A work of devotion, and a big gamble, for Mel Gibson, financed out of his own pocket, boasting no big-name stars (Jim Caviezel and Monica Bellucci, the biggest), not to mention English subtitles for ancient languages, graphic gore, and a firestorm of pre-release publicity on its latent anti-Semitism. A version of this story that would bear down on the bodily punishment absorbed during Christ's last day on Earth was probably, in the fullness of time, inevitable. And it's a short step from saying that such a version was inevitable to saying that it's a particularly appropriate one for its time: a Passion, if you will, for the new millennium. More specifically, bereft of the spiritual and obsessed with the physical. In the end, there's really very little to it, apart from duration: the arrest in Gethsemane (with such excessive force as to leave Jesus at the outset looking like Rocky Balboa after a fifteen-rounder); the kangaroo court; the interminable public torture (Mel's martyrdom in Braveheart was but an appetizer); the marathon uphill climb to Calvary; the spikes in the hands and feet and the spear in the side; and scarcely more than ten seconds for the rolling-away of the stone and the restoration of the body for the ascent to Paradise. A major contributor to the aforesaid duration -- two hours plus -- is the willy-nilly use of slow-motion, always a handy access to dramatic emphasis for a filmmaker too lazy or inept to achieve it by honest means such as pacing and camera placement. And please don't bother to voice any misgivings over the suitability of so voguish a device in so classical a setting: that just goes along with the ultra-violence to identify the film as of its time. (2004) — Duncan Shepherd
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