Unmoved by 'Passion'

WHEN people seek my opinion on the Mel Gibson film, "The Passion of the Christ," my first impulse is to lie and say I haven't had the chance to see it yet. But this being the Holy Week, I must be truthful and admit I wasn't moved at all. Maybe it was the media hype or the endorsement of the Catholic Bishops' Conference of the Philippines that turned me off. Perhaps it was my historical and monastic training that should be blamed for my lack of sympathy. I don't know why I reacted the way I did. Thus, my Holy Week reflection means looking inward to understand and remedy my lack of piety and devotion. Maybe I should have watched the film alone and not be ashamed to shed tears. We were warned beforehand that audiences the world over cried buckets midway through the film, so my sister came prepared with a box of Kleenex. Unfortunately the only thing I reached for was the popcorn. Worse, my heathen brother-in-law enjoyed a tender juicy hotdog despite the whipping scene.

What really made me see the film was the opinion of the eminent Jesuit theologian Catalino Arevalo who said the film was worth two retreats. I took him at his word and was rewarded with pure revulsion. The film is a sadomasochist's dream and deserves an R-18 rating for the sheer violence it displayed, but the sight of many minors in the audience said a lot about contemporary Philippine society -- parents will shield children from sex and nudity but allow them to view violence. One should ask which, in the long run, has a more negative impact on human development.

At least the film led me to one resolution: I will listen to Father Arevalo for theology, I will heed the CBCP for pastoral concerns, but will never listen to them for movie reviews. Nobody seems to be bothered by the glaring historical inaccuracies in the film. For example: Jesus, the carpenter from Galilee, speaking to Pilate in Latin, his being made to carry the whole cross rather than just the crossbar to the site of execution, the scourging at the pillar using those hideous whips instead of the plain reed, that he was nailed on the palms rather than the wrist, that his mother was played by an actress who looked barely 40 years old suggesting that she never grew old or gave birth to Christ when she was 12.

I never expected my undergraduate theology at the Ateneo would come in handy one day. Since the film is not a documentary on National Geographic or the Discovery channel, we should gloss over historical accuracy and focus on the emotional and spiritual effects on viewers.

Obviously Gibson made a film for the converted and the believing. It is challenging to direct a movie when viewers know the ending. Watching the film was easy for Filipinos who are raised on the annual Sinakulo and the Pasyon during Lent. We know the story, we know the iconography, we actually wait for particular scenes and particular lines. In a sense, Gibson's film plays to a Filipino audience. It is the extended play version of the Stations of the Cross, those static pictures we see hanging on the sides of churches. This explains why I could overhear people in the audience counting the number of times Christ falls on the way to Calvary (He should fall thrice), counting the number of times Peter denies Christ before the cock crows (he should do so thrice), waiting to see the towel used to wipe the bloody face of Christ by a kind woman (to the Filipino there should be three images on the towel, three faces that resemble criminal mugshots, one frontal view and two side views). Even the blood was not new for those used to flagellants and real crucifixions in Pampanga, the only difference being the wide screen, close-ups, the sound effects and the irritating scene-stealing devil that keeps gliding about.

This evening we will make the annual trek to my father's hometown in waterlogged Minalin, Pampanga to join the procession. My city-bred nieces will again be given a lesson in iconography as all the carrozas pass by. They will soon be able to tell Mary the Mother of Jesus from Mary Magdalene and Veronica. They will be able to tell St. John from St. Peter. They will marvel at the lights, and the gold embroidery on those heavy velvet costumes. One can only wonder how they make sense of all of these folk practices and color the way in which they live and understand their faith. The images of the saints are revered by the elder generation, but to us who played hide and seek in the room where they were stored outside of Holy Week, they are but mannequins. One of my cousins was even curious enough to have us go under the vestments if only to check if these were anatomically correct. Maybe my childhood and my education have a lot to do with my reaction to Gibson's "Passion of the Christ" but then if the film has made me sit back and look into myself, made me stop to separate truth from myth, maybe Father Arevalo was right that the film is so powerful that it is indeed worth two retreats. Every person will react to the film in his or her own way and whether you like the film or not, it will at least move you to reflection. Surely the same cannot be expected of "Scooby Doo 2," which vainly competed with "The Passion."

Comments are welcome at aocampo@ateneo.edu