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A monument to the power of the prose of Matthew. Pasolini adapting the Gospel, as an avowed non-believer and critic of the church, has a startling effect on the viewing experience. His Christ is the frustrating paradox, the complicated mystic, the impassioned sage that he comes across as in the text. This is not an Evangelical trying to show you, in his terms, what Christ is to him. It is Pasolini adapting a text and framing in an explicitly political light.

Why this is so effective, to me, is that it invites the possibilities of that text beyond what we have been taught. When the killing of the firstborns happened in this, I was frankly agape. It was fast, furious - naturalistic and stripped of spectacle. The raw cruelty was all that remained. Dead babies, tossed through the air. Children laying on the roadside with blood gushing from their necks. These are the things that get glossed over, or prettified, yet they are so vital to my own faith. In using this imagery, Pasolini invites a universal conversation about any fascistic force that would kill children in droves. It's inciting, but it never strays from scripture.

This approach is what makes things like the crucifixion scene hurt so much. I'll acknowledge that the crucifixion, as a concept, often brings me to tears anyway, so I've a soft spot. But this particular rendering was nothing short of astonishing in its raw and bare naturalism. Christ's anguished cry to his Father conveys his fury and pain and confusion, and comes at the end of a nasty lead-up in which viewers see him and others be nailed to their crosses. All the while, his mother, disciples, and followers weep as their light, their guide, their inscrutable revolutionary, is made an example of by the state. Pasolini's depiction, too, of Peter's denial and subsequent guilt is among the most effective I've seen.

I'm a big fan of how disorienting this picture is, too, overall. From sermon supercuts to large congregations to hyperviolence to long stretches to quiet, it's an eclectic assortment of styles and approaches that all nevertheless feel uniquely Pasolini's. There's a surrealism to how he shows Christ on the water, eerily silhouetted as he stands atop the tide. Instead of a grand pop-off, it's treated with the ethereal beauty it deserves.

Why The Gospel According To Matthew works so well is that it ultimately is not trying to convert an audience because the director is not converted. The word will resonate with those that it resonates with purely, without interference. Those who have ears will listen. This film trusts those ears, and trusts those who can't accept the word to use the morals to fight injustice. A coup de grace of a film.