The Return of Jesus

I always knew he'd come back.

Although I never expected him to have assembled the oddest cast in musical theatre history. Alas, I haven't seen the most recent arena spectacular of Jesus Christ Superstar. From the reviews I understand that they've brought it up to date with design references to Guantanamo prison camps and the Occupy movement (or People in Tents, as I like to think of it).

I'm not sure that's such a wise thing. For my money, Jesus Christ Superstar's aim is higher than the politics of the day. It is more abstract, more philosophical.

That's why I've always been a fan of the sparse and spartan 1971 film which strips it down to the story's core. And the more I think about this very odd film of this very odd musical, the more important a musical I think it is. Not important in relation to its place in the history of musicals, although as a rock album musical and the first big Rice-Lloyd-Webber success, that place is not insignificant. Not even in terms of the skill with which it is written, although there is plenty to admire in the score.

No, it is the idea that still amazes me. In fact I have come to the conclusion that the idea at the heart of this musical is greater than even its authors realised. And that's a very curious thing to think.

So here is my very curious review.

The 1971 film of Jesus Christ Superstar is an odd musical. Number one, it is a film musical with a rock score and rock musicals are a minority of the genre. Rock music tends to be dramatic in the noisy-flashy-golly-goshy sense of the word and rather less use when it comes to the old-fashioned plot-and-character sense. Number two, the film was shot entirely on location in Israel rather than on a sound stage. The dusty-white sands and Mediterranean skies give the film a distinctly distinctive look. Number three, it is the only film musical with a Pharisaic High Priest dressed in jeans and a square metal breastplate resembling Darth Vader’s control panel with an inflated dustbin liner for a hat. Odd for the Son of God should have been the strapline.

Despite being cheaply made and roughly cut, this odd film manages to get to the heart of its material. And bin liners aside, what on earth is Jesus Christ Superstar all about? Well, as Sir Tim Rice or Lord Lloyd Webber might say if asked why they support the government: the clue’s in the title. It is the story of the Passion understood through the idea of celebrity. It’s an idea that could easily have been turned into a campy bit of fluff: I’m the Messiah, Get Me Out Of Here!. But the two young authors, ambitious and pre-ennobled, had the temerity to take the idea seriously. In doing so they married the most important story in our history to the most important idea of the twentieth century; not celebrity as such, but the idea of the Self (it’s a big idea, hence the capital). 

This idea of the Self recurs throughout the show. Mary Magdalene turns her muddled feelings for Jesus into a very twentieth-century psychobabbly self-examination: 

“I’ve been changed, yes really changed 

In these past few days when I’ve seen myself 

I seem like someone else” 

The gentle tune gives way to a more urgent, unsettled middle section climaxing with an abrupt out-of-key C major chord: 

“I never thought I’d come to this 

What’s it all about?” 

What indeed, Alfie? Well, it’s mainly about her. Jesus discomfits her sense of self. 

This discomfiture is a reaction to Jesus’ own turmoil over his conflicting identities: the public teacher and the private man lost in a divine delusion. This public/private conflict is neatly captured in the triumphant entry to Jerusalem. The crowds sing the truth without even knowing it: 

“Hey, JC, JC Won’t you die for me?” 

On the surface it’s a palm-waving fanfare but underneath the harmonies are restlessly shifting all over the place. The camera freezes on the word ‘die’ and momentarily captures Jesus’ expression of fear. It’s a simple but effective technique. In public Jesus acknowledges the crowds; in private he knows that the mob will turn. Judas knows too. Ironically it is the great betrayer who sees clearly what others can’t. And it drives him mad. Although, to be fair, he’s pretty screwy from the outset. His introductory song, “Heaven on their Minds”, is full of jittery guitar riffs, synchopations and cynical lyrics. All of which contrasts with the cosy and comfortable hymn of the other disciples in “The Last Supper”. More importantly it is through Judas that we, the audience, first understand the conflict within Jesus. 

These two selves, the public and the private, are a familiar part of the modern celebrity landscape. They reflect the different identities in all of us, how we appear to others and who we really are. In the old days celebrities would maintain a distance between their public and private lives. Nowadays they conflate the two. We’ve become used to the idea that we have to go behind the public image to get to the Real Person (more capitals, another big idea). 

And this is where Jesus Christ Superstar goes beyond most musicals, indeed most modern stories. Jesus first destroys the public image by going ape at the Temple traders in what must be one of the few examples of genuine rock recitative. 

“My temple should be a house of prayer 

But you have made it a den of thieves 

Get out! Get ooooooout!"   

That’s fine. Destroy your popular public image. But then, incomprehensibly to everyone around him, the ultimate Superstar must kill the Real Person too: “To conquer death, you only have to die, you only have to die”.   

In a day and age when stories so often celebrate the self-realisation of the individual, this is shocking. In a culture of self-help, me-time, and a because-you’re-worth-it celebration of the self, it is anathema. The climactic sequence of the film sees the ghost of Judas pouring out his incomprehension, mockery and scorn, intercut with Jesus carrying the cross of his own crucifixion: 

“Jesus Christ Superstar 

Do you think you’re what they say you are?” 

He speaks for us all. It is the perfect anthem for a century of the Self.