Art has been one of the greatest avenues for expressing the fundamental theological realities of Catholic doctrine since the apostolic age. The nature of Christ’s incarnation has sparked the imagination of artists throughout the centuries, resulting in some of the most renowned works of the civilized world, from da Vinci’s “Last Supper” to Caravaggio’s “The Calling of St. Matthew”. In his letter to Artists, Pope John Paul II expounds upon this notion, stating that
In becoming man, the Son of God has introduced into human history all the evangelical wealth of the true and the good, and with this he has also unveiled a new dimension of beauty, of which the Gospel message is filled to the brim. Sacred Scripture has thus become a sort of “immense vocabulary” (Paul Claudel) and “iconographic atlas” (Marc Chagall), from which both Christian culture and art have drawn.
Perhaps the crowning achievement of them all is Michelangelo’s Sistine Chapel which articulates the dogmas of the faith and salvation history in a profound and vivid way, captivating believer and nonbeliever alike for centuries. The story of how this remarkable set of frescos came to be is evocatively recounted in Carol Reed’s 1965 film, The Agony and the Ecstasy, the subject of today’s post. Adapted from Iriving Stone’s 1961 novel of the same name, The Agony and the Ecstasy was a late career foray in making a historical epic for renowned British director Sir Carol Reed. Known for his noirs and wartime thrillers, the most notable being The Third Man (see entry #25), Reed deftly adapts Stone’s novel into an elegant and engaging cosmopolitan spectacle shot in vivid 70 mm widescreen film with all the might of Hollywood budget behind the production. Outside of Tarkovsky’s Andrei Rublev, there is perhaps no better film in exploring the experience of the Christian artist.
The film is packed with apparent contrasts and paradoxes, beginning with the very title itself and continuing through the struggle of warrior pope and peaceful artist. The dynamism of these contrasts propel the narrative forward as Pope Julius II, played with ferocity by Rex Harrison and Michelangelo, brought to life with Charlton Heston’s familiar rawness, clash constantly throughout. Julius II, by office the spiritual leader of the christian world, embraces the temporal realm and seeks to establish the reign of Christ the King on earth through might of arms. This dichotomy is no more apparent than in the opening scene, where we see Pope Julius as a heavily armored knight cutting a trail of destruction into a conquered city, only to don a cope and impart an apostolic blessing upon his victorious army. Michelangelo’s paradox follows his introduction as the world renowned sculpture who’s coerced into embracing a new artistic medium. It is a contrast most apparent between the cold, partially formed stone in the prologue to the vivacious frescoes bursting with fiery pigment in the end. In a way, the film explores the conflict and resolution of these many seeming disparities.
The very notion of the diametric emotions in the title, “agony” and “ecstasy”, call to mind vividly the experience of the artist. The creative act always entails a bit of both suffering and joy. A dark night of the soul where the artist pushes himself to his limits and feels that he has nothing more to give precedes the deep jubilation of beholding one’s work in completed splendor. Reed and Heston are able to bring this alive onscreen in a most compelling manner. Nothing illustrates this sense of agony better than in the scene where Michelangelo, having spent night after frigid, sleepless night painting alone in the dizzying heights of the scaffolding with paint dripping into his eyes and blurring his vision, comes down to a group of cardinals ridiculing his work and calling it blasphemous. “Obscenity! In the sight of God! In the House of His Glory! Obscenity! Shameful!” they cry. This suffering is only exacerbated by Michelangelo’s continual clash with Pope Julius, each bringing their own strong opinions to bear on how the enterprise is to be completed. Why would one suffer so much for the sake of this artistic endeavor? Therein lies the core question which this film seeks to answer. The creative act is ultimately an act of love. These apparent opposites, agony and ecstasy are none other than an expression of this act. In a poignant scene where Michelangelo lies in his drafty hovel, broken and spent from his backbreaking labor, Contessina de' Medici, the daughter of Michelangelo’s old friend asks, “We always come back to that (love), don't we, Michelangelo? … Love takes us in strange ways. It's the language of the blood. It's neither cold nor indifferent. It's either agony or ecstasy, sometimes both at once.”
The film not only seeks to illuminate the artistic and creative experience, fraught with its apparent contradictions, as ultimately an act of love, but it also gives us some of the clearest expositions of Catholic theology that any film has to offer. There are numerous films which provide a treasure trove of profound philosophical and theological themes, but they require a serious inquiry and meditation to flesh out the depth of their insights. Tarkovsky’s Stalker and Terrance Malick’s Tree of Life immediately come to mind. The Agony and the Ecstasy benefits from an explicitly Catholic subject matter and a narrative that is conceptually straightforward. The decisive moment of the film comes in the final scene where pope and artist, standing side by side with hard earned mutual respect, turn their eyes heavenward towards the finished ceiling. After spending the majority of the film’s runtime at odds with one another, warrior and artist, master and servant and ultimately, spiritual father and son have come to be reconciled while gazing upon the completion of this creative act of love. Looking at Michelangelo’s creation of man, Pope Julius turns to him and asks
Is that truly how you see Him, my son?
Yes, Holy Father.
Not angry, not vengeful. But like that, strong, benign, loving. He knows anger too. But the act of creation is an act of love. You have what I need in life, my son... What you have painted there, my son... is not a portrait of God. It's a proof of faith.
Michelangelo’s paintings affirm and illuminate many theological truths. This scene serves to highlight one in particular, namely that the act of God’s creation was an act of love, and that creation was good. Creating beautiful art mirrors this great cosmic act. Anyone who has been in the Sistine Chapel in Rome remembers the awe they felt when they beheld the magnificent ceiling for the first time. Michelangelo’s frescoed ceiling is a masterpiece that has guided the faithful for centuries to turn their eyes to God and meditate upon his truths. The Agony and the Ecstasy, while not near the level of sophistication and profundity of some other notable art films with christian themes, gives the Catholic viewer an approachable dramatization of a significant event in the history of the church. Aided by colorful cinematography, a majestic score and powerful acting, it is well worth the watch.
When will you make an end!?
Adding this one to our family list, thanks Cameron!