The Last Temptation of Christ (1988)
Directed by Martin Scorsese
by Renato Butera
Martin Scorsese knows the subject well and expresses a heartfelt and sincere passion for theological themes and biblical interpretations. This passion gave rise to this “fantasy” of the Gospels, full of references, often juxtaposed (almost like a collatio), and insights based on an adequate understanding of the Bible, but which venture into very personal and sometimes daring interpretations. This results in a film structured like a dizzying rollercoaster, where it rises to the peaks of the Gospel text, brushing against the ipsa verba, only to plummet into imaginative and bizarre rewritings, though still credibly relevant: truth and verisimilitude chase and touch each other.
The film is often a respectful, almost literal retelling of the Scriptures but can be disorienting in its episodes that stretch the imagination in an effort to humanize the story, even if the protagonists bear the names from the Holy Book but are not developed as characters according to the Gospels. Among the controversial and imaginative episodes are Mary Magdalene’s work as a prostitute in a brothel, the “ratified and consummated” marriage of Jesus and Mary Magdalene, and the open relationship with Lazarus’ sisters (“one woman is all women”). Provocations bordering on blasphemy, if seen with the reverence and modesty of a believer; hyperrealistic flourishes focused on the realism of what is depicted without resorting to ellipses or supplementary metaphors, stylistic choices dear to Scorsese and screenwriter Paul Schrader, if viewed with a critical and shrewd eye.
The story is familiar, but the representation is not: it astonishes. And from this surprise, plausible questions arise, opening the door to “what ifs” and possibilities that we, as mortals—whether believers or not—often ponder. What if Christ had not accepted God’s will? What if the fear described in the Gospels during the Garden of Gethsemane had taken over? What if the desire for human love had prevailed over divine love?
From here comes the temptation of Scorsese’s Christ, inspired by Nikos Kazantzakis, who in turn drew from Nietzsche’s Übermensch, the superman who scorns Christian compassion, and from Bergson’s mysticism of the élan vital, which appreciates the good and beautiful created by God. This duality is found in the personality of a Jesus torn between two deep passions: his attraction and fear of God, and his equal fascination and torment over human love.
The entire film hinges on temptation and redemption, portrayed through spectacular representations that, while built on the metaphor of dreams and real life, still recall the Gospel narrative. It is nighttime. Jesus is enclosed in a “protective” circle drawn perfectly on the ground. In succession, serpents (the door to Mary Magdalene’s house), a lion, and fire appear. They symbolize the flesh, power, and possession, the three temptations Jesus overcame in the desert. He conquers them through sacrifice and acceptance of the hour, the cross, as conceived in John’s Gospel, the completion of everything. This, however, is interrupted by a fourth temptation, born from the authors’ creative genius and embodied by a devilishly angelic figure. The guardian angel helps the Crucified One down from the cross to fulfill his desire for human love. In a land no longer arid and barren, but green and fertile (an intense ecological and new-age reference), Jesus marries Magdalene (who dies in “vengeance”) and lives with Martha and Mary, with whom he has children.
The final temptation is interrupted by the apostles visiting an old, dying Jesus. They are led by Judas, the betrayer, who was himself betrayed and reveals the deception of Satan, the angelic child. Dreams and reality once again swap roles. Jesus dies on the cross, conscious and eager to fulfill his mission as the Messiah: without sacrifice, there is no salvation. Scorsese’s Christ is insecure, fearful, conflicted. He preaches love but needs to be loved; blushes before a woman but desires her intensely; wants to restore justice but uses violence and force; yearns to do God’s will but cannot accept himself as the Messiah; acknowledges God as the Father but is afraid of Him; proclaims the duty to redeem the world but is the first to need redemption. His divinity/sonship teeters on the brink of awareness and fear of dissolving.
In the very human Christ of The Last Temptation, there are characteristic traits of the “Christs” in Scorsese’s style and in Schrader’s transcendental cinema. Humanity is made up of needs, fears, and betrayals that must be atoned for through suffering and sacrifice, marked by inevitable falls and merciful redemption. But is the film a betrayal? It is a story inspired by the Gospel that distorts the Gospel if consumed as sacred scripture. It is a very creative and liberal interpretation that requires careful, mature, and intelligent critical engagement, if not indulgence.
This is confirmed by the words that introduce the film and frame this “superhuman experience” of Christ as the model for humanity’s continuous cycle of guilt, sin, and atonement: “The dual nature of Christ—the yearning, so human, so superhuman, of men to reach God—has always been a deep and inscrutable mystery to me. My main anxiety and the source of all my joys and sorrows since my youth have been the relentless and merciless battle between the spirit and the flesh… and my soul is the arena where these two armies have clashed and met.” An attentive viewer knows how to interpret a film and what to take away from it for their own life.
Cinematografo, March 26, 2024
