*1/2

Directed by Mel Gibson

Starring: Jim Caviezel, Maia Morgenstern, Rosalinda Celentano

Entertainment or recruitment tool? Mel Gibson’s The Passion of the Christ wants to be both but doesn’t know how. Somewhat unexpectedly, his painstaking re-creation of the crucifixion of Jesus, based on four Gospels of the Bible – Matthew, Mark, Luke and John – has morphed into a major cultural event, with pundits from all walks of life jabbering on about its religious significance and alleged anti-Semitism. Not having read the book on which Gibson and co-writer Benedict Fitzgerald based their script, I can’t say how accurate the adaptation is, or if it is indeed anti-Semitic, since I’m not Jewish. But I can say it probably will be of interest only to social historians and the hardcore “devout” (as well as the curious, of course). Those with a disdain for organized religion, and a spiritual belief system that lies outside the boundaries of Biblical scripture, will surely find it, as I did, a punishing, unnecessarily brutal experience.

The late Paulist priest Father Ellwood Kieser produced religious-themed TV shows of a gentle nature that celebrated man’s endless search for spiritual fulfillment. Gibson clearly doesn’t think restraint or softness has a place in his telling of the last 12 hours of Jesus’ life; he wants us to feel the full weight of Jesus’ victimization and ultimate sacrifice – every punch, every lash of the whip, even the Nightmare on Elm Street-style spray of blood that signals his demise. The violence begins almost immediately, as Jesus (a soulful Jim Caviezel, who underwent his own kind of physical hell in the role) is arrested by the Jewish High Priest Caiphas (Mattia Sbragia) and put on trial for “casting out devils with the help of demons” and being the “leader of a large and dangerous sect.” From then on he is shackled, beaten, spit on, ridiculed and ever-so-slowly tortured. There are precious few flashbacks to give us a sense of the man he is, the miracles he is said to perform, and why his followers see him as the Messiah – a major omission. Mostly it is a series of horrifyingly realistic, obsessively-detailed scenes depicting Jesus’ severe punishment, including a prolonged flogging (with two kinds of instruments) and the dislocation of his shoulder by a soldier so he can fit better on the cross. (This is Gibson’s toned-down version?) How can we feel enlightened when we’re constantly averting our eyes in disgust?

Gibson spent $25 million of his own money to realize The Passion of the Christ, so there’s no denying his sincerity or devotion to the film’s subject matter. He does a serviceable job behind the camera – the acting and production values are uniformly good, with Caleb Deschanel’s photography a standout – and it will no doubt be the highlight of his directing career (not necessarily a good thing). But he got carried far, far away in realizing his dream project, turning it from a story of hope and redemption into a repugnant splatter-fest that leaves you numb and anxious. “Love one another,” Jesus sighs as his death looms near. Where, I wonder, was Gibson’s message of brotherhood during all the years he was ridiculing gay people? (Playing citywide)

BOMB

Directed by Guy Ferland

Starring: Diego Luna, Romola Garai, Sela Ward

Dirty Dancing: Havana Nights is the funniest movie I’ve seen all year. Unfortunately, it’s not meant to be a comedy.

Nobody is outright calling it a sequel (only a “re-imagining”), but when you put the words “dirty dancing” in the title, one has certain expectations. The 1987 original, starring Patrick Swayze and a pre-nose - job Jennifer Grey, was on the formulaic side, but it had its virtues (Swayze was sizzling, as was the dancing, dirty and otherwise) and became a monster sleeper hit. I doubt that the unintentionally hilarious (at least in spots) Havana Nights will inspire anyone to do anything but go to the nearest bar and down a stiff drink.

Based on co-producer/choreographer JoAnn Jansen’s true-life experiences, this “next chapter of the Dirty Dancing legacy,” written by Boaz Yakin and Victoria Arch, is set in a pre-Castro Cuba (“Land of Romance,” according to the filmmakers), where the Millers have relocated because of dad’s new job. Blonde, virginal 18-year-old Katey (Romola Garai, from I Keep the Castle) is less drawn to the snotty country club types she meets than the darkly mysterious Javier (Diego Luna of Y Tu Mama Tambien), a waiter by day and hot-blooded dancer by night. Smitten with one another, they decide to enter a national dance competition that offers a $5,000 cash prize and a trip to the States (Javier’s dream). (Says he after watching her moves: “For an American, you move well.”) Mom (Sela Ward), a former ballroom dancer who gave up her own dancing career to raise a family, doesn’t approve, but headstrong Katey goes ahead with her plan anyway. Enough clichés for you?

All this triteness would be somewhat bearable if the dancing (or music) was first-rate, but it’s nothing memorable, even with Patrick Swayze all-too-briefly on hand as a dance instructor. (Why accept a role if you’re not going to flaunt your assets?) Aside from the often silly dialogue (of the gooey “I’m so glad we could share this moment together” variety), director Guy Ferland (who hails from TV) makes the fatal mistake of interrupting Katey and Javier’s climactic number, something you should never do when you’re building up to a big finish. Trust me, you won’t have “the time of your life” at Dirty Dancing: Havana Nights. (Playing citywide)