Making a song and dance about the nativity

A pedigree musical producer’s passion project casts a Hollywood prince in the role of Holy Land rock star regent. Krish Kandiah reviews the results.

Krish Kandiah

Krish is a social entrepreneur partnering across civil society, faith communities, government and philanthropy. He founded The Sanctuary Foundation.

An angry monarch in a red breastplate and crown seethes towards the camera.

Antonio Banderas as King Herod.

It’s a teen drama. It’s a musical. It’s a classic good vs evil conflict. It’s a comedy. It’s a film. It’s a Christmas movie.

All six are rolled into one in the brilliant film, recently released, called Journey to Bethlehem.

Faith Palomo and Milo Mannheim star as teenagers Mary and Joseph, whose worlds collide with a turn of events that don’t at all match the plans they had for life and love and relationships.

In comes Lecrae, the American rapper, playing the Angel Gabriel – an unexpected visitor with some unexpected news given in a most unexpected way.

Meanwhile King Herod, played as a rock star regent by Antonio Banderas, can’t sleep. He is plagued by nightmares, and his biggest nightmare is about to come true when he receives news that his throne is under threat.

Three Persian Kings, a prince, a donkey, a star and a baby are about to make matters a whole lot worse for him – but better for everyone else. Unless, that is, King Herod’s soldiers can get to Bethlehem first.

In the middle of a global refugee crisis we are reminded that Mary and Joseph and the baby Jesus have to pack all their belongings and flee Israel and head to the safety of Egypt.

The ancient storyline is pitch perfect for a musical makeover and who better to produce it than the director behind Glee, High School Musical 3, and Camp Rock and who has written songs for Miley Cyrus, The Back Street Boys and The Jonas Brothers and Pink. Adam Anders is a lifelong committed Christian and has been planning this movie with his wife for 17 years, hoping that they could make it a hit with people of all faiths and none.

Having watched the movie, I am pretty sure he has been successful. This week I hosted a special online schools’ event with Adam Anders, inspiring thousands of children across the UK to explore their musical gifts. He explained to them why he made the film:

“There are so many amazing movies that are colourful celebration musicals for the whole family at Christmas, but they don’t tell the story of Christmas. Santa is not why we celebrate Christmas. We got to make this family movie that everyone is going to love with great music, song and dance. I have children and I made it for them.”

The film doesn’t hold back from looking at some of the tough issues: in the middle of a global refugee crisis we are reminded that Mary and Joseph and the baby Jesus have to pack all their belongings and flee Israel and head to the safety of Egypt. We are drawn into the challenges of being brought up in a patriarchal society and the societal expectations on young Mary to get married whatever her own ambitions and hopes might have been. We meet a megalomaniac dictator willing to kill children in order to have his way.
But at the heart of the film is the love story, “Mary and Joseph are the original Romeo and Juliet.” says Anders. “And that makes for a brilliant story with opportunities for some brilliant songs.”

I wholeheartedly recommend “Journey to Bethlehem”. You’ll laugh. You’ll cry. You’ll jump. You’ll gasp. You’ll wonder. You’ll want to watch it over and over.

Review

Books

Culture

Ethics

Film & TV

8 November 2024

4 min read

Small Things Like These: putting the spotlight on backstage goodness

What it means for a film to be good.

Kevin Hargaden

Kevin is a social theologian studying ethics and economics.

The gaunt face of a dishevelled man stares into the distance

A ‘stellar’ Cillian Murphy plays Bill Furlong.

Lionsgate.

Small Things Like These is a novella by the Irish writer Claire Keegan. Published in 2021, it compresses a remarkable story into 128 pages. Acclaimed widely by critics and readers, it follows Bill Furlong, a fuel merchant living in the small County Wexford town of New Ross in 1986, as Christmas approaches. While delivering coal to the local convent, Bill makes an alarming discovery. Memories of his childhood begin to press in on him and he finds himself in an existential crisis.

Like her previous (very short) work, Foster, Small Things Like These is an understated book with a searing moral clarity. And just as Foster was adapted for the screen – in the astonishing Irish-language film The Quiet Girl – a movie version of Small Things Like These is now likely showing at a cinema near you.

The movie is built around a stellar performance from Cillian Murphy. It would be criminal if his name is not featured among the shortlists when awards season comes round. Many of the film’s most arresting scenes feature close-ups of his face as Bill wrestles with the implications of his discovery and the phantoms of his past. The effect is that the film serves as an almost literal portrait of what it means to be a decent person.

The story begins with Bill making a delivery to the convent. He sees a mother drop off her screaming daughter to the back door, where she is met and manhandled inside by a nun. The teenager protests passionately, but to no avail. The viewer understands that this girl has “fallen pregnant”, to use the Hiberno-English idiom that was so common in the twentieth century. She has been dispatched by her family to this institution to serve out the months of pregnancy and to remove any shame or taint from their reputation. Bill watches as the girl shouts out for her father, who is entirely absent.

And, after a tense interaction with an aggressive nun, he goes home to his five girls and his wife, clearly shaken.

A few days later, unable to sleep, haunted by memories of his own childhood being raised by a single mother, with an absent father, relying on the kindness of a wealthy local landowner, he begins his deliveries before dawn. As he deposits peat briquettes in the coal shed of the convent, he discovers a teenaged girl abandoned in the corner of the tiny, filthy room. She is in deep distress and Bill responds instinctively, wrapping his coat around her shoulders and bringing her inside to the convent.

While the existence of Magdalene Laundries and Mother and Baby Homes were not a secret in twentieth century Ireland, the exact details of their operations were not widely understood. With these two encounters, so close together, and his own personal biography as the son of a woman who was subject to exactly the same marginalising dynamics, Bill can no longer be satisfied to turn a blind eye to the oppression and alienation endured by those sent for reformation.

It evokes the ways in which all such systems of oppression are socially constructed and maintained. Otherwise, good people learn to look the other way.

The film gathers momentum as Bill is forced to confront the way his mother had been treated for “falling pregnant” and the reality experienced by girls the same age as his daughters who were in a similar situation. In the midst of his existential angst, he finds little solace in the no-nonsense pragmatism of his wife who reminds him “there are things you have to ignore” to get on in life. He is taken aside by his local publican, a woman who has similarly scrabbled up from humble origins to establish a thriving business and cautioned to not make trouble for the nuns since “their fingers are in every pie in the town”.

I will refrain from fully revealing every detail of the film’s plot. But this element of the screenplay – where Claire Keegan along with Enda Walsh – draw out the sense in which the oppressive ecclesial institutions were enabled and even sanctioned by the wider population is exceptionally well done. The film does not pull any punches on the evils that were committed in the name of churches in Ireland. Indeed, if anything, the presentation of the nuns veers too far towards caricatures of pure malevolence. But with surgical precision, it evokes the ways in which all such systems of oppression are socially constructed and maintained. Otherwise, good people learn to look the other way.

And that is the lasting significance of this film. Toni Morrison has spoken about how it can seem harder to write about goodness than evil. “Evil has a blockbuster audience; goodness lurks backstage.” In Small Things Like This, Claire Keegan introduces us to a hardworking small business owner who treats his staff well, a loving father who seeks to care for his wife, a man who lives down a back street of a provincial town in an overlooked part of a small island on the periphery of Europe. And in this very definitively backstage context, he is presented as heroic in his pursuit of the Good.

We all fancy ourselves to be the one person who would stand up and oppose systems of oppression if we ever found ourselves enmeshed in them. Cillian Murphy’s depiction of Bill Furlong whispers to us that we likely are enmeshed in just that way and are choosing not to notice. Small Things Like These is a heavy film that somehow liberates. It reminds us that there is, within each of us, this appetite for seeing the Good and bring brave enough to do it. It is worth your time far more than any competing blockbuster.