A Journal of Humor and Verbal Anarchy

 
the passion of the Ez

Last night Ezra had a visit from the ghost of Victor Mature.

For those who don't know, Victor was the Grade B actor with the mature lips who played the Roman centurion in the 1950's blockbuster film, The Robe. Victor's real name was probably Vittorini Machiastti but his agent didin't think that was marquee enough. One look at Vittorini's Charles Atlas build with those fleshy arms and hairy chest, those amazing, babe-bruising labia, his polysaturated locks, well, it was a wrap for Victor Mature.

Victor was wearing a toga. He was a little gray around the temples and that sybaritic 50's B epic face of his had matured to the ripeness a week old grape. Still, Victor was possessed of that certain rococo charm that had propelled him into movie idol status, the heart throb of suburban housewives back in the days before McDonald's when they still packed spam sandwiches and a pickle in their husband's lunch boxes.

Victor wasn't a happy camper. He had snuck into a showing of Mel Gibson's Passion of the Christ. If you're a ghost you don't have to pay full admission. You don't even have to show your license to get a Senior discount. You just show up and take what ever empty seat you want. Victor had sat through the entire movie and he wasn't pleased.

If you recall, Victor played the manly centurion whose path intersected with that of Jesus Christ's. He ended up holding Christ's robe at the crucifixion, an experience that changed his life and allowed him to bond romantically and spiritually with Jean Simmons who played an early Christian babe.

On this particular Saturday night in February, Victor's Italian temper was boiling over like Vesuvius. Back in the 50's, the director hadn't shown all the blood and gore that Mel Gibson chose to portray. The whole crucifixion scene was done very tastefully. In fact, you never once saw Christ. All you saw was the light suffusing Victor's face as he stood there in that forlorn black & white landsape, holding the robe. You knew that it was only a studio spotlight shining on him but you still got the message. Victor was pissed that Gibson had turned the whole thing into a Friday the 13th gorefest. All you needed was to have Judas show up in a hockey mask.

So after Ez got Mr. Mature calmed down with a little cappuchino and few stale biscotti, Ezra decided he needed to weigh in on the controversy surrounding Gibson's film.

Some critics claim that the Passion offends Jews. Others claim that Gibson tampered with the already tenuous historicity of Christ's last days. So, Ezra, without even having seen the movie, has decided to turn the whole controversy on its head. He decided to write his own movie script, the Passion of the Ez, depicting Ezra's psychological and physical abuse at the hands of cruel, vicious nuns from 1st to 5th grades , his narrow escape from moral degradation in the clutches of pediophile priests, his academic crucifixion under the insidious tutelage of Fr. Rushmore, his theology prof in college, a gnomic Irish Jesuit trained to ferret out and crush the first stirrings of intellectual curiousity. In the final scene of Ezra's movie, Ez gets a C in Theology 101 and knows that he will be branded for life, unable to rise to a leadership position in the Knights of Columbus, unable to date ex-nuns, unable to grasp the subtleness of his faith. Left behind. A catechetical mediocrity. Virtually a pagan baby. Doomed to experience existential shame every time he stuck $5.00 in the offering basket passed around during Mass to support the Church's ever-needy legal fund.

Victor Mature appeared to be in better spirits, no pun intended, when he snuck off to resume roaming the backlots of Hollywood. He was even noticed to be chuckling, those meaty lips curled in a satisfied smile. Balance had been restored. Here, he must have thought, was finally an epic story that not only told the gut-wrenching truth but also offended Catholics at the same time.
Comments invited at: ezrakidder@gmail.com - Peace, Ezra at 8:12 AM