Home life
Fundamental error
Alice Thomas Ellis
I'm glad our editor didn't like The Last Temptation of Christ. That is, I'm sorry he had to spend a boring few hours, for that is never pleasant, but I'm glad we're in accord. I'm also glad he appreciated Lenny the Lion, who is undoubtedly the funniest character in the whole thing. I fell asleep several times and wanted very much to go home, but my friend the ex-monk insisted that fair play called upon us to sit it out. As a result I disliked the film even more out of sheer resentment at its length.
The third son went to see it with Beryl the following night, fell asleep, woke him- self up by snoring too loudly and left to go and have his dinner. I have often noticed that the young are more resolute than my own generation when it comes to the question of polite endurance. Then I saw Martin Scorsese on television saying some- thing so flatulently fatuous that I stopped listening out of sheer annoyance. It was to the effect that mankind has concentrated too greatly on the spiritual side of Christ and neglected to appreciate His humanity, whereas I cannot remember the last time I heard a churchman speaking at length on the numinous aspects of Our Lord.
I find it ironic that the fundamentalists should have been so vociferous in their protests, since fundamentalism is characte- rised by a clod-hopping literalness and so is the motivation behind this film. It goes something as follows — Jesus was a man: I am a man: I spend most of my time thinking about sex: ergo, Jesus spent most of his time thinking about sex. It is as daft as thinking 'I have a verruca: Jesus must have had a verruca' or 'I am frightened of spiders: I bet Jesus was absolutely terrified of the things'. The silly fellow who wrote the book was clearly a Manichee, for the film is preceded by some lines about his lifelong battle between the flesh and the spirit. The point is that the two should, by the grace of God, co-exist comfortably, not scrap it out in a struggle to the death; and if Jesus didn't get it right then there's very little hope for the rest of us.
Does nobody remember any more that the love of God transcends sex as the sun transcends a bonfire? Yes, I know some people do, but they're keeping remarkably quiet about it. It isn't fashionable. This is a pity, for there is nothing in the world quite as interesting as the experiences of the saints. People's sexual problems pall on one. There is a banality about them: a claustrophobic circularity, and no light at the end of the tunnel — if you'll pardon the expression. Still, most of the work of the saints was done in obscurity, not on film, and we can only hope there are some of them out there still engaged in the con- tinuing task of redemption.
I read recently that a member of the American 'rapture' cult has prophesied that the world will end this week, and the elect, living and dead, will be whisked off to Heaven, while the rest of us will be left here with the Antichrist to contend with, possibly condemned to watch the Last Temptation until the millennium comes about. I see myself in Marks and Spencer's with the sky rent overhead and one or two of my fellow shoppers disappearing through the roof, while there is mild disturbance in the local cemetery. The literal view is a form of insanity. God's ways are too subtle for us to comprehend. The glass is dark and there is very little use in our trying to project images on to it. We just have to wait until we are permitted to see, and many of us would be well advised to keep our mouths shut in the meantime. I'm going to myself in future. I can discuss politics with equanimity, but potty ideas about `Gand' drive me mad.
Previous page
