The Great Movies III

Judas is the film's other vivid character, played by Harvey Keitel as, in a sense, Christ's manager. He does strategy, issues ultimatums, is the closest friend. One way the story commits sacrilege is by suggesting Judas was doing his duty by betraying Christ. Someone had to. Jesus doesn't have close relationships with any of the other disciples, who he seems to believe will follow along of their own accord. He is closer, I suppose, with Mary Magdalene, but their conversations seem guarded or cryptic. Scorsese's attention is more on Christ's inner struggle than his worldly role.

I am left after the film with the conviction that it is as much about Scorsese as about Christ. In his films, he performs miracles, but for years could be heard to despair that each film would be his last. The Roman Catholic Church was for him like a heavenly father to whom he had a duty, but he did not always fulfill it. These speculations may be wild and unfounded, ideas I am taking to him rather than finding in him, but particularly during Scorsese's earlier years I believe the church played a larger role in his inner life than was generally realized. Talking with me after one of his divorces, he said, "I am living in sin, and I will go to hell because of it." I asked him if he really, truly believed that. "Yes," he said, "I do."

What makes The Last Temptation of Christ one of his great films is not that it is true about Jesus but that it is true about Scorsese. Like countless others, he has found aspects of the Christ story that speak to him. This is the Jesus of his two most autobiographical characters, Charlie in Mean Streets and J. R. in Who's That Knocking at My Door? Both of those characters were played by Keitel. Interesting that he choose Keitel this time to play Judas. Perhaps Judas is Scorsese's autobiographical character in The Last Temptation of Christ. Certainly not the Messiah, but the mortal man walking beside him, worrying about him, lecturing him, wanting him to be better, threatening him, confiding in him, prepared to betray him if he must. Christ is the film, and Judas is the director.

hukichi is a professor, a widower, absorbed in his work. His unmarried daughter, Noriko, runs his household for him. Both are perfectly content with this arrangement until the old man's sister declares that her niece should get married. Noriko is, after all, in her mid-twenties; in Japan in 1949, a single woman that old is approaching the end of her shelf life. His sister warns the professor that after his death Noriko will be left alone in the world; it is his duty to push her out of the nest and find a husband who can support her. The professor reluctantly agrees. When his daughter opposes any idea of marriage, he tells her he is also going to remarry. That is a lie, but he will sacrifice his own comfort for his daughter's future. She marries.

And that, essentially, is what happens on the surface in Yasujiro Ozu's Late Spring (1949). What happens at deeper levels is angry, passionate, and-wrong, we feel, because the father and the daughter are forced to do something neither one of them wants to do, and the result will be resentment and unhappiness. Only the aunt will emerge satisfied, and Noriko's husband, perhaps, although we never see him. "He looks like Gary Cooper, around the mouth, but not the top part," the aunt tells her.

It is typical of Ozu that he never shows us the man Noriko will marry. In his next film, Early Summer (1951), the would-be bride in an arranged marriage sees the groom only in a golfing photo that obscures his face. Ozu is not telling traditional romantic stories. He is intently watching families where the status quo is threatened by an outsider; what matters to the brides is not what they are beginning but what they are ending. The women in both films are named Noriko, and they are both played by Setsuko Hara, a great star who would drop everything to work with Ozu. When the studio asked Ozu to consider a different actress for the second film, he refused to make it without Hara.

In Early Summer, Noriko lives with her brother, his family, and their aged parents. She has no desire to marry-at least, not the golfer. The same actor, Chishu Ryu (1904-93), plays the professor in the first film and the brother in the second; in Ozu's Tokyo Story (1953), he plays the grandfather and Hara is his daughter-in-law. In all three films he looks the correct age for his character; how he did that so convincingly between the ages of fortyfive and forty-nine is beyond my ability to explain.