You can't fool us, Mel Gibson. We've been around the maypole a few times, and we've seen your films.
You really like naked guys, don't you?
Well, hey, I'm with you on that one. But here's the other horn of the stang: You really like to hurt naked guys, don't you?
Sorry, Mel, you lost me on that one.
"Holy" Week is coming up, and with the prospect of churches in covid lockdown just like everything else, chances are that lots of Christians will be pulling the old Bible-epic CDs off the shelf.
(No gloating here, O pagan reader: when Beltane rolls around, you'll be dusting off The Wicker Man too, along with the rest of us; admit it.)
No doubt many will be watching that 2004 classic of sanctified pornography, The Passion of the Christ.
(Amazing, isn't it, how that second article transforms an otherwise commonplace phrase into sheerest bombast? And if you think the title is bombastic....)
Give it a look-see, if you can stand it: every lash-stroke laid on with love.
(On second thought, don't bother; just take my word for it.)
And the close-up of the hammer driving the spike through Jim Caviezel's outstretched palm: that's Mel's hands doing the ghastly work. Oh, I see the theological point—laid on, as usual, with the subtlety of a sledgehammer—but, ye gods. To your god you're doing this? Gee, Mel, I'd hate to be your boyfriend.
Years ago I used to date a guy whose flatmate was big into BD/SM. The flatmate had an entire wall covered with dozens and dozens of crucifixes.
Crucifixes and sado-masochism: even a poor hapless pagan boy like me could see the connection.
Ye gods, I'd think every time I went past the crucifix-wall, I'll never understand Christians.
Still, you've got to give Mel credit for genre-bending. A snuff movie with a happy ending: who else but Mel Gibson could dream of such a thing?