reviewed by John Murphy
The First Noel
The Nativity Story begins with the melancholy strains of “O Come, O Come, Emmanuel” and proceeds quickly to the Massacre of the Innocents. Not exactly the Hallmark version of Christmas one might have expected. Catherine Hardwicke, director of the hard-hitting teen drama, Thirteen, immediately establishes a tone of tasteful realism in the opening sequences that nods to The Passion of the Christ’s more brutal treatment of Biblical material.
The story of Christ’s birth—from the angel’s annunciation to the humble manger—is so familiar by now that it would seem to defy surprise in a retelling. And, for the most part, that is true of the Nativity Story, directed by Hardwicke’s in a style so restrained as to border on soporific. Yet it is essential to the film’s success that it stays faithful to it source and does not attempt any revisionist variations on the events. In this film, angels are angels, Mary is the Blessed Virgin, and Christ is the Son of God. That may not seem like so much to ask, but our current culture’s poisonous atmosphere of cynicism, skepticism and materialism offers no guarantee that even a religious film will portray religion in a positive light.
What emerges from The Nativity Story that is refreshing, even surprising, is a truly engaging love story. Above all, this film is about a pair of newlyweds trying to make their way in the world with only each other and a merciful God for support. They endure trial and hardship on the long road to Bethlehem: hunger, exhaustion, snakes, and the lingering threat of Herod and the Roman army. The film charts their growing respect and love for each other as they face the travails of the journey and the prospect of raising the son of God. By focusing on their relationship so intimately, the film builds to an unexpected power in its closing chapters.
The marriage between Mary and Joseph, according to the custom of the time, was arranged, and “love,” as modern viewers understand the term, was not initially part of the equation. The movie takes pains to accurately depict the customs and day-to-day life of ancient Nazareth—the heat and dust of the village is palpable. (Hardwicke put her multicultural cast through a rigorous “boot camp” of sorts, where they learned how to stomp grapes, milk goats, make cheese, and other two millennia old skills). By grounding the story in a neo-realist style of filmmaking, Hardwicke makes the mystical realities of Christ’s conception and birth a thing of earthbound reality also.
Hardwicke’s naturalism carries over into the performances (except for the buffoonish Three Wise Men and a surly Ciaran Hinds as Herod). The real discovery here is Oscar Isaac as Joseph. Joseph is a somewhat enigmatic figure in the Gospels; he tends to be overshadowed by the drama of Mary’s Immaculate Conception. A persistent art history trope is to portray him as much older than Mary, conveniently sidelining the question of sexuality and/or temptation in his relationship to his wife, the Mother of God. I think it’s much more interesting to consider Joseph as he is portrayed in this film: young, healthy, normal, good, and understandably cowed by the prospect of being father to the son of God. Isaac has a wonderfully expressive face, telegraphing the transition from fear to courage to love as the story progresses. Joseph is three-dimensional in this film—Isaac brings dignity and conviction to a part that requires a delicate balance of quiet heroism and realistic trepidation. It is not easy to make such a good man compelling, but Isaac discovers depths to Joseph that are often unplumbed by filmmakers. When he admits to Mary, “I fear I will have nothing to teach Him,” his worry is at once humble, touching, and deeply human.
Joseph emerges in The Nativity Story as an equal partner to Mary, the Blessed Virgin. He is a man of integrity who stands by Mary, believes in her, and carries out the duties of husband and father with a mature sense of commitment. He earns her love and respect by acting as both friend and protector on the road to Bethlehem. In a film that occasionally feels strained, the scenes between Joseph and Mary have a refreshing, natural quality that properly suggests a meeting of two profoundly pure souls. What an engaging love story. When so many “relationships” in movies these days are based on one glamorous person’s physical attraction to the personal glamour of another person (more a genetic obligation, it would seem, than anything approaching love), a love story built on trust, mutual respect, fidelity, and (gasp!) chastity seems almost radical.
Keisha Castle-Hughes (herself a young mother-to-be, though I’m not counting on the Second Coming) is an authentically young Mary, and seems preternaturally self-possessed in taking on such an intimidating role. She plays Mary as free of sin, yes, but also as a young woman and expectant mother made of flesh-and-blood. She plays a character, not a symbol. Though her understated performance registers sometimes as more vacancy than virtue, her luminescent screen presence radiates devotion to God through self-giving commitment in her role as wife and mother. Castle-Hughes invests the part with appropriate humanity, holiness, and a will-of-steel that is quiet but indomitable. The King of Kings, born in a manger, is shown to have two worthy parents in this film.
The scenes between Mary and Joseph are the best in the film, and cast into relief the relative shallowness of the subplots. The scenes with the three Magi, meant I suppose to offer comic relief, instead fall flat, courtesy of some predictable one-liners and episodic TV-style bantering. Ciaran Hinds as Herod, though a fine actor, makes little of a ham-fisted, moustache-twirling characterization. Essentially, any scenes that don’t include Mary, Joseph, or both, suffer by their absence.
The production is for the most part professional—the sets design is handsome, the music good, and the photography attractive. Some of the special effects border on the kitsch school of Bible filmmaking from the 1950s, and the angel that appears to Mary and Joseph sports a predictable lily-white robe and glowing nimbus (though at least he looks Israeli, not like some cow-eyed blonde-haired, blue-eyed specter). Hardwicke’s visual style can be pedestrian, only occasionally offering the kind of cinematic lyricism the beautiful story would allow (and which Franco Zeffirelli captured in his gorgeously photographed made-for-TV epic, Jesus of Nazareth). The film runs a tad long, as well, with more than its share of shots of people tramping across vast, deserty landscapes.
What certain scenes lack in artistry, however, the whole film makes up for in its touching sincerity. The Passion of the Christ is often cited in relation to this film, but the only influence I can discern is a desire for authenticity and faithfulness to the source material. The Nativity Story is a family movie, first and foremost; accessible in its approach and quietly committed to honoring the true myth that inspired it. It makes no bones about being a mainstream, middle-of-the-road movie. It won’t break box-office records, win any Academy Awards, or earn Hardwicke indie credibility. Yet The Nativity Story treats the story of the title with the respect it deserves, and earns a rightful place next to perennial Christmas favorites, if only as a reminder of what the season is truly meant to celebrate. It suggests a positive direction in religious filmmaking towards well-acted, professionally produced, and historically authentic (at least as much as Hollywood is ever capable of being authentic) films that express a very real and deeply-felt Christian faith. It is a moving film, and a creditable first chapter of the Greatest Story Ever Told.