Papa Don't Preach
In The Nativity Story, Mary makes up her mind:
she's keeping her baby.
BY GREGORY
As the world’s foremost Bible scholar and theologian, I hereby bestow upon thee my views of The Nativity Story…
(Erm…no.)
Finally! A movie arrives to illustrate exactly Who Let The God Out!
(Oh…better not.)
Indeed, there’s something about Mary.
(Hey, that’ll work.)
Indeed, there’s something about Mary. In Catherine Hardwicke’s self-described epic-intimate The Nativity Story,
audiences around the world may contemplate the conception, arrival and especially family of Jesus Christ -- pretty much
sans graphic horrors or abrasive dogma. I, for one, appreciate this. The film walks a very conscientious line in offending
essentially nobody (except perhaps those averse to burlap and beards), but if the know-it-all critic pauses to consider that
perhaps taking cinematic risks was never the goal here, one emerges with the feeling of a story well told, about a brave
young woman joined by a brave young man to undertake a dangerous and undeniably controversial venture.
Our Mary here, of course, is the star of Whale Rider (my top film of 2003), Keisha Castle-Hughes -- a girl whose aura
quite exceeds her age, and I’ll leave further discussion of her recent real-life revelation to the gossip columnists.
Onscreen, as with her dewy Maori wannabe chieftain, Castle-Hughes carries a rough-hewn grace, a realness that feels
very little like acting, which serves her well in a film about humility and sacrifice.
Hardwicke, meanwhile, takes a stylistic quantum leap beyond her previous work, transforming the sturdy if perhaps not
stunning screenplay by Mike Rich into visual poetry. I enjoyed the excesses and sadness of Hardwicke’s thirteen and
thought that her underrated and apparently misunderstood Lords of Dogtown was a bold and exuberant film in its own
right (for me to get excited over skate-rats is saying something; sorry I didn’t rave it up; it was a terrible year). With her
fine production design background and delicate yet passionate portraiture well established, she suddenly swaps milieux
from SoCal flops to Nazareth farmhouses and gets all antiquated with her art. I think I saw her around recently, eating
cheap Chinese food, and now I rather wish I had said hello, as she’s becoming one of my favourite directors.
Now, before we get into it, zealots of any stripe would do well to note -- regardless of whatever explicit or covert
damage their particular god commands them to visit upon those who possess the audacity to disagree with them -- that
this is primarily a review of a movie, not a faith. Thank you.
I say this mainly because this movie is not perfect, and its Angel Gabriel cracked me right the hell up. Although clearly
CG work was included in the film’s budget (the backgrounds of Jerusalem are Minas Tirith-impressive), poor Gabriel
(Alexander Siddig) basically just shows up once in a while like some hippie who got lost en route to the pot party, but
who happens to have a spotlight permanently affixed behind his head. Apparently beams of celestial energy were right out
-- a case of a good actor not being properly augmented for his role, alas.
While I’m at it, I’d like to note that the fine cast of this movie mostly have names which are kind of difficult to say, such
as Ciaran Hinds (mad King Herod), Alessandro Giuggioli (his dullard son), Nadim Sawalha and Eriq Abouaney
(respectively, the kvetchiest and funkiest of the Magi), Hiam Abbass (Mary’s compassionate mother), and especially
Shohreh Aghdashloo (Zechariah’s vintage, prego wife), whom I wouldn’t try to say aloud even on a dare. They’re all
quite good, though, and I’d like to take a moment to applaud casting directors Priscilla John and Mindy Marin (who is
awesome).
Structurally, the tale is well conceived (ahem). We open with a nice quote from Jeremiah (you know: “a righteous
Branch, a King who will reign wisely”: See Bobby, sigh) then we flirt with the madness of King Herod, as he attempts to
wipe out “the sons of Bethlehem” and stews over the notion of a guy who will be “for the lowest of men to the highest
of Kings.” One thing you may notice is that as the movie rolls along, Herod’s beard and hair become more conspicuously
styled and prettily curled the angrier he gets. Character development. Weird…but character development.
We then arc back a year in time, to a holy temple wherein the priest Zechariah (the excellent Stanley Townshend) is
stunned by an oracle-like vision (my friend leaned over and whispered, “The Great Oz!”) wherein he is told that his
aforementioned aged spouse is about to bear some womb-fruit. So it goes. I would like to mention that he stands in front
of a splendid diagonal shaft of light as he receives the news. Nice.
Off we go then to the humble farming village of Nazareth, where Mary (Castle-Hughes) is established, whilst with her
giddy girlfriends gleefully distributing seeds (symbolism!), via somebody semi-reprimandingly calling out her name. That
somebody is her mother, Anna (Abbass, also really terrific), who, with Mary’s father, Joaquim (Shaun Toub, great at
looking worried), has decided that their child is ready for marriage -- to (natch) Joseph (Oscar Isaac, a fine choice), the
local construction labourer whose bleached-white smile rivals Mary’s -- if only she’d come around and see his earnest
selflessness and all that. As a brief, telegraphed moment illustrates, Mary's days of pastoral frolicking are over.
Actually, there are a lot of ways a movie like this could go (imagine it in the hands of Ken Russell, then imagine it in the
hands of Sofia Coppola), but Hardwicke, via Rich, takes a frank, human approach to the classic story. There is a scene,
for instance, in which goat’s milk is transformed into cheese, and then Mary’s mother cuts the cheese. (What does it
mean?). But I am sincere about the solid balance of pastoral splendour (the farmers of Nazareth), military terror (the
thundering, merciless tax-collectors of Herod -- who accept children as payment), familial struggles (when Mary returns
from her stay with John-the-Baptist-rearin' Zechariah and Elizabeth with a Bun in her own Oven, the passions of all
concerned are timeless and involving), plus of course the difficult journey to Bethlehem (which, to be frank, sounds like
a series of Peter Gabriel outtakes from his Passion era, set to very pretty desertscapes and occasional splashings-about).
My main complaint, as hinted above, is that the supernatural element is not handled with much supernatural energy (if
any). Angel Gabriel is a dud, and when Mary first discovers herself to be pregnant, the moment is a total non-event! Not
that lightning bolts shooting crotchward were necessary, but a little extra luminance would have been helpful.
Performance-wise, I also feel that the roles of the Magi, the Three Wise Men, could have used some further finessing.
Since the majority of the film is played very straight, they appear here largely as very mild comic relief -- except that the
sense of awe at their majesty and wisdom (not to mention their robes and headdresses) counters the occasional bursts of
mirth. These guys and their myrrh seem stuck between being majestic and being merely cute. I would have amped them
up a bit, for more fun -- but then again, I couldn’t observe a single sombre frame of this movie without the astounding
Life of Brian running concurrently in the back of my mind.
And Mary herself? I think Castle-Hughes has tackled a tough role here, and I am impressed by her (and her agent’s)
ambition. Her face seems to express quite adult emotions (she looks older, say, than Kevin Bacon -- but, like, in a good
way) and her calm commitment to her obligation allows for some great harmonics with the other actors, particularly
Siddig; as she watches him feed his portion of bread to their ass, one feels a genuine sense of love and appreciation at
hand -- or at feet, as she appreciatively washes his. Balancing the base and the beatific is no small feat, and she succeeds.
In terms of design and execution, the film conveys a strange blend of humble elements, as if Hardwicke were combining
a research project on Exactly Who Are Those Little People Underneath The Christmas Tree? with a lot of Renaissance
Faire trappings (Nazareth) and occasional -- and could have used more -- expressionistic flourishes (the pollen wafting,
the desert heat blurring, the Star ultimately bursting through the firmament, the darned lambs never shutting up). There
are some clever touches, too, as Herod (who seems not only a tyrant but a quintessential Boomer) commands his
servants to build for him one pond to spill down into another pond, beside a gold-plated wall -- all for his personal
gratification (or, perhaps, for Hardwicke’s, as her architectural side knows from pond design). The majority of the film,
however, bears the Gladiator-type semi-sepia, semi-desaturated hues which bespeak Classic Earlier Time -- which
works fine (and I really appreciated the director's and DP Elliot Davis’ conspicuous dearth of camera acrobatics; their
project will have a much longer shelf-life with its more straightforward approach).
So is The Nativity Story a project to take seriously, or is it simply the first major cash-in following the 2004 box-office
revelation of the Melstrom? (Even though we already knew and know how both movies end -- and remember, Fox
actually opened a whole new wing to cater to this appetite.) I’d say, simply, again, that this is, on its own humble but
sincere terms, a story well told. As far as myths designed to perpetuate the patriarchy go, this is a good one, and it is
delivered here thoughtfully and with appropriate elegance.
The Nativity Story
Entertainment Value: 9/13
Style: 10/13
Philosophical Insight: 11/13
The Bottom Line: Never Once Attempts to Smoke a Rubber Cigar
-Gregory Weinkauf, 28 November, 2006
In The Nativity Story, Mary makes up her mind:
she's keeping her baby.
BY GREGORY
As the world’s foremost Bible scholar and theologian, I hereby bestow upon thee my views of The Nativity Story…
(Erm…no.)
Finally! A movie arrives to illustrate exactly Who Let The God Out!
(Oh…better not.)
Indeed, there’s something about Mary.
(Hey, that’ll work.)
Indeed, there’s something about Mary. In Catherine Hardwicke’s self-described epic-intimate The Nativity Story,
audiences around the world may contemplate the conception, arrival and especially family of Jesus Christ -- pretty much
sans graphic horrors or abrasive dogma. I, for one, appreciate this. The film walks a very conscientious line in offending
essentially nobody (except perhaps those averse to burlap and beards), but if the know-it-all critic pauses to consider that
perhaps taking cinematic risks was never the goal here, one emerges with the feeling of a story well told, about a brave
young woman joined by a brave young man to undertake a dangerous and undeniably controversial venture.
Our Mary here, of course, is the star of Whale Rider (my top film of 2003), Keisha Castle-Hughes -- a girl whose aura
quite exceeds her age, and I’ll leave further discussion of her recent real-life revelation to the gossip columnists.
Onscreen, as with her dewy Maori wannabe chieftain, Castle-Hughes carries a rough-hewn grace, a realness that feels
very little like acting, which serves her well in a film about humility and sacrifice.
Hardwicke, meanwhile, takes a stylistic quantum leap beyond her previous work, transforming the sturdy if perhaps not
stunning screenplay by Mike Rich into visual poetry. I enjoyed the excesses and sadness of Hardwicke’s thirteen and
thought that her underrated and apparently misunderstood Lords of Dogtown was a bold and exuberant film in its own
right (for me to get excited over skate-rats is saying something; sorry I didn’t rave it up; it was a terrible year). With her
fine production design background and delicate yet passionate portraiture well established, she suddenly swaps milieux
from SoCal flops to Nazareth farmhouses and gets all antiquated with her art. I think I saw her around recently, eating
cheap Chinese food, and now I rather wish I had said hello, as she’s becoming one of my favourite directors.
Now, before we get into it, zealots of any stripe would do well to note -- regardless of whatever explicit or covert
damage their particular god commands them to visit upon those who possess the audacity to disagree with them -- that
this is primarily a review of a movie, not a faith. Thank you.
I say this mainly because this movie is not perfect, and its Angel Gabriel cracked me right the hell up. Although clearly
CG work was included in the film’s budget (the backgrounds of Jerusalem are Minas Tirith-impressive), poor Gabriel
(Alexander Siddig) basically just shows up once in a while like some hippie who got lost en route to the pot party, but
who happens to have a spotlight permanently affixed behind his head. Apparently beams of celestial energy were right out
-- a case of a good actor not being properly augmented for his role, alas.
While I’m at it, I’d like to note that the fine cast of this movie mostly have names which are kind of difficult to say, such
as Ciaran Hinds (mad King Herod), Alessandro Giuggioli (his dullard son), Nadim Sawalha and Eriq Abouaney
(respectively, the kvetchiest and funkiest of the Magi), Hiam Abbass (Mary’s compassionate mother), and especially
Shohreh Aghdashloo (Zechariah’s vintage, prego wife), whom I wouldn’t try to say aloud even on a dare. They’re all
quite good, though, and I’d like to take a moment to applaud casting directors Priscilla John and Mindy Marin (who is
awesome).
Structurally, the tale is well conceived (ahem). We open with a nice quote from Jeremiah (you know: “a righteous
Branch, a King who will reign wisely”: See Bobby, sigh) then we flirt with the madness of King Herod, as he attempts to
wipe out “the sons of Bethlehem” and stews over the notion of a guy who will be “for the lowest of men to the highest
of Kings.” One thing you may notice is that as the movie rolls along, Herod’s beard and hair become more conspicuously
styled and prettily curled the angrier he gets. Character development. Weird…but character development.
We then arc back a year in time, to a holy temple wherein the priest Zechariah (the excellent Stanley Townshend) is
stunned by an oracle-like vision (my friend leaned over and whispered, “The Great Oz!”) wherein he is told that his
aforementioned aged spouse is about to bear some womb-fruit. So it goes. I would like to mention that he stands in front
of a splendid diagonal shaft of light as he receives the news. Nice.
Off we go then to the humble farming village of Nazareth, where Mary (Castle-Hughes) is established, whilst with her
giddy girlfriends gleefully distributing seeds (symbolism!), via somebody semi-reprimandingly calling out her name. That
somebody is her mother, Anna (Abbass, also really terrific), who, with Mary’s father, Joaquim (Shaun Toub, great at
looking worried), has decided that their child is ready for marriage -- to (natch) Joseph (Oscar Isaac, a fine choice), the
local construction labourer whose bleached-white smile rivals Mary’s -- if only she’d come around and see his earnest
selflessness and all that. As a brief, telegraphed moment illustrates, Mary's days of pastoral frolicking are over.
Actually, there are a lot of ways a movie like this could go (imagine it in the hands of Ken Russell, then imagine it in the
hands of Sofia Coppola), but Hardwicke, via Rich, takes a frank, human approach to the classic story. There is a scene,
for instance, in which goat’s milk is transformed into cheese, and then Mary’s mother cuts the cheese. (What does it
mean?). But I am sincere about the solid balance of pastoral splendour (the farmers of Nazareth), military terror (the
thundering, merciless tax-collectors of Herod -- who accept children as payment), familial struggles (when Mary returns
from her stay with John-the-Baptist-rearin' Zechariah and Elizabeth with a Bun in her own Oven, the passions of all
concerned are timeless and involving), plus of course the difficult journey to Bethlehem (which, to be frank, sounds like
a series of Peter Gabriel outtakes from his Passion era, set to very pretty desertscapes and occasional splashings-about).
My main complaint, as hinted above, is that the supernatural element is not handled with much supernatural energy (if
any). Angel Gabriel is a dud, and when Mary first discovers herself to be pregnant, the moment is a total non-event! Not
that lightning bolts shooting crotchward were necessary, but a little extra luminance would have been helpful.
Performance-wise, I also feel that the roles of the Magi, the Three Wise Men, could have used some further finessing.
Since the majority of the film is played very straight, they appear here largely as very mild comic relief -- except that the
sense of awe at their majesty and wisdom (not to mention their robes and headdresses) counters the occasional bursts of
mirth. These guys and their myrrh seem stuck between being majestic and being merely cute. I would have amped them
up a bit, for more fun -- but then again, I couldn’t observe a single sombre frame of this movie without the astounding
Life of Brian running concurrently in the back of my mind.
And Mary herself? I think Castle-Hughes has tackled a tough role here, and I am impressed by her (and her agent’s)
ambition. Her face seems to express quite adult emotions (she looks older, say, than Kevin Bacon -- but, like, in a good
way) and her calm commitment to her obligation allows for some great harmonics with the other actors, particularly
Siddig; as she watches him feed his portion of bread to their ass, one feels a genuine sense of love and appreciation at
hand -- or at feet, as she appreciatively washes his. Balancing the base and the beatific is no small feat, and she succeeds.
In terms of design and execution, the film conveys a strange blend of humble elements, as if Hardwicke were combining
a research project on Exactly Who Are Those Little People Underneath The Christmas Tree? with a lot of Renaissance
Faire trappings (Nazareth) and occasional -- and could have used more -- expressionistic flourishes (the pollen wafting,
the desert heat blurring, the Star ultimately bursting through the firmament, the darned lambs never shutting up). There
are some clever touches, too, as Herod (who seems not only a tyrant but a quintessential Boomer) commands his
servants to build for him one pond to spill down into another pond, beside a gold-plated wall -- all for his personal
gratification (or, perhaps, for Hardwicke’s, as her architectural side knows from pond design). The majority of the film,
however, bears the Gladiator-type semi-sepia, semi-desaturated hues which bespeak Classic Earlier Time -- which
works fine (and I really appreciated the director's and DP Elliot Davis’ conspicuous dearth of camera acrobatics; their
project will have a much longer shelf-life with its more straightforward approach).
So is The Nativity Story a project to take seriously, or is it simply the first major cash-in following the 2004 box-office
revelation of the Melstrom? (Even though we already knew and know how both movies end -- and remember, Fox
actually opened a whole new wing to cater to this appetite.) I’d say, simply, again, that this is, on its own humble but
sincere terms, a story well told. As far as myths designed to perpetuate the patriarchy go, this is a good one, and it is
delivered here thoughtfully and with appropriate elegance.
The Nativity Story
Entertainment Value: 9/13
Style: 10/13
Philosophical Insight: 11/13
The Bottom Line: Never Once Attempts to Smoke a Rubber Cigar
-Gregory Weinkauf, 28 November, 2006
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