus; Pilate and Herod find no reason to punish the man; and the mob Pilate calls upon to decide Jesus' fate is hopelessly divided and composed of competing factions. Pilate finally orders the execution himself. The decorous antithesis of Gibson's film, this version features no scourging, whipping or brutality toward Jesus until he arrives at Golgotha.
AT MORE THAN SIX HOURS, Franco Zeffirelli's 1977 TV miniseries "Jesus of Nazareth" is the most comprehensive, full-bodied and thoughtful account of Jesus' life and times. Giving Caiaphas and his circle equal time to an extent not approached in any other version, the Jewish authorities are shown engaging in a very spirited debate about Jesus and the implications of his teachings. While the intellectual dynamics expressed in the script by Anthony Burgess, Suso Cecchi d'Amico and Zeffirelli are invigorating, it doesn't hurt that the dialogue is enunciated by the likes of Laurence Olivier, James Mason and Anthony Quinn.
Still, at the end of it all, Caiaphas' conclusion is, "That prophet must die. Is it not better for one man to diethan for a whole nation to perish?" At least here, you see the man's reasoning, that Jesus must be sacrificed to placate Rome. Even when Jesus is brought before him, Caiaphas treats him with civility, not as a criminal, only condemning him when Jesus commits blasphemy by stating that he is the son of God.
Made with the blessing of the Vatican and under the influence of the early-'60s reforms, the film depicts those in the crowd calling for the freeing of Barabbas as thugs and political troublemakers ("He's one of us," they say of the criminal) who then move around the throng intimidating anyone who supports Jesus.
Contorting itself to the greatest extreme to take the blame off the Jewish religious establishment was the 2000 miniseries "Jesus," directed by Roger Young. As devised by writer Suzette Couture, the plot to kill Jesus was a conspiracy hatched by Pontius Pilate (a ripe Gary Oldman). "We could see to it that he becomes a problem to some of his own people," Pilate muses, whereupon he and Caiaphas, who sees the preacher as a would-be messiah and political rabble-rouser, scheme to do him in. "Bring him to me and I will eliminate him," Pilate instructs with Nazi-like relish.
To insure the desired result, Pilate plants the mob with men who will call for Barabbas' freedom, and finally washes his hands in what is winkingly conveyed as a purely theatrical gesture. The problem with this interpretation, in which all evil derives from Rome, is that no reason is presented as to why Rome could care less about this small-town preacher who poses no threat to the empire and who, according to a Roman source, the real-life Pilate could not even remember years later.
Martin Scorsese's 1988 "The Last Temptation of Christ," which earned the wrath of conservative Christians, avoided the subject entirely, showing no mob or Barabbas and including only a brief scene of Pilate interviewing Jesus.
ON THE OTHER END of the spectrum, however, is the work that, surprisingly, shows the Jewish establishment in by far the most unfavorable light--"Jesus Christ Superstar." Seen today, Norman Jewison's 1973 film version of the Andrew Lloyd Webber-Tim Rice musical extravaganza looks like a touring company of "Hair" run amok in the Israeli desert.
In light of the big stink raised over "The Passion of the Christ" even before its release, the question could fairly be asked whether or not the ADL and other Jewish groups have taken a look at this recently, as it presents Caiaphas and his circle like a bunch of Darth Vader-ish spiders spinning a conspiratorial web around Jesus from the outset. Sneering like Captain Hook, Caiaphas, in his sinister basso, unloads lyrics like, "We need a more permanent solution," "We must crush him," "For the sake of the nation this Jesus must die" and "We need him crucified, it's all you have to do," a refrain the chorus repeats time and again to an effete, ineffectual Pilate.
"Jesus Christ Superstar" was and always will be a pop culture artifact; it's still performed regularly. One colleague remembers seeing it 10 times as a teenager, joking, "Everything I know about religion comes from it." Somehow I doubt many people will say that about "The Passion of the Christ."
