Passion needs compassion
April 11, 2004 | 12:00am
I know this is not going to endear me to millions, and some very "im-Passion-ed" readers will feel compelled to write and object to my views, but truth be told, I found Mel Gibson’s Passion film nothing more than an average, adequate film. I admire his guts, intent and commitment to put out a very orthodox film about the Sorrowful Mysteries, and for having risked his own $25 million on a movie that required subtitles given that all the dialogue is in Aramaic and Latin. And look, it turns out he was right and there was a massive audience out there that would flock to the movie in droves.
But taking the film purely on its merits, and not basing it on whatever significance people may attach to it in order to fulfill some personal need of religious or spiritual renewal, I sensed a hollow center beyond the very visceral exposition of the story.
We complain of gratuitous violence in movies today, yet seem ready to excuse it when it’s done in the name of Jesus. It bothered me that people were feeling guilty or had some "awakening" of just how much Jesus suffered for us by having viewed the film, because what were they thinking before the film? That the scourging at the pillar, the crowning with thorns, the crucifixion itself, was painful but bearable? Did we really need a bloodbath, a gory spectacle with matching soundtrack, to drive home the fact that Jesus suffered for us? If that is the case, then I think that reveals more about "us," and how we’ve become a very "visual" Hollywood society, unable to imagine or understand something unless it’s spelled out for us in Technicolor crimson, lacerated flesh, and we hear every crack of the whip, the nails pounded in, and the sighs and grunts of suffering in Dolby. To my mind, it seemed Mel Gibson was impersonating Sam Peckinpah (of Wild Bunch fame), re-filming Braveheart in Jerusalem.
So many scenes seemed highly excessive, or shot simply for "effect." The demons that appear to Judas when he’s under the bridge was straight out of horror-flickland, designed purely to make us jump out of our seats. The gargoyle baby the devil carried was pure Fellini. The pulling of the right arm out of its socket in order to fit the nail-hole on the left side of the cross, is that not gratuitous? And I don’t know why other movie references come to mind, but even the manner in which the closing Resurrection scene was shot, Jesus standing and exiting off screen, came to us via the Terminator (right, Gino?).
I admired the flashbacks and felt the most touching scene was the one of Mother Mary remembering Jesus falling as a child and using that memory to move her to go to him when he had fallen bearing the Cross. That was magical and showed a "heart," but too much of the film seemed mired in merely going for the jugular and waiting for the blood to spew forth. While the nailing to the cross was going on, I decided to look at the faces of the audience rather than the screen, and it disturbed me that young and old alike were impassively entranced, and that very few were flinching as I was. Did that mean that the abundant gore preceding the nailing had made viewers numb and desensitized to the horror of what was being portrayed? Or scarier, has it all become run-of-the-mill, given the violence we see in so many of the films and newsreels today?
The film also got me thinking; most of us don’t know much about Mohammed or Buddha, so if one was not Catholic, what impression would be made by this kind of film? That our faith is built so much on a story steeped in violence and bloody persecution? Where then is the compassion, the love, the kindness that our faith demands of us; and was, at the end of the day, the cornerstone of Christ’s teachings? And yet, other than the scene I mentioned of Mother Mary, the other scenes which could have exhibited those qualities (Christ’s stoic acceptance of his fate, interaction with Mary Magdalene and Veronica, and the crucified "good" thief) seem relatively uninspired, shot with nothing like the thought, "linger," brio, and relish Direk Mel puts into the scenes of violence.
And don’t worry, I know there will always be retorts to the views I’ve raised. And if the film does make some feel repentant about the lives they’ve led so far, and make them turn over a "better leaf," then it’s great and I have no qualms about the effect the film may have on some individuals. But for me, judging the film on its own, I’m still wondering just how good passion can be without an equal dose of compassion. Happy Easter!
Hip-hop used to be considered a distinct music genre, tucked away and niched as a section of Black music, or subsumed with Rap music, classified as Urban R&B. Well, don’t look now, but those days are long gone and hip-hop has entered the mainstream, a dominant music force, that producers, musicians and buyers alike are all "pledging allegiance to." Latest figures from the music industry place hip-hop as 20 percent of the American domestic market, representing over $100 million in sales.
Here in the Philippines, the same trend exists. Tagged as R&B (which is in fact, too general a term, given the breadth of music that can fall under that category), hip-hop nights at bars and clubs, and a growing breed of live performers, make for a very lively (and growing) local scene. A recent MTV event at The Tent, The Grind, was proof positive of just how far this music genre has come in terms of appeal. Filled to the rafters, the assembled throng welcomed the vocal stylings of Jay-R and Arnee Hidalgo, and enthusiastically participated in the dance games of KC Montero, and the spinning of DJ’s Steve Mills and Leeroy.
The only drawback I can see is when we Filipinos identify without restraint in the subculture that hip-hop in the US represents. Already, young Filipinos in American urban neighborhoods, searching for identity, are disparagingly referred to as Black Asians, as they "ape" Beyonce, Kanye West, Tamia and Usher. If it’s just the music and assimilating it into a Filipino idiom, that’s all well and good; but let’s not forget that foremost we still are Filipinos and "brown" does not make "black" just by raising arms and jabbing fingers in the air. That would be too pathetic, proving why we have such problems with national identity and consciousness.
(E-mail me at peopleasia@qinet.net)
But taking the film purely on its merits, and not basing it on whatever significance people may attach to it in order to fulfill some personal need of religious or spiritual renewal, I sensed a hollow center beyond the very visceral exposition of the story.
We complain of gratuitous violence in movies today, yet seem ready to excuse it when it’s done in the name of Jesus. It bothered me that people were feeling guilty or had some "awakening" of just how much Jesus suffered for us by having viewed the film, because what were they thinking before the film? That the scourging at the pillar, the crowning with thorns, the crucifixion itself, was painful but bearable? Did we really need a bloodbath, a gory spectacle with matching soundtrack, to drive home the fact that Jesus suffered for us? If that is the case, then I think that reveals more about "us," and how we’ve become a very "visual" Hollywood society, unable to imagine or understand something unless it’s spelled out for us in Technicolor crimson, lacerated flesh, and we hear every crack of the whip, the nails pounded in, and the sighs and grunts of suffering in Dolby. To my mind, it seemed Mel Gibson was impersonating Sam Peckinpah (of Wild Bunch fame), re-filming Braveheart in Jerusalem.
So many scenes seemed highly excessive, or shot simply for "effect." The demons that appear to Judas when he’s under the bridge was straight out of horror-flickland, designed purely to make us jump out of our seats. The gargoyle baby the devil carried was pure Fellini. The pulling of the right arm out of its socket in order to fit the nail-hole on the left side of the cross, is that not gratuitous? And I don’t know why other movie references come to mind, but even the manner in which the closing Resurrection scene was shot, Jesus standing and exiting off screen, came to us via the Terminator (right, Gino?).
I admired the flashbacks and felt the most touching scene was the one of Mother Mary remembering Jesus falling as a child and using that memory to move her to go to him when he had fallen bearing the Cross. That was magical and showed a "heart," but too much of the film seemed mired in merely going for the jugular and waiting for the blood to spew forth. While the nailing to the cross was going on, I decided to look at the faces of the audience rather than the screen, and it disturbed me that young and old alike were impassively entranced, and that very few were flinching as I was. Did that mean that the abundant gore preceding the nailing had made viewers numb and desensitized to the horror of what was being portrayed? Or scarier, has it all become run-of-the-mill, given the violence we see in so many of the films and newsreels today?
The film also got me thinking; most of us don’t know much about Mohammed or Buddha, so if one was not Catholic, what impression would be made by this kind of film? That our faith is built so much on a story steeped in violence and bloody persecution? Where then is the compassion, the love, the kindness that our faith demands of us; and was, at the end of the day, the cornerstone of Christ’s teachings? And yet, other than the scene I mentioned of Mother Mary, the other scenes which could have exhibited those qualities (Christ’s stoic acceptance of his fate, interaction with Mary Magdalene and Veronica, and the crucified "good" thief) seem relatively uninspired, shot with nothing like the thought, "linger," brio, and relish Direk Mel puts into the scenes of violence.
And don’t worry, I know there will always be retorts to the views I’ve raised. And if the film does make some feel repentant about the lives they’ve led so far, and make them turn over a "better leaf," then it’s great and I have no qualms about the effect the film may have on some individuals. But for me, judging the film on its own, I’m still wondering just how good passion can be without an equal dose of compassion. Happy Easter!
Here in the Philippines, the same trend exists. Tagged as R&B (which is in fact, too general a term, given the breadth of music that can fall under that category), hip-hop nights at bars and clubs, and a growing breed of live performers, make for a very lively (and growing) local scene. A recent MTV event at The Tent, The Grind, was proof positive of just how far this music genre has come in terms of appeal. Filled to the rafters, the assembled throng welcomed the vocal stylings of Jay-R and Arnee Hidalgo, and enthusiastically participated in the dance games of KC Montero, and the spinning of DJ’s Steve Mills and Leeroy.
The only drawback I can see is when we Filipinos identify without restraint in the subculture that hip-hop in the US represents. Already, young Filipinos in American urban neighborhoods, searching for identity, are disparagingly referred to as Black Asians, as they "ape" Beyonce, Kanye West, Tamia and Usher. If it’s just the music and assimilating it into a Filipino idiom, that’s all well and good; but let’s not forget that foremost we still are Filipinos and "brown" does not make "black" just by raising arms and jabbing fingers in the air. That would be too pathetic, proving why we have such problems with national identity and consciousness.
(E-mail me at peopleasia@qinet.net)
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