Christmas becomes visible to us through the crèche, the tableau attributed to Saint Francis of Assisi. Known by the more accessible term belen, the scenario is of a baby laid down on a crib the softness of which could only come from a stack of hay, not necessarily hygienic if we believe the story that the setting was a stable. There are gentle-eyed animals around: a cow, a sheep, a horse and, in many versions, sturdy and handsome shepherds all grounded literally, even if they were the first to witness the birth of this unusual infant. At the rear usually in various postures of worship and obsequies arranged in a nuanced hierarchy are the three magi. We don’t know who is supreme above these elaborately coiffed men. They are kings second and magi first, men of regal wisdom and grand vision. They followed The Star—the star that shone upon the little town of Bethlehem. Completing this wonderful and compellingly charming pictorial narrative is an angel holding aloft, as He Himself stays afloat, the banner Gloria in Excelsis Deo. That Latin term must be one of the most popular sentence in that language known by many, next to “amen”.
In our home, hands-down, the greatest illustrator of the first Christmas was my father, a self-taught artist. I like his depiction always of the Three Wise Men, or Three Kings, separate from the bunch of the first witnesses of the birth of Christ. On a carton from any available empty boxes, my father would conjure the figures of long-ago history of revelation and, further, salvation. In his hands, the Three Kings are recalled as traveling. Then the magic of my father’s art would show them looking up to the sky. One has hands clasped, as if marveling at an apparition; another is looking up wondrously. There is always one with his hand outstretched pointing to The Star. We know that being wise, the three didn’t need anyone to point The Star; they already knew in their hearts that disclosure. The hand stretched is for us, less wise than any of the three magis.
Cinema has done its version of this Christmas. The template provided by the crèche has been there—followed, altered, breached, deconstructed, appropriated and negotiated. Being moving figures, the cinematic story tugs at our heartstrings, or pulls us by its ideologies.
There is a film, The Birth of Jesus, which claims it presents the birth of Jesus in chronological order. Done by a group called The Jesus Film Project, the events leading to the birth of Jesus come in the form of the most popular Marian prayers, from the “Hail Mary” to the “Magnificat”.
Where the crèche envisioned by manufacturers and stores is a warm manger, with thatched roof and walls through which animals put their heads as if looking at the strange infant in the makeshift bed, in The Birth of Jesus the roof of the manger is a web of dry twigs. Sheep amble around disinterested in what has just occurred. Before the Infant Jesus is shown, the angel manifests himself first before dumbfounded shepherds, who then walk to the site. Mary is seen lying down with her infant. As she realizes there are people, she sits and picks up the baby. She shows them to the shepherds and her smile, full of wonder and humility, becomes the most heartbreaking of happiness shown by a mother.
Joseph is shown standing, his face our face, shaded by both doubt and faith.
The Nativity Story is one of the few mainstream films focusing on the birth of Christ. The Passion and Death of Christ appears to be the more preferred story for those who believe in this story from the Bible.
First released in 2006, The Nativity Story takes us back to the turmoil under the reign of Herod and the Romans. The whole nation is waiting for the Messiah. Angels are all over the place in this film. One appears before a man who is told his barren wife will give birth to a son. Another messenger tells Mary, a young virgin, that she will be the mother of the Messiah. The angel talks to the shepherds, too, about the birth of He who is going to save the world.
The story of the birth of Christ in The Nativity Story allows us into that night in the little town of Bethlehem, a night when there is no room at the inn. Mary is about to give birth and, as Mary moans in pain, Joseph runs from inn to inn, knocking and waiting for someone to let them in. One person finally offers a stable situated in a cave, or what is seen as an opening through the side of a rocky hill. It is a distraught place. From afar, the shepherds walk to this place. A tableau or a frieze ends the scene: to the left stand the shepherds, and to the right in a triangular depth are the Three Wise Men, with one kneeling. The shaft of silver light from the star slivers its way through a crevice on the hill and shines upon the babe in the manger.
The actors playing Mary and Joseph come from mainstream backward. Keisha Castle-Hughes, who plays Mary, was at 13 the youngest actress ever nominated for an Oscar Best Actress (for 2002’s Whale Rider). Before becoming Mary, the actress appeared in Star Wars: Episode III.
Oscar Isaac, who plays Joseph, has gone on to star in another Star Wars film, last year’s The Force Awakens. He also was in X-Men: Apocalypse. Franco Zeffirelli’s Jesus of Nazareth doesn’t place the Three Kings during that night in the manger. Zefierelli’s magi find themselves accosting Mary and Joseph. The Three Wise Men don’t only offer their gifts but also tactical advice to escape the wrath of Herod.
Olivia Hussey, eternally young, is an excellent Mary. In the scene of gift offering, the Three Wise Men would steal the scene away from Joseph and Mary, with Donald Pleasance grabbing our attention as he plays King Melchior, his eyes glassy as explains his gift, myrrh, the most precious of herbs and the most bitter. Fernando Rey is King Gaspar, and James Earl-Jones is Balthazar the black king. All these kings represent almost the races that stand for humankind in a metaphorical claim about Christ ruling all nations, a claim that’s hidden and made less invasive because of the joys and festivities of Christmas.