This post first appeared on Totally Filmi on April 17, 2020.
Easter weekend in the middle of a pandemic ends up as a bit of a mixed blessing. On the one hand, there are no distractions and stresses; on the other hand, there is time to fill at a time when one is worried about the state of the world.
It was this then, that found me thinking of old comforts, of a time when singing in the church choir and poring over my children’s missal (not to mention the Bible stories in comic book form that found their way into our house via an uncle who was an avid comic collector, which is also how I learned to love both Peanuts – in a newspaper my parents didn’t get – and Prince Valiant – in a newspaper they did) formed a fundamental part of my life. I’d left the Catholic Church behind a long time ago, but there are times when I miss the moments of community and celebration involved in church life and festivals.
It was with this in mind that I turned to the 1973 Malayalam film Jesus. I’d expected a pretty straightforward retelling of the life of Christ, and director P.A. Thomas does, indeed, stick fairly faithfully to all the New Testament highlights: the foretelling of the birth of the son of God, the birth of Christ, the various miracles, the parables, the crucifixion and ascension to heaven — all rolled into a tidy two-hour package.
Jesus changes water into wine at the wedding at Cana. Note the nifty halo and power lines appearing as he performs this miracle.
What I didn’t expect, however, was that the film would be something I’ve dubbed “Christian mythological” – reminding me very much of other mythological film traditions in Indian cinema (in which epic stories of the gods are often given a familiar masala treatment to make them both educational and, at the same time, highly entertaining). Muralidas (who seems to have starred in just this one film, as if playing Christ was the high point and culmination of his acting career) gives us a Jesus who is rather stolid and ethereal, striking poses that reminded me of the statue my parents kept on a dresser, Christ with his sacred heart exposed. What I didn’t expect, however, was the rather lively portrayals of the court of Herod (with its Western dancers shaking a lot of tata). Nor was I prepared for item-style numbers from Jayalalitha (as Salome) and Ushakumari (as Mary Magdalene). The cherry on top was Gemini Ganesan as John the Baptist, even if his appearance is brief and his head ends up on that silver platter.
“Yahoodiya” (“Judea” with Jayalalitha as Salome singing the praises of the kingdom.)
The film is filled with 70s-style special effects, all very groovy and all highly entertaining, some lovely and entertaining songs, a background score that occasionally pulls themes from elsewhere (like that from the film Lawrence of Arabia) and I found myself utterly engaged by its masala-esque charms. If you are a faithful believer, you’ll likely find the film a comfort; if you’re not, you might still find yourself drawn into the film’s folksy charms.
Contrast this with another film, set in a Syrian Christian community in Kerala’s backwaters, the 2013 film Amen from director Lijo Jose Pellissery. Amen is also a film about faith and miracles, and like Jesus, finds itself strewn with angels both heavenly and earth-bound. It tells the story of Solomon (Fahadh Faasil), who can play clarinet beautifully when he’s serenading Shoshanna (Swathi Reddy) beneath her balcony, but who suffers from performance anxiety when he tries to play with the church’s band (the Geevarghese band, devoted to the saint – George—whose statue adorns the entranceway, and who was supposed to have protected the church from an assault on it by Tipu Sultan). Solomon’s father was the renowned musican Esthappan, who died in a drowning accident, and ever since, the church band has been unable to regain the rolling trophy awarded in band competitions. The parish priest, Father Abraham Ottaplakan (Joy Mathew) wants to disolve the band. A new priest, Father Vincent Vattoli (Indrajith), arrives just as the decision about the band is about to be made. At the same time, Solomon’s marriage to Shoshanna is looking increasingly unlikely to happen. Father Vattoli is a mysterious figure who works in mysterious ways, supporting both the relationship between Solomon and Shoshanna as well as the church band. A bet is made: if the band can finally win the rolling trophy, they won’t be disbanded, and the marriage between Solomon and Shoshanna can take place.
Amen is one of my favourite films, both for its ethereal storytelling (Solomon’s father appears to him as if in a dream, accompanied by angels who make coffee to wake Solomon up), its humour, its gorgeous depiction of the Kerala backwaters, and its terrific music from Prashant Pillai (terrific original compositions, but also pulling musical themes from elsewhere, like “La Vie en Rose” played on a phonograph just before Solomon plays clarinet under Shoshanna’s window, and the “España Cañi” of Pascual Marquina Narro, which was also used in Baz Luhrman’s Strictly Ballroom, and which highlights moments of great tension, like when Shoshanna announces her intention to marry Solomon and a fight breaks out over the family dinner table.)
Amen, like Jesus, invites us to explore the boundaries between faith and and the mysteries of miracles, reminds us that the best of stories give us something to believe in and hang on to when times get tough, and gives us characters who echo our wordly fears and troubles and hopes for something better, whether it’s wine at a wedding celebration, enough loaves and fishes to feed a multitude, or the ability to share our talents with a wider world. And both films, in the end, remind us that God really does work in mysterious ways.
Just ask Father Vattoli.
“From where does this heavenly messenger come?” asks the song. “His words are coated with honey.” Amen.