Sat down the other night to watch the 2021 American drama Mass. I went in expecting it to be an emotionally intense experience, and it certainly was. My wife and I have a healthy film appetite; we probably get through a few a week, and although we see many good movies together, they rarely prompt in me a desire to write, to respond. But this one did.

First for the necessary provisos. I am going to be responding broadly to the film and its various themes; as such expect SPOILERS. My blog is not a film review blog, rather I write broadly around topics of spirituality, psychology, mythology, and the spirit of the age; these interests are reflected in this review (or essay).

The film is for the most part an extended conversation between two couples. Literally four people in a room sitting at a table, that is 95% of this film, apart from the short arrival and departure scenes.

We come to learn that one of the couples (Jay and Gail Perry) are grieving the death of their son, and the other couple (Richard and Linda) are the parents of another boy, the one who killed their son. A murder committed during an orchestrated school shooting, which ended with the perpetrator turning the gun on himself.

It is set six years after the school shooting. What we have here is an organised get together, some kind of healing or closure initiative, in which the two couples explore their grief, their loss, their anger, and their sense of what it all means, what these lives cut short means, for both boys, both destroyed innocence and the self-destruction of a loved perpetrator.

Themes of religion and spirituality are present throughout, hence the name of the movie. ‘Mass’ is the term used by Catholics and Episcopalians alike to refer to communion, or the Eucharist. The ritualistic meal in which, through the breaking of bread and the drinking of wine, the death of Jesus Christ is commemorated. I think in some ways this film can be seen as a theological commentary on the mass. Or on the life and death of Jesus.

The room in which this film is set is a meeting room within a rural Episcopalian Church, and hanging on the wall is a wooden crucifix which Jay (one of the fathers) upon entering makes reference to. Jay is the only character throughout who references Jesus or religion, and although he claims not to be religious, he seems to me also the most religious of the characters, the most preoccupied with spiritual questions. It is a classic conscious/unconscious duality, his conscious mind says no, while his unconscious longs to make deeper/spiritual sense of what has transpired; he longs for real meaning. But where is that meaning to be found?

The film begs a parallel between Jay’s son, the innocent boy, and Jesus himself. For when it comes to Jesus, where does the greater significance lie? Is it in his death or in his life? This is a question that a great deal of ink, and indeed blood, has been spilt over, a two-thousand-year-old debate which is more or less rehashed implicitly in the course of this two-hour conversation.

So, death or life? Theologically speaking there is a continuum that runs the gamut: those at one end who put all the emphasis on Jesus’ death, the ransom paid for sinners. And at the other end, those who put the emphasis on his life, be that on him as a wisdom teacher, or on him as an embodiment of love, or on him as just a really good dude. And then there is every position which populates the vast space between these two poles.

Implicitly, the same question is asked concerning Jay’s son. Early on a reference is made to Jay’s campaigning work, which, though never stated, is clearly a reference to his advocacy efforts to bring about stronger gun legislation. The implication being that if this tragedy results in stronger gun legislation, it will as a result bring greater meaning to his son’s death. At least he died for something. This is what I see as Jay’s religious impulse, an almost knee-jerk reaction to give this death posthumous meaning. What meaning could be greater than a crusade against the perceived evil, in this case guns.

Towards the end, in a particularly emotional scene, the perpetrator’s mother asks for a story to be told about Jay’s son. A story is told about a time when he got very muddy while playing. The perpetrator’s mother then says that this is where the meaning of his life lies. By implication, not in what is done now, not in what could have been done better, but rather in what his life was.

There is a clear trajectory then, one that moves away from seeing Jay’s son’s life solely in terms of his death, towards an appreciation of his life, his life for what it was. This mirrors the theological trajectory of mainline Christianity, and the trajectory of Christianity historically - a shift away from a focus on death, blood, and ransom, towards life, love, and appreciation. And, I would imagine that this also reflects the preferences (or prejudices) of the script writer, which is to say, a belief that a morbid fixation on Jesus’ death in perpetual incessant rote is a defunct form of religiosity that has been superseded by a focus on life, Jesus’ life - or by logical extension, our life. In essence a move towards humanism.

Now, although I am sympathetic to this point of view (it approximates my own), I can’t help but feel some apprehension. I am concerned for what is left behind. I fear the writer is straw-manning the religious impulse, the desire to imbue the death with inherent meaning. Not only that, the narrative is also reinforcing a duality that one can either find meaning in death or life, rather than in some nuanced middle space. One that holds traditional Christianity and humanism in tension. Life and death in tension.

It is not explicitly stated, but let’s take his gun control activism as an example. This is overt political action driven by Jay’s desire to imbue his son’s death with posthumous meaning. In his mind he has been anointed a crusader against the evil of guns given his son’s death. He has become a holy zealot for the cause. But given the shift that takes place in Jay’s perception over the course of the film, from death to life, one cannot help but wonder if his zealotry will endure? It seems unlikely that it would.

This is not to say that in reality it couldn’t, but rather that the duality the film offers is lacking. There is nothing worse than the zealot. Nothing worse than the person who KNOWS they are on the side of good. The film indirectly makes this point very well. It brings to mind the Carl Jung quote, “I don’t aspire to be a good man. I aspire to be a whole man.” I believe in Jay’s case, the whole man is one who eschews the duality, not death or life, but both always.

Finally, it’s worth discussing in brief the mother of the perpetrator, and her own journey towards reconciliation, reconciling herself to her deceased son, the school shooter. Her own process of finding value in his life. If we divorce ourselves from the narrative specifically, and consider this in more abstract terms, she is effectively making what I’ll call the Judas defense. In the Bible Judas betrayed Jesus and indirectly caused his death. Many have asked the question, despite this betrayal above betrayals is there a chance that mercy will find Judas? That Judas will find forgiveness?

Judas was, after all, subjected to the experiences which made him who he was, which in the Christian narrative caused what needed to happen to happen. As the parents of the perpetrator say in the film, “he was in pain… it was the pain that brought him there.” This is in effect an argument with God. You say you are a God of love, well, how far does that love extend? Does your love reach those who have been twisted by the horrors of this world? This is the universalist impulse which I would ascribe to.

In the Christian narrative there is another duality between Jesus and his destroyers, be that Judas, the Pharisees, the Roman establishment, or the fallen world as a whole. This extrapolated abstraction ultimately widens to include everyone, all sinners. We all crucified Jesus. Yet, upon the cross Jesus looks down upon those who have done the deed and says, “Father, forgive them, for they do not know what they are doing.” (Luke 23:34) Indeed, in as far as we participate in this world, none of us know what we are doing, we are all victims and perpetrators alike. We can choose to identify with Jesus in his suffering, but we are all the perpetrators of that suffering. This is all part of that process towards becoming the “whole man”, recognising within ourselves the victim and the perpetrator, the innocent and the guilty, the good and the bad.

Anyway, I think the film is a master stroke. Very impressive, especially given that it is a directorial debut, complete with four very strong career-defining performances.