The Screening Antiquity series has already given us several excellent volumes on national traditions, on motifs and narrative structures, and on influential single films and TV series. The latest addition complements this list by concentrating on a historical individual: Pontius Pilate and his way through film history. Similar approaches have frequently been taken—especially since the 1990s—for major figures such as Jesus Christ on the big and small screens.[1] Christopher McDonough’s study, however, is a welcome and fresh assessment of “the various ways in which Pontius Pilate has been represented as a symbol, to audiences at the movies and on the television sets in their living rooms” (p. 11). After this announcement, it should hardly be surprising that its author—like the majority of contemporary scholars working in this field—is more interested in the ‘supply side’ than in the audience impact of the films and their narratives.
The introductory chapter rightly restricts the information on the historical figure and on the scarce source material to the essential minimum. Instead, it discusses the rich cinematic tradition, in which Pontius Pilate is almost exclusively a minor, but crucial character. On these first pages already, the selection of material makes it clear that we are dealing with a study with a distinct focus on Anglo-American productions and contexts. While this helps creating a tight and readable argument, one might wonder whether an IMDb search that brought up “scores of films and TV programmes” (p. 17) and “dozens of separate entries for actors playing Pontius Pilate” (pp. 27) was the best way to create the sample, given that there are whole lexica and scholarly filmographies on biblical epics, Jesus Christ films etc.[2] That said, McDonough’s approach through exemplary discussions of (mostly) American blockbuster films and of statements from their participants is perfectly viable and leads to several helpful insights for newcomers and specialists alike.
Pontius Pilate in the silent movie era is mainly dealt with in the form of a detailed reading of the 1927 version of King of Kings. The example is well-chosen, since the film offers a slightly deeper characterization than many of the more schematic productions of that time. Nevertheless, it might have been interesting to see the single film placed within its full performance context, which often included explanators, live side-shows, music etc. and constituted the (not so) silent movie experience of that era.
The 1950s filmic career receives considerably more attention in two chapters on American Sunday School TV and a remarkable but never-realized project from the beginning of the decade. In the detailed discussions of the material, we hear about the contemporary social and political influences, but also about the opportunities to diverge from the conservative Passion Play narrative, including its darker side such as antisemitic depictions. To see how Pontius Pilate can be used as a ‘litmus test’ in these contexts is truly helpful especially for anyone who did not grow up with the still influential tradition of Christian/evangelical TV. Even more entertaining is the section on the failed RKO Pictures project Pilate’s Wife, in which the legendary Claudia Procula—in her dual function as ‘Mrs. Pilate’ and as the niece of emperor Tiberius—takes the spotlight. McDonough’s reconstruction gives a glimpse of what this unconventional combination of Passion Play and female spiritual maturation might have looked like.
The 1950s heyday of blockbuster films on classical and biblical antiquity is covered through Salome from 1952, the 1959 Ben-Hur and the 1960 version of King of Kings. These case studies are cogently linked to contemporary discourses about, e. g., freedom of speech or nonconformism, and to a lesser extent characterized in relation to their filmic predecessors. The end of that ‘golden era’ leads us to the 1962 Pontius Pilate and its unique choice to move the Roman prefect from the outskirts into the centre of the biblical story. The international production is rightly characterized by McDonough as an artistic and narrative failure brought about by antagonistic motivations when it came to allocating the blame for the death of Christ. To pursue this argument with the much more straightforward—and very American—The Greatest Story Ever Told from 1965 is again a well-chosen juxtaposition.
The latter production continues to be relevant for the phase of reorientation which classical epic films underwent in the 1970s. To illustrate the changes and continuities, the author opted for the musical Jesus Christ Superstar in the 1973 version and Jesus of Nazareth from 1977. The method of choice is again more a narrative discussion than a comparative analysis, but the connections made between Pontius Pilate as a “moral relativist” and the Nixon era are convincing nevertheless. These examples furthermore serve as a benchmark for the developments of the following ten to twelve years, which in accordance with the American focus of the study are interpreted mainly against the backdrop of the Reagan era (pp. 172–227). Then again, many of the rather subversive depictions identified stem from British (Life of Brian from 1979), Canadian (Jésus de Montréal from 1989) and French films (Celui qui doit mourir); the latter is strictly speaking outside the chronological scope as it is from 1957, but fits very well in this line-up of case studies. It would not have harmed the argument, however, to link these discussions to the long tradition of parodies and/or fictional transfigurations.[3]
The last chapter leads us into the post-Gladiator revival of classical epic films in blockbuster cinema and the controversial 2004 The Passion of the Christ in particular. The author’s understandable irritation at the gore and the political undertones of the Mel Gibson movie do not prevent him from recognizing the slightly more nuanced depiction of Pontius Pilate—in particular his understanding of truth in realpolitik, and the connections to the Bush era. McDonough effectively counterpoints this with the less drastic Risen from 2016 and the influences of TV detective shows on that film’s structure and outlook. The epilogue emphasizes how much these and earlier productions depend on contemporary influences in general and trends in Jesus Christ narratives in particular. The concluding prognosis regarding the relevance of Pontius Pilate as a character of/in modern popular culture is strongly influenced by the ‘alternative truth’ experiences of the Donald Trump, Boris Johnson and Covid-19 years. For less pessimistic readers, it might have been preferable to look at unusual new productions such as the series The Chosen (running since 2017) and their take on the above-mentioned issues as well.
The study is accompanied by a very reliable general index and a detailed filmography. Unfortunately, it is only here and just for streaming videos that the author identifies the exact version used. Elsewhere in the book, even direct quotations from films are neither linked to a verifiable version nor cited with a corresponding timecode, which makes rechecking the basis of the findings difficult.[4] Nevertheless, Pontius Pilate on Screen is a readable study with a fondness for illustrative quotations. The 19 film stills are well selected, even if they are reproduced rather small and in black and white—which is hardly the author’s fault, but an economic necessity and nuisance familiar from many similar publications. For anybody interested in either cinematic antiquity or the reception of the biblical figure, McDonough’s book will be a worthwhile addition to the corpus of modern research.
Having said this, the book is not overly interested in general film history, in the history of classical epic films, in film theory or in the making of tradition outside of the medium of film with its inter-medial influences and effects. This is even true when it comes to direct adaptations of literature such as Lew Wallace’s Ben-Hur novel and the many by-products its various filmic versions spurred in other media (p. 250). Nikos Kazantzakis gets more attention, especially in the context of The Last Temptation of Christ from 1988 (pp. 207–218). On the other hand, Pär Lagerkvist, his Nobel Prize-winning novel Barabbas and its first Swedish adaptation from 1953 receive only fleeting mentions when McDonough contextualizes the American-Italian version from 1962 (pp. 115 and 119). Anybody interested in film language might also lament the almost exclusive focus on dialogue and acting achievements. The role of the American tradition and perspective for this study displays itself here as well.
To avoid any misunderstandings: none of these points has to be seen as an essential downside—as long as you are aware of what to expect from Pontius Pilate on Screen, its specific focus and approach. What I found more of a concern is the exclusion of non-English research, as well as the omission of classics such as Biblical Epics: Sacred Narrative in the Hollywood Cinema by Bruce Babington and Peter Evans,[5] and of several relevant pieces of recent scholarship.[6] Even so, I enjoyed the humour and readability, the absence of positivistic rigour, and above all, the various insights gained from the close treatment of film contents, scenes and participants’ statements. If this is what you are looking for, Pontius Pilate on Screen is heartily recommended.
Notes
[1] Without claiming completeness for the earlier studies: Gerd Albrecht, “Jesus—Eine Filmkarriere. Entwicklungslinien des Jesus-Films und seiner Rezeption,” film-dienst extra 11/1992: 9–14; Bruce Babington and Peter W. Evans, Biblical Epics: Sacred Narrative in the Hollywood Cinema (Manchester: MUP, 1993): 91–168; Roy Kinnard and Tim Davis, Divine Images. A History of Jesus on the Screen (New York: Carol, 1992); Georg Langenhorst, Jesus ging nach Hollywood. Die Wiederentdeckung Jesu in Literatur und Film der Gegenwart (Düsseldorf: Patmos, 1998); Reinhold Zwick, Evangelienrezeption im Jesusfilm: Ein Beitrag zur intermedialen Wirkungsgeschichte des neuen Testaments, Studien zur Theologie und Praxis der Seelsorge 25 (Würzburg: Echter 1997).
[2] E. g. Rhonda Burnette-Bletsch, The Bible in Motion. A Handbook of the Bible and its Reception in Film, Handbooks of the Bible and its Reception 2 (Berlin: de Gruyter, 2016); Peter Hasenberg et al. (eds.), Spuren des Religiösen im Film: Meilensteine aus 100 Jahren Kinogeschichte (Mainz: Grünewald, 1995); Alexander Juraske, “Bibliographie Antike und Film,” Anzeiger für die Altertumswissenschaft 59 (2006): 129–178, and “Nachtrag zur Bibliographie Antike und Film,” Anzeiger für die Altertumswissenschaft 60 (2007) 129–146; Gary A. Smith, Epic Films: Casts, Credits and Commentary on Over 350 Historical Spectacle Movies, 2nd ed. (Jefferson: McFarland, 2009); Herbert Verreth: De Oudheid in Film—Filmographie: https://bib.kuleuven.be/artes/films-in-de-oudheid/oudheid-in-film-filmografie-2014.pdf (accessed: July 30th, 2023).
[3] On parodies of classical epic films see Martin Lindner, “Alte Witze: Parodien und der Wandel des Antikfilms,” in Annette Dorgerloh et al. (eds.), Vom Handlungsraum zum Filmbild: Szenographie der Antiken im Film, Scenographica 4 (Ilmtal-Weinstraße: VDG, 2020): 88–104. On how to categorize and analyze Jesus films set outside antiquity—such as Jésus de Montréal or Dogville (the latter not discussed in McDonough)—see Theodore Ziolkowski, Fictional Transfigurations of Christ (Princeton: PUP, 1972).
[4] For the technical and methodological problems see Martin Lindner, Rom und seine Kaiser im Historienfilm (Frankfurt am Main: Verlag Antike, 2007): 22–27.
[5] See above n. 1.
[6] Potentially relevant for the subject might have been: Jens Herzer, Pontius Pilatus: Henker und Heiliger, Biblische Gestalten 32 (Leipzig: EVG, 2020); Lisa Maurice, Screening Divinity, Screening Antiquity (Edinburgh: EUP, 2019); Joanna Paul, Film and the Classical Epic Tradition, Classical Presences (Oxford: OUP, 2013); Richard Walsh and Jeffrey L. Staley, Jesus, the Gospels, and Cinematic Imagination: Introducing Jesus Movies, Christ Films, and the Messiah in Motion (London: Bloomsbury, 2022).