First things first: I was very, very careful to approach this movie with an open mind. You may not believe me, but -- even if I'm not entirely sure the big man in the skat will strike me down if I'm lying -- I can confidently sit here, hand on heart, and swear it's the truth.
I absolutely defend Gibson's choice to only show the final hours of Christ's life. I defend his right to make the movie violent. I even defend the Aramaic. (In practice, it's actually a good safeguard against the stilted sperchifying of many Biblical/ancient films. Unfortunately, it also makes moments that are already overwrought and silly...well, overwroughtier and sillier.)
The problem is, even if you defend these choices, even if you try and judge the film on a variety of criteria -- let's say, cinematic, emotional, and spiritual merit -- The Passion still comes up short, in every way. It's just not very good, in any level. It's also curiuosly lacking in -- wait for it -- passion, or any kind
of emotion or conviction that one might expect from a director of committed faith.
Perhaps it was a pragmatic move on Gibson's part to only preach to the choir -- that is, to make a film designed to appeal just to the devoutly Christian. Although, if you have this massive stage, and an attentive crowd whipped up by months of publicity and controversy mongering, wouldn't you at least try to present a compelling image of the religion that inspired you?
That's not happening here. If you didn't come into the movie thinking Jesus was the bomb-diggity, you're not going to get even a soupçon of a hint of why other people think he's all that. In this film, Pontious Pilate is a more fully realized character than Christ; in fact, he's the only real person amongst a cast of cardboard caricatures.
(Is the film anti-Semitic? I think one could definitely make a strong case, but frankly I had such a hard time separating stereotypical portrayals of Jews from the other hastily, broadly drawn charcters, that I had to consider that problem a secondary consideration.)
So what of Jim Cavieziel's portrayal of Jesus? Fine. That's the most, and least, you can say of it. If you stack this performance against Falconetti as Jeanne d'arc, jimmy c's just a big blank -- we don't get any trace of a suffering human touched by divine inspiration; there's no there there.
But it's unfair to judge him by these standards, as Cavieziel's never given the opportunity to present any kind of personality. The only times we get to see Jesus' personality ate in the scmaltzy, sepia-toned flashbacks. While I personally responded to the exchange between Jesus and Mary and the last supper, these moments were all examples of too short, too little, too late. The souless brutality of the rest of the film made it iimpossible for me to see Jesus as anything other than an extremely tenderized piece of meat.
Which brings us to the safe, comfortable liberal criticism of this movie: The blunt, excessive violence of the matetial outweighs and overwhelms any kind of emotional impact it might have had.
But this isn't true. It's not the nature or degree of violence in The Passion that's the problem: it's how that violence is applied. All the blood and guts and wrenching close ups are used up in the flagellation scene, which goes on at least three minutes too long, until you're numb and bored. How Gibson missed the elementary filmmaking lesson that showing reactions can be better than showing the action itself: the gorgeous harrowing shots of the two Marys' horror get lost in the shuffle.
Stylistically, the film is inexcusably mediocre. The opening scene in the garden of Gethshemane is in a lovely light, but even there we see an overreliance on ham-fisted close ups and slow motion to ratchet up the emotion. From there on, it just looks luke your run of the mill Roman sandals, spears and titties epic. There's no magic, no artistry in the cruxifiction scene; we're not awed, just shellshocked and glad it's over.
