When I saw “The Passion of the Christ” at the Beaucatcher on Ash Wednesday, and then again, quite unexpectedly, the following evening at the Smoky Mountain Cinema here in Waynesville, I was reminded of a minor novel written some 50 years ago in which several people discover an old painting possessed by dark powers. The painting is of a mob that surrounds Christ, and those who view the painting frequently see themselves in that mob, spitting at Christ, picking up stones to hurl at him, cursing him. The painting acted as a mirror, if I remember correctly, reflecting the viewer’s soul.

Mel Gibson’s “The Passion” also acts as a mirror, not necessarily revealing the interior condition of the soul, but certainly reflecting the spiritual and intellectual baggage of its viewers. Those who come prepared to criticize “The Passion” will have little difficulty in doing so (More than a year ago, I heard a film critic appearing on National Public Radio, who had never read a script of the movie, much less seen it, say with a laugh, “Mel Gibson’s new movie? We’ve all got our knives out for that one”). The viewer who comes looking for anti-Semitism will find it in “The Passion.” The viewer who wants to criticize the movie for its intense violence will find violence. The viewer who comes to “The Passion” to pick it apart theologically will find plenty of opportunities.

And the Christian, or the seeker looking for Christ, will quite possibly find Christ.

To begin, let me offer a brief inventory of my own baggage. After many years of doubt, I came to believe that Christ died for our sins, that he rose from the dead, and that his promise of eternal life is real. I then converted to Roman Catholicism. Besides the prejudices inherent in my beliefs, I also brought to this movie an awareness of the unprecedented media storm that has surrounded this film. Finally, I entered the theater as a critic as well as a viewer, which means that I owe my editor and my readers as honest an opinion as possible.

After having seen the movie twice — with, I might add, very different audiences and a very different reaction to the film on my own part — I want first to address briefly some common objections to the movie which I have heard either through the press or from theater patrons themselves.

° “Mel Gibson claims to have made this movie for Jesus, but he’s going to make money off it.” This objection is nearly too silly to deserve an answer, but we will put it in Dick-and-Jane language so that certain critics may understand. Mel Gibson is an actor. Mel Gibson is a director. Mel Gibson is a Hollywood producer. He is in movies to make money. The people who work with him want to make money. Making money from a film does not preclude Gibson’s love for that film or for its subject. Case closed.

° “There should have been more joy at the end of this movie. It should have shown all the positive things Jesus did.” This movie is not called “The Life of Christ.” It is not called “The Joy of Christ.” The passion of Christ — passion comes from patior, the Latin deponent verb meaning to suffer, to allow — refers specifically to the last 12 hours of Christ’s life. Gibson covers that time in the movie.

° “This movie is not scriptural.” This charge is true. “The Passion” is not a fifth gospel. It is a movie made by a Hollywood director about the last hours of Christ’s life. Gibson does use material from the four gospels, but he also turns for inspiration to certain Catholic traditions such as the Stations of the Cross (prayers and readings heard today on Friday evenings in most Catholic churches throughout the Lenten season), writings by several saints, and his own artistic sensibility. The satanic figure that haunts the film, for example, played so brilliantly by Rosalinda Celentano, is a Gibson creation.

° “The film is anti-Semitic.” Look for it, and I’m sure you’ll find it. The high priest Caiaphas and his crew come across as brutal and conniving, but those who would make a case for anti-semitism from that depiction must then close their eyes to the fact that Jesus, his mother, his disciples, Veronica (who wipes blood from Christ’s face), Simon of Cyrene, the thieves on their crosses, and all the others who were grieving for Christ as he carries his cross were Jewish. Gibson also omitted certain parts of the Gospel that might have offended Jews, such as the grieving women of Jerusalem being told by Christ: “Daughters of Jerusalem, do not weep for me, but weep for yourselves and for your children. For behold, the days are coming when they will say, ‘Blessed are the barren, and the wombs that never bore, and the breasts that never gave suck!’”

° “The film is violent.” I have watched movies like “Saving Private Ryan,” “Braveheart,” and “Gladiator.” “The Passion” is the most violent film I have ever seen. Why? Because the violence is focused on one man. Because the violence is focused on the Son of God. Because the violence is accompanied by an intensity of hatred rarely seen on the screen.

Enough of the objections. Let us look now at “The Passion” itself. Does it work as a movie? I’m not sure. Perhaps we might more profitably ask: is “The Passion of the Christ” really a movie at all?

Yes and no. It is a movie if we are talking of theaters and film and actors. What Gibson has done with “The Passion of the Christ,” however, is to create a work of art that in many ways seems less a movie than an assault on the senses, an event, something unique for which I have no name other than to recognize that this is not a flick to be watched while munching popcorn and swilling sodas. It is not entertainment. In a certain sense, “The Passion” is to the movies as an opera is to a play. Both opera and play are performed on a stage. Both have actors. Both have plots. There, however, the resemblance ends. Like other movies, including Gibson’s own previous films, “The Passion” is viewed in a darkened theater on a screen by an audience who watch actors and listen to dialogue. There, however, the resemblance ends.

We begin with Jesus in Gethsemane; we agonize with him as he is scourged and crowned with thorns; we walk with him to Golgotha and to his crucifixion. Gibson wants us to experience, as fully as possible, the last hours of Christ’s life. His use of Aramaic and Latin, for example, not only imbue the film with a deep sense of mystery — one young viewer I know thought of mystery created by Elfish in the Tolkien films on hearing these languages — but also give us the feel and the sound of Christ’s world. The use of shadow and light heavily shape the mood of “The Passion;” we first encounter Christ praying alone in Gethsemane in deep blue shadows, and we find him in the end seated in the darkness of the tomb, but with the rock of the tomb rolling away, changing darkness into light and silence into birdsong. Gibson uses quick flashbacks to connect certain moments of the passion with Christ’s life and teachings, linking the carpenter to the Son of Man, associating the bread and wine offered at the Last Supper with the body and blood offered by Christ on the cross. The actors speak to us as much with gestures as with words; we are not told, for example, why Mary (Maia Morganstern) and Mary Magdalene (Monica Bellucci) wipe up the puddled blood after Christ’s scourging, but we are instead left to infer that his blood is precious, sacred, holy. In the scene where Mary and Satan regard one another as Christ carries his cross between them, we need no words to understand the evil of Satan and the faith of Mary.

Various visual artists, ranging from the painter Caravaggio to the Italian director Pasolini, clearly influenced Mel Gibson so that there are points in “The Passion” where we feel as if we were watching a living painting. Like some of these artists, Gibson is not afraid to use symbolism to make his point. Here, for instance, we see a serpent representing evil being crushed beneath Christ’s sandal, demons disguised as children tormenting Judas unto death; the blasphemous mockery of the Virgin Mary and the infant Jesus by Satan as he witnesses Christ’s scourging; Christ’s left hand being nailed first to the cross (the Latin word for left is sinister); the blood and water that flood from Christ’s pierced side literally baptizing the Roman soldier who wielded the spear.

Near the conclusion of “The Passion,” Mary holds the body of her dead son in her arms. Slowly she raises her head and stares into the camera. Her right hand rests on her son, the fingers extended and half opened to us. Her face, smeared with the blood of her son, is both an accusation and a plea. Who has killed my son? her eyes and face ask. Who by their sins has nailed my son, the Son of God, to a piece of wood? Who has done this thing? Who will repent of it?

Mary is not looking at the high priest Caiaphas when she asks this question. She is not looking at the disciples who deserted Jesus when he was arrested. She is not looking at Pontius Pilate, or the sadistic Roman soldiers, or the fickle mob. She is not even really looking at the camera.

She is looking at us

(Jeff Minick is a writer and teacher who lives in Waynesville. He can be reached at saintsbookco@aol.com)