'Cross'-Purposes in Ben-Hur

Despite the tragedy in Connecticut (which, as the father of 5-year-old, I feel no ability to comment upon further), I sat down on Friday to prepare for this post by watching Ben-Hur. As I’ve noted in a previous post, Charlton Heston has proven a particularly difficult figure for me to like as a result of his desperate and bitter advocacy for white, heterosexual, Christian men as well as his unnuanced and extremist promotion of the NRA. And yet I love his films, especially Orson Welles’ Touch of Evil and the SciFi classic The Planet of the Apes. He’s a great actor from a great age of Hollywood cinema.

Though Heston was once a Democrat who supported JFK (and RFK) for President, some of Heston’s iconic films go as a far as to promote a conservative ideology. The parting ofthe Red Sea in The Ten Commandments is most certainly a landmark achievement in film…yet it’s one—yaawwwn—that I can do without. But then there’s my favorite Heston film: Ben-Hur. It’s simply the greatest epic film ever made. Problem is that the epic backdrop is one with which I have a clavicle or two to pick: Ben-Hur’s struggle for freedom in the Roman Empire is set against the story of Jesus Christ. In fact, the film begins with the Nativity and neglects to introduce the title character for more than 20 minutes (for the sake of comparison, by the same point in Diehard, Hans Gruber had already taken over Nakatomi Plaza). The film (and novel upon which it is based) is even subtitled A Tale of the Christ. Hurm. What to do? I don’t really have a problem with Jesus. In fact, I kinda like the dude. Besides, he’s dead anyhow and can’t do any further good nor ill. So it goes. It’s living breathing Christians that frustrate me to no end.

All you war-on-Christmas lamenting, single-issue voting, vaginal ultrasound promoting, ‘traditional’ marriage protecting, children’s crusading, grand inquisitor trusting, sweater vest sporting, generally judgmental people annoy the fuck out of me. I know, I know. Not all Christians are right-wing fundamentalist fascist assholes. But your political avatars sure are, and Rick Santorum makes we want to throw up everything I ever ate in my whole life. What Christian leaders ever advocate voting liberal? I can’t think of any even one though Jesus was, in fact, a hippie born in a barn who preached against materialism and handed out free stuff to poor people...like food and healthcare. But none of that is Christian in a theocratic political rhetoric obsessed with two issues: abortion and gay marriage. And here I thought that Jesus was all about passivism and curing sick people and feeding the hungry, or that’s what they told me in Bible school anyhow. But based on the public discourse of Christianity, I guess I was wrong. It’s kinda made it hard for me to like anything to do with Jesus. And that’s the problem I’m coping with here during this era of the Cold Civil War. Even though I’ll never be a Christian I’d sure like to be okay with the fact that you are.

And yet, despite all of my issues with Christians and Heston and the NRA, I somehow managed to sit down and watch Ben-Hur. After all, ‘tis the season… Sh. Quiet. It’s coming to an end. [continued after the jump]

There’s Judah Ben-Hur taking his sister and mother to Jesus for some free healthcare. He’s hoping the young rabbi’ll cure their leprosy. Too bad. The House of Hur walks in just as the trial is coming to a close and the crowd has already chosen Barabbas over Jesus. Forgive them, for they know not what they do.

Hm. Actually, the message of Ben-Hur (one in concert with that of the Gospels) is really quite nice after all. God came among us as a member of the lowly, poor, disenfranchised rabble. He stood up for the meek, for the least among us. Clearly, Jesus is meant to represent the highest ethical positions an individual can take. Charity. Empathy. Selflessness. Yet, as he gains a following, his growing influence angers the power structure. And that power structure has at its disposal the popular propensity for bloodlust. Judah’s own trials result from his rejection of Roman excess—personified by his turncoat friend Messala—early in the film. So of course, Judah Ben-Hur rejects Roman citizenship as the film comes to an end. Why wouldn’t he? Look at these people. Not only was crucifixion that culture’s preferred method of justice, but these people fed social pariahs to lions and compelled prisoners of war to compete as gladiators…to the death. What a bunch of fucking sociopaths, eh? What ever happened to the discus?

Judah, one of the few reasonable people in the crowd, witnesses the Crucifixion with bewilderment. He just doesn’t understand man’s inhumanity to man. Why? We are meant to identify with Judah’s commonsense angst. That’s the whole point of the Passion, right? To empathize with the victim of a public execution so that we can aspire to ethical high ground staked out by the hero of the Christian mythos? Maybe back then, before the Crucifixion, we would not have known what we do, but as a result of the Christ’s horrific death we are now capable of being responsible, right? We know better, and the persistence of the symbol—trust me, I grew up Catholic—is so that we can never forget. We advance culturally, no? (Unfortunately, the Christian power structure would opt to burn heretics at the stake well into the 18^th century). 

The problem is that has nothing to do with why I loved that movie so much as a kid. In fact, everybody knows what’s so great about the film. It’s not the Christian message: it’s the chariot race. The entire reason the Judah Ben-Hur even has the option to turn down Roman citizenship is that he wins the Roman chariot race that director William Wyler placed at the very center of the film’s narrative. And it is awesome. So bear with me.

You see, when Prince Judah Ben-Hur refuses to inform against Israelite rebel plotters early in the film, Messala makes an example of his friend in order to solidify his own power. Judah is pressed into slavery upon a Roman naval craft, but he rises from this position of slavery, thanks to the patronage of Quintus Arrius, to compete against Messala in the chariot race, the true climax of the film.

The scene begins with the parade of the quadrigas, chariots drawn by four horses, in honor of the new Roman Governor of Judea, Pontius Pilate. Maybe you heard a him. Frank Thring is perfect in the role. Pilate demands items from a valet without deigning to acknowledge the man then cries, “Hail Caesar!” When the crowd reacts with muted enthusiasm, Thring takes the time to scan the crowd with disdain, leaving his Roman salute to hang in the air in a manner eerily reminiscent of the Nazi “Zeig heil!” The whole effect is to heighten our sense of anticipation that is whetted one last time when a quadriga’s jumpy horses commit a false start. But now we’re all settled in again. Pilate drops his kerchief. And the starters lower their banners. And we’re off…

Now Judah’s primary challenge during the nine-lap race is to avoid coming anywhere near Messala’s chariot, whose wheels are equipped with some serious looking blades. Messala can mercilessly whip his horses with impunity as the other charioteers repeatly back off. Despite this precaution, one of the nine charioteers overturns his quadriga on the first turn to the audible delight of the crowd. I guess chariot race fans aren’t all that different from NASCAR fans: they’re here to see some crashes.

          On the second lap the Corinthian charioteer makes the mistake of passing Messala on the outside; of course, Messala simply cuts him off as they approach the turn, driving his blades into the Corinthian’s wheels. His shredded chariot comes out from beneath him and he is dragged along by his quadriga until he loses his grip. He’s all alone on the track as the other charioteers approach at full gallop. He dodges the first chariot, but is brutally trampled by the next. I have shown this scene numerous times in the classroom and this particular sequence never fails to elicit a gasp even from this supposedly desensitized generation. It’s at this point that any audience realizes they are in for an exceptionally violent spectacle. The crowd cheers.

The race is so perilous and grueling that, by the fourth lap, only five of the chariots are still in the race. Judah is in last place, but he begins to make a move here. He has the inside track by lap five, but Messala pins him to the pole as they approach the wreckage from the previous lap. The collision nearly throws him from his chariot, but our hero is somehow able to climb back in, thereby avoiding the Corinthian’s grim fate. A Roman sentry minding the track is not so fortunate and is run down by Judah’s chariot. The crowd cheers.

On the seventh lap, Messala is repeatedly frustrated in his attempts to lodge his chariot’s blades into Judah’s wheels, merely succeeding in grinding away a decorative potion of Judah’s chariot. However, Messala comes up with an ingenious solution on the penultimate lap: he realizes that rather than whipping his own horses, he can simply turn his lash on Judah and promptly begins to thrash his rival.  Somehow Judah is able to catch the whip and wrest it from Messala, but as they tangle their wheels get caught. As Messala’s chariot pulls to the right, his left wheel is ripped from his chariot. Messala is not quickly trampled like the Corinithian; he both hangs on to his own quadriga as the horses from the trailing quadriga gradually take him under. With Messala’s mangled body lying nearly lifeless on the track, Judah can coast to victory.

Now I have watched this scene dozens of times with friends, family, and students, and with unanimity viewers attribute the greatness of this scene to realism: it’s as close as we’ve ever been to anything like a real Roman chariot race. I suppose that this is the triumph of epic film: it brings the epic backdrop to life.

But there is a problem here at the level of meaning, of ideology. If we are ultimately meant to identify with the Messianic sufferer of a violent public execution and reject the know-nothing crowd’s bloodlust, in the film’s most iconic scene were are expected to do the exact opposite: we are meant to identify with the Roman crowd’s passion for violent spectacle, one that maintains an eerie similarity to our own fascination with auto racing. So while the film purports to endorse Hebraic revolutionary culture over Roman imperialism, the crowds that thronged to see the film did so in order to become immersed in that Roman culture. There are countless forgotten films that promote the meaning of the Passion, but the only reason that this film persists in its cultural relevance lies in our enjoyment of Wyler’s mimesis of Roman excess. It’s virtually indisputable. I would go so far as to say that the only purpose of the supposedly Christian theme is to assuage any guilt we might feel for having indulged in pagan bloodlust.

Now, the contradictory nature of Ben-Hur does not make a bad film nor is this feature unique. In fact, the supposed “message” and the basis for enjoyment of American cinema very often exist in contradiction. I could rattle of a dozen examples, but one prime example comes to mind:

At the end of Sam Mendes’ American Beauty (1999), Lester Burnham dies with a smile on his face at the very moment he resolves his mid-life crisis. You see, he had what he wanted all along, and it was just up to him to accept his lot in life, to change his attitude in order to see that he had a beautiful life. Now don’t you feel good? Problem is, that wasn’t why anyone liked that movie. We don’t identify with Lester’s serenity in death; we identify with his angst in life. We want him to blackmail his boss. We admire him for having the courage to drop out, to smoke weed and flip burgers and buy a red sports car, to tell his wife what a bloodsucking, materialistic byatch she’s become. We even understand his lust for his daughter’s friend…and will cut him slack so long as he doesn’t actually consummate the fantasy. It's all very gratifying and provides the enjoyment for watching and rewatching the film.

A morally ambiguous Wayne stands haunted by his empty batsuit.

You see, we are a divided and contradictory nation, an irrational people, an irrational species. And it seems that the only films that remain both intelligent and consistent explore questions in place of providing where there really are none. So it's quite fitting that we often do not see the contractions written into single artifacts from our mass culture.  What else would you expect from a nation that subjects its citizens to virtual strip searches because someone almost set off a shoe bomb in a plane but cannot—and likely will never—do anything about mentally disturbed people committing mass murder with guns? I want to believe that this does not make us an inherently bad people, but just a people that knows not what we do….