Christology on the Silver Screen

"Christology" is the area of Christian theology which concerns the identity of Jesus Christ, specifically the relationship between his humanity and divinity. As a foundational doctrine not explicitly laid out in the New Testament (few doctrines are), Christology has been a source of debate from the beginnings of the Church up to the present. The normative formulation appears in the Chalcedonian Definition (451), also called the Doctrine of the Hypostatic Union. In summary, the Chalcedonian Definition proclaims that Christ is fully human and fully divine, with neither separation nor mixture between the two natures. It functions more as a boundary than as a positive description, excluding positions that violate these essential tenets but allowing a great deal of freedom within the basic limits. My particular interest in viewing Jesus films is the way in which they attempt to portray a protagonist who is both human and divine. I will consider three very different films: The Greatest Story Ever Told (1965), The Last Temptation of Christ (1988), and Son of Man (2006).

Greatest Story

George Stevens' The Greatest Story Ever Told strongly emphasizes the divinity of Christ. This suits the film's underlying message, which is a call to faith. It opens with a painting of the exalted Christ on a cathedral ceiling, accompanied by the prologue of the Fourth Gospel. The ending returns to the same painting, this time with Matthew's Great Commission (Mt. 28:19-20). The film draws heavily from the Gospel of John, which is known for its high Christology (emphasizing divinity). The Johannine motif of light versus darkness is prominent, as are Jesus' "I am" statements found only in John. Roman eagles appear frequently, especially at key moments (for example, behind Pilate's head when he questions Jesus and later when he pronounces judgment). I suspect these may be a homage to John, whose apostolic symbol was the eagle, connoting the loftiness of his gospel.

Unfortunately for Stevens, a divine protagonist is very difficult to portray. He casts von Sydow as Jesus, whose stern, morose expression, deep, slow speech, and slight European accent communicate distance. When other characters who attempt levity or familiar conversation, von Sydow's Jesus stifles their enthusiasm. The camera angles frequently look upwards at the already taller-than-average actor, intensifying the sense that this Jesus is above us but not really one of us. By exacerbating the gnostic tendencies in John, Stevens has given us an Apollinarian Jesus ("God in a Bod"), who has a human body but not a human mind. The content of his preaching is likewise super-human to the point of being un-human. The central message of love and mercy contrasts with a holier-than-thou teacher for whom followers' best efforts are never enough. At the same time, Jesus' stoic disregard for external troubles seems both impractical and irresponsible. When we hear his final command, "Love one another as I have loved you," we are likely puzzled; how has he loved his disciples? He does not even appear to like them! The film's poor reception was most likely due to its unlikeable protagonist. As one critic quipped, "God is unlucky in The Greatest Story Ever Told. His only-begotten Son turns out to be a bore." (John Simon, New York Magazine, cited at http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/The_Greatest_Story_Ever_Told).

Last Temptation

I find Martin Scorcese's Last Temptation to be the most interesting and also most challenging film in terms of Christology. The opening screen quotes from the prologue of Kazantzakis's book: "The dual substance of Christ – the yearning, so human, so superhuman, of man to attain God or, more exactly, to return to God and identify himself with him - has always been a deep inscrutable mystery to me." Scorsese also includes a curious disclaimer that this is not a story about the Jesus found in the gospels. The move is clearly prudent, but it may be disingenuous; the film closely follows the novel of the same name by Kazantzakis, who unapologetically presents his narrative as a reflection on the Jesus of the gospels. (Amusingly, the publishers make a similar statement: "This book is a work of fiction...any resemblance to actual events or locales or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.") On the other hand, Scorsese's disclaimer is accurate in that what concerns both his film and its parent novel is not the historical life of Jesus in its details but with its significance for humans' existential consciousness. The film need not be read as an endorsement of a particular creed; it is more of a reflection, a Christology in progress.

The plot revolves around Jesus' own process of discovering who he is. He knows that he is the Son of God. He also knows full well that he is a human being subject to weakness and capable of sin. What he does not understand is how these two natures can coexist. Much of his suffering comes from the struggle to understand what the Father's will is; how should a God-Man live? Jesus describes himself as full of fear. I suggest that in the context of the film Jesus "fear" is fear of facing the enormous responsibility before him; if the salvation of the world rests on his shoulders, any moral stumbling could doom all of humanity. This idea fits well with Kazantzakis's existentialism, which stresses human responsibility in every moral decision. Existentialists were especially attentive to the ambiguity which complicates attempts to act justly; in the midst of a cosmos we cannot understand, faced with situations whose particularity makes an absolute moral law impossible, how can human beings determine the right course of action? Kazantzakis and Scorsese call on Jesus at this point, not only as Savior who dies in our place but as the "pioneer and perfector of our faith," who shows us how to live. The Christology not strictly Chalcedonian. Most significantly, the two natures of Christ appear in conflict (violating the limit "without separation"). While the film is not orthodox, it could be described as "reverently heretical."

Son of Man

The Christology in Son of Man seems to me relatively uncomplicated. In this reappropriation of the gospel, Jesus is completely human. Whether or not he is also divine matters little, if at all, for the plot and message. He appears indistinguishable from the people around him, except for his message. This Jesus never calls people to faith in him, but rather to commitment to his way of life. He is superior to other human beings only in that he has a vision they have not yet received, making him a leader among equals rather than the "my Lord and my God!" of Thomas's confession. By the end, when the community has made this vision their own, they do not need the teacher's presence. Thus, the climax occurs at the Pentecost moment, to which the Resurrection is an epilogue. His ultimate victory is to make his own presence unnecessary.

Evaluation

Christology is an unavoidable ingredient in any Jesus film, but it can be taken in countless directions. Viewers would do well to realize that a film is not the same as a theological statement. These films are more reflection than explication or normative interpretation. This allows for charity in viewing the films; we do not have to be on the defensive for orthodox Christology. In fact, a technically "heretical" film may be more helpful to spiritual growth because of its capacity to challenge previously unquestioned assumptions and provide new material for reflection.

Great Story, Boring Movie

The title of this film says it all. George Stevens intended his 1965 epic The Greatest Story Ever Told to be as majestic as its subject matter. Accordingly, every aspect of its production was taken to the extreme. The enterprise cost $20 million – more than any other film made in the U.S. to that point – with extensive pre-production, a star-studded cast, massive sets, and meticulous editing. Stevens wanted everything to be perfect, the greatest telling of the greatest story. His ambitious title also suggests an intention to tell a story with universal significance, in an increasingly pluralistic world. Yet, in spite of all the hype, The Greatest Story was a box-office flop, recovering only 17% of its production costs. Although contemporary reviews were mixed, later critics have generally seen it as a failure of Titanic proportions, which warned future filmmakers to steer clear of biblical epics. I will first examine what the film attempted, then consider why it failed.

“The Light Shines in the Darkness”

Stevens draws heavily from the Gospel of John. The film opens with a painting in a cathedral, accompanied by the beloved prologue: “In the beginning was the Word...” We see a dark screen, and gradually a light appears - first the star of Bethlehem, then a candle in the stable. Lest we miss the obvious, the narrator continues, “The light shines in the darkness, but the darkness grasped it not.” Greatest Story follows this “light” through his ministry, emphasizing Jesus' teachings and his spirituality. Likewise, we see the division between those “in the light,” who recognize Jesus as the Christ, and those “in the dark,” who do not “grasp” Jesus' true identity. The lighting in this film is very strategic. Jesus is always lit, while his opponents appear in the dark. Jesus and the receptive crowds (whom John the Baptist calls “decent sinners”) are clothed in shades of white, while his opponents wear dark colors. Often Von Sydow appears to be the source of light, as at the Last Supper, where the disciples on either side are lit from different directions, centering on Jesus, and a backlit window provides a halo effect.

Stern et. al. rightly note that Stevens's primary interest is the “Christ of faith,” rather than the “Jesus of history.” Perhaps this Jesus film, which premiered only four years after the very successful (and very historical) King of Kings, is partly a reaction against the excesses of the “quest for the historical Jesus.” Though in general the film attempts historical accuracy, there are obvious exceptions. Most strikingly, it is set not in Palestine, but in the American southwest! Beyond aesthetics, the decision to transplant the Jesus story suggests that its significance lies not in historical particularity but in a universal ideal.

“Seeing,” “Knowing,” and Defamiliarization

The film closes as it began, with a painting of the exalted Christ in a cathedral. This framing device (though cheesy) conveys a significant message about the film's purpose: Stevens defamiliarizes Jesus, challenging us to rethink the “great story” we thought we knew. Stern's claim that “no change has taken place from beginning to end” (143-144) is true only in terms of the film's narrative. The “change” Stevens intends is within the audience (“the kingdom of God is within you”).

Toward this end, Stevens employs the related Johannine tropes of “seeing” and “knowing.” “Old Aram,” who illustrates two different kinds of sight – physical and spiritual - comes from John 9. Stevens adds ambiguity about the precise moment Aram can see – is it in Nazareth or at Bethany? The latter seems more likely; the resurrection of Lazarus “opens his eyes” to Jesus' identity. Aram's testimony - "I was blind and now I see!” - receives an emphatic place, as the “last word” of the first half of the film. Similarly, “knowing” does not equal perceiving. The people of Nazareth fail to understand Jesus because they think they know him (c. Jn. 6:42; 1:12). At Jesus' trial, Caiaphas responds to Aram, “We know where he comes from!” This exchange evokes John 9 (c. 6:42; 7:27-29; 8:14). Only those who are in the light know Jesus. For those who reject the truth, “The light shines in the darkness, and the darkness grasped it not” (Jn. 1:5, quoted in opening scene).

The film's portrayal of miracles reflects the same idea - seeing (physical sight) is not believing (spiritual insight). On the two occasions when unbelievers demand a miracle, Jesus refuses (Nazareth and Herod's palace). Stevens similarly denies the audience direct sight of the miraculous. We see only four miracles (crippled man, bleeding woman, Aram, Lazarus), yet we hardly see even these. Most intriguing is the portrayal of Lazarus's resurrection; at no point does the audience see Lazarus! We must accept the testimony of witnesses. Likewise, even the resurrection of Jesus is not directly portrayed. Nor are there angels at the tomb, but only the “young man” of Mark's account. Nevertheless, all of the faithful believe immediately, even though they have not seen the resurrected Christ (c. Jn. 20:8). We cannot help but recall John 20:29: “Blessed are those who have not seen and yet have believed.” The message would not have been lost on Stevens's (intended) audience.

Christology

I suggest that the ultimate failure of Stevens's film arises from its christology. By exacerbating the gnostic tendencies in John, Stevens has given us an Apollinarian Jesus, who has a human body but not a human mind. His bourgeois European accent separates him from those around him, and his measured, sonorous voice seems more Sinai than Nazareth. The camera often points up at him, and we frequently see him elevated above the crowds (as, for example, at the Sermon on the Mount and the triumphal entry). James the Younger (Anderson) introduces a little refreshing levity, but his attempts to engage Jesus on a human level utterly fail. Similar exchanges with Peter, Matthew, and Martha fall flat, because Von Sydow's Jesus is more like an embodied doctrine (“Word”) than a human being.

He is also repellingly sanctimonious. His central message - “don't judge,” “don't worry,” “love one another” - contrasts with a holier-than-thou teacher who demands what humans cannot give. He judges Lazarus unworthy to be a disciple, because he will not give up everything he has and adopt Jesus' ascetic lifestyle. Lazarus looks to his sisters, who rely on him for support, and replies dejectedly, “What man can do that?” Then the holy posse leaves, and we see them walking by the sea barefooted, free of worldly obligations. Jesus' stoic disregard for external troubles seems at odds with his love commandment. While Jesus is teaching his little circle under a bridge, we see Roman soldiers passing overhead. The inside-outside dichotomy also works against Stevens; this Jesus seems to inhabit an ideal realm, separate from the “real world” within the stone confines of city buildings. Von Sydow preaches an impossible (and probably irresponsible) quietism.

If this Jesus is not very human, is he divine? Not necessarily. The question of Jesus-as-God versus Jesus-as-universal-ideal is left open, a prudent choice for the increasingly diverse theological climate of the 1960s. The quotation of John 12 (“unless a grain of wheat...”) suggests that the importance of Christ's passion is that it inspires an enduring movement. Significantly, we do not see the resurrected Christ until the ascension; a viewer may understand the resurrection literally, symbolically, or both. The important thing is the “Christ of faith,” the idea of Christ, not the historical person Jesus of Nazareth. Unfortunately for Stevens, an idea makes a boring protagonist!

What (Else) Went Wrong?

It seems that Stevens tries too hard to make his story the “greatest;” the excess squelches the film's merits. The epic is simply too long, with painfully slow pacing. Slow dialogue, long pauses, gradual fade-in transitions, and very traditional camera pans provide no relief from hours of Von Sydow's tedious messiahship. Stevens's over-the-top attempt at reverence sometimes backfires. Glaring examples are the “Hallelujah Chorus” and Jesus' Monty Python-esque ascent into the clouds.

Another failure-by-excess is the high-profile cast, which the original audiences found distracting. Nearly every important star in 1960s Hollywood makes an appearance, sometimes in only a brief cameo. The worst blunder of the entire film is John Wayne's drawling, “Surely, this man was the Son of God!”

Finally, this film had the misfortune of premiering at precisely the wrong time. Stevens appealed to the same traditional Christian audience which had flocked to the two King of Kings features (1927 and 1961). By the mid-sixties, the religious climate had changed. Almost contemporaneously with Greatest Story's premier, the cover of Time featured Altizer and the “death of God.” Postmodern Americans were growing weary of traditional religion, and suspicious of meta-narratives. “The Greatest Story Ever Told” proclaims “meta-narrative” in neon lights.

“The Medium is the Message"

If we examine this film according the Marshall McCluhan's famous insight, we may find another reason for its failure. For one thing, this is the first of our class films based on a novel; perhaps what translates to slow pacing on the silver screen would have captivated our imaginations between lines of print. More fundamentally, “medium” and (intended) “message” contradict one another. The film's central metaphor involves perspective; those in the light see Jesus for who he really is, while those in the dark cannot. The difference is not physical sight but spiritual insight. The message is faith, but the medium is spectacle. Stevens has tried to make the Christ of faith relevant by arraying him in worldly splendor. Instead, the effect is a parodic contradiction, like Herod's scarlet cloak.