The Last Supper is too safe and sentimental to be significant

When Mel Gibson’s The Passion of the Christ came out in 2004, the Catholic and Christian reaction blew the doors off theaters. Love it or hate it, the impact that remarkable (though rough) film has had on whatever remains of Christian culture in this country is undeniable. It’s practically a liturgy for some.

This March, another film about the final days of Jesus Christ has been released—whose appearance, to be honest, only emphasizes the effect of Gibson’s movie two decades later. Although The Last Supper is a pious feature about the passion, death, and resurrection of the Son of God with nothing objectionable in it—except that it fails to assert itself with enough distinction to exist on its own merits in the same cinematic universe as Gibson’s epic.

Directed by Mauro Borrelli, shot with care on location in Morocco, and starring a committed cast (though no one famous), The Last Supper focuses on the Passover over the Passion in telling the story of Christ’s redemptive sacrifice for mankind. Though it is a faithful, respectful, and theologically accurate presentation as far as it goes, it just doesn’t go very far. There is, sad to say, a lack of imagination that makes this film fall flat. As a retread of what will immediately be compared to The Passion, The Last Supper doesn’t tread carefully or purposefully enough to assert itself as a fresh vision of the greatest story ever told.

The Last Supper gives us a Messiah played by Jamie Ward that is too straightforward to be thought-provoking. It doesn’t take the risk of Gibson’s quivering Christ in shredded skin. It fails to strike the chord of appeal like Jonathan Roumie’s surfer-bro Messiah in The Chosen. That said, The Last Supper also avoids presenting a heretical Jesus like the one tempted by Mary Magdalene in Scorsese’s blasphemous 1988 drama. Ward’s Jesus is middle-of-the-road: a little too young and a little too boy-bandy, trying to strike a balance between Mel Gibson’s brutality and Dallas Jenkins’ bonhomie, creating a predictable hybrid that is too vanilla to be vivid.

A film about Jesus Christ should strive to be sacred art, that is, a work of art that pertains to things divine and is used in a public or private context for evangelization, contemplation, or education in the Faith. A film can do this if done boldly, as Gibson’s demonstrates. The Last Supper is not nearly as successful because it’s not as meaningful in its treatment of the material. Meaningfulness comes with risk, as all worthy things do. Worthy art is honest and, therefore, dangerous—especially when it comes to depicting the mysteries of faith.

The failure to engage reality seriously and humbly, often results in sentimentalism that is devoid of meaningful engagement. This type of sappiness is unworthy of its subject because it tends to be specious. It is not so much dangerous as it is damaging—and it is this sentimentality that poses a central problem in sacred art today. The Last Supper falls prey to that tepid trend, being too safe and sentimental to be significant. This is not to suggest that The Last Supper is damaging, because it’s not. It may be unoriginal, but it’s not unorthodox. Some may find it enjoyable and edifying. But it is weak, and that’s not a good look for a feature presentation of the highest material in the whole deposit of storytelling.

The best thing the film has going for itself is its treatment of the Gospels’ traitorous characters, namely, Judas, Caiaphas, and Peter. In focusing on the meal and the institution of the Eucharist, The Last Supper latches on to an intriguing thematic opposition between betrayal and breaking bread. And its makers weave in some interesting moments surrounding the motivations of these three torn individuals—the selfish facing the selfless, pitting human pride against divine passion. It’s a little on the nose, however, with devilish manifestations tempting toward the most cowardly of self-betrayal: suicide. Unfortunately, and ironically, the film betrays its artistic integrity even as it dwells on the roles of Our Lord’s betrayers, as it quickly becomes more about the passions of Judas, Peter, and Caiaphas than the passion of Jesus.

Still, this thread of the backstabbers is initially engaging as the story turns about the table in the upper room. Judas is frustrated with Jesus’ refusal to be king; Caiaphas is jealous of Jesus’ popularity; Peter is pragmatically protective of himself in relation to the Christ. These three are given more character exploration and development than other dramatic iterations, and it is interesting enough, but there is not enough to establish the newness that justifies art. Even in this, The Last Supper feels rather uninspired—which is a pity, since it was on to something with the turncoats. Again and again, despite its decent production value and pure intentions, the film devolves into a rather poor imitation of what Gibson did well.

The Last Supper may not be an egregious offense against the Catholic call to produce high artistic representation of the highest artistic material, but it never reaches the height of what Catholics have already been given by Gibson. Even his sequel, The Passion of the Christ: Resurrection, scheduled for release this year, has wild daring in its premise, doubling down on the risk factor and hence the potential art factor. Gibson proposes to present the harrowing of hell and somehow capture the spiritual events that took place between Christ’s death and His resurrection. In his recent interview on the Joe Rogan podcast, Gibson called the project an “acid trip” that will deal with “some crazy stuff.” Now that sounds like something to see. But The Last Supper? Many will take a pass.

It may not be fair to compare The Last Supper so directly with the record-shattering triumph and ongoing legacy of The Passion, but it is a very natural critical inclination. Considering the film on its own merits is certainly possible, but it is nearly impossible to avoid disappointment when the bar has been set so high. And though its shortcomings may cause the film to stumble out of the gates and prevent it from being regarded as a significant piece of religious art, it is good that this story of stories has been given a treatment worthy of its subject matter already, demanding that artists rise to new occasions in taking on this narrative which preeminently deserves and demands retelling. As a retelling alone, The Last Supper may justify its existence—but as art, it struggles to claim that title. It is encouraging to see the desire to create something wholesome and even holy for the big screen, but hard to see it likely burdened with a D.O.A. status.

Catholic culture shepherds people away from harmful art, but not dangerous art. Given our harmful artistic heritage, with the Church completely giving up on patronage of serious sacred artists, and the widespread simplifying and sugaring of the supernatural in an effort to isolate it, the renewal of sacred art faces an uphill battle. The battle must, nevertheless, be faced and fought because when the supernatural is reduced to the saccharine and the simplistic, the supernatural is lost. What remains is meaningless, and the contribution of The Last Supper just isn’t new enough to move the needle.