Movie Review

George Woodhouse doesn’t like liars. Shame he works with so many of them.

You see, George is an intelligence agent for the British government. A spy. And spies are in the business of keeping secrets—often lying to do so. But a spy’s job isn’t just about keeping secrets. It’s also about discovering them.

George is on the discovery side of spy craft. He’s become something of a legend for his skill in digging up dirty little secrets. He seems to know vices of everyone within his world, be they an intelligence target, a coworker or a family member.

All except Kathryn. She’s a formidable spy in her own right. A master of deception. An adept at espionage.

She also happens to be George’s wife.

Kathryn and George have a happy and committed marriage. They artfully navigate the relational pitfalls that accompany a profession such as theirs. Pitfalls that many of their colleagues have fallen into headlong. (George has the evidence to prove it.)

George adores Kathryn and trusts her implicitly. That’s why when a top-secret government weapon is stolen, and Kathryn is on the list of potential traitors, George hardly gives it a second thought. She wouldn’t betray her country, he thinks. More than that, she wouldn’t betray him. And there are plenty of other suspects.

But as the methodical George scrupulously searches for the truth, all evidence points to Kathryn as the culprit. Everything is called into question. Could his wife be a traitor? If so, does he even know her at all?

“When you can lie about everything,” George’s coworker muses about the effect of their clandestine profession, “how can you tell the truth?”

George Woodhouse doesn’t like liars. Shame he might be married to one.

The unwieldy action rom-com “Novocaine” makes a convincing argument that its lead, Jack Quaid, can do it all: woo the girl, shoot the goon and tickle the audience. The movie itself has a harder time, screwing its three genres together so awkwardly that it tends to limp. Directed by Dan Berk and Robert Olsen from a script by Lars Jacobson, it’s about a San Diego assistant bank manager named Nathan Cane (Quaid) with congenital insensitivity to pain — a rare and real condition in which a person can’t feel cuts, burns, bruises and broken bones. All of the above injuries (and more) happen to Nathan after his workplace crush Sherry (Amber Midthunder) gets kidnapped by bandits. He’s no ass-kicking gym rat; he’s simply willing to take any punishment to get her back.

How seriously should we take this premise? Very, according to the grisly blood splatters, the ham-fisted dramatic score and the panic in Midthunder’s eyes. Also, not seriously at all, gauging from the comic relief that’s haphazardly bolted onto the plot, such as a cop played by Matt Walsh who gripes that San Diego’s gone to seed ever since “the Chargers and the Clippers betrayed us.”

Of the torment Quaid endures, his hardest challenge is straddling the tone. He’s charmingly chipper while being shredded to machaca. “It’s fine!” he insists, as a knife plunges through his hand. “Good to go!” he says, carving a bullet out of his arm with a box cutter. Our vicarious shudders come only from the sound design, which gives a horrific squelch to the shock of a medieval mace slamming into Nathan’s back. (“Why?” Nathan sighs with exasperation, as though he’s merely gotten stuck at a red light.)

The slapstick works, particularly when Quaid does a Chaplin-esque shuffle with an arrow sticking out of his thigh. But what works better is the opening act, a kooky but sincere indie romance that only has a few scenes to convince us that Nathan’s chemistry with Sherry is worth putting himself through a meat grinder. Nathan looks like a typical sad sack — drab apartment, droopy corporate wear, anxious forehead crinkle — with the twist that he’s been raised to be terrified of everything, from scalding himself in the shower to accidentally chewing off his own tongue. (Production designer Kara Lindstrom establishes a life story of injuries by sticking tennis balls onto every sharp corner of his furniture.) At work, this isolated oddball shows empathy to a cash-strapped widower (Lou Beatty Jr.), proof that he at least feels emotional pain. Still, he’s caught completely off-guard when the office cutie scalds him with coffee (no biggie) and then apologetically asks him to lunch (yikes).

Sherry comes on so strong, we want her checked for Hollywood’s chronic disease: manic pixie dreamgirl syndrome. To the script’s credit and Midthunder’s convincing zeal, Sherry has her own motives for making it work, including a need to stick up for the weak. And we have a question we’re hoping she can answer: If Nathan can’t feel pain, how can he feel pleasure? When Sherry prods him to take his first bite of solid food, Quaid does for the cherry pie what his real-life mother Meg Ryan once did for the pastrami sandwich. His eyes flutter in ecstasy. He’s in love.

Even knowing that this ridiculously charming setup will take a sharp veer into blood and guts, the dramatic tonal change still hits us like a kick to the head. Once a trio of robbers (Ray Nicholson, Conrad Kemp and Evan Hengst) barges into Nathan and Sherry’s bank and quickly and coldly murders four people, the movie doesn’t have any more swoon-worthy moments in it other than Nathan defibrillating himself so that he can keep on going. Midthunder’s character gets especially robbed. She may as well be John Wick’s puppy.

Co-directors Berk and Olsen spend the rest of the film trying to make a spiritual sequel to Jason Statham’s “Crank,” the ultimate whackadoo action flick about an assassin who pumps himself up to stay alive (bested only by its sequel, “Crank 2: High Voltage”).
Quaid doesn’t have Statham’s biceps, but for my money, he doesn’t need them. He has the perfect look for this movie. Lean and rumpled in unusual places, he’s half-twerp, half-man. Smartly, the stunt choreography doesn’t position its protagonist as a super fighter. The gasps come not from his skills, but from what he’s willing to do to win: grind glass into his fists, grab a scorching cast-iron skillet without mitts, plunge his right hand into a deep fryer until it blisters like a samosa. There’s an extended squeamish groan when, having seized and fired a boiling gun, it doesn’t occur to him to drop it. Visually, the violence is shot in sickening close-ups. Cartoonish horseplay would have gotten a hardier laugh.

The camera hurls itself into the high jinks, slamming itself back and forth at the same cadence as Nathan’s concussions. But it’s more fun watching him take abuse than dole it out. When this sweetheart goes on the attack, the effect is like watching a bunny with rabies. You’re just thinking someone should take the poor dear to the doctor. (Meanwhile, the directors mistakenly think we’ll enjoy it more in slow-motion.) Even in the moments designed for cheers, like when Nathan destroys a bad guy’s swastika tattoo, you don’t really want that agony on his conscience.

Which is why the best fight scene involves psychological combat. A tied-up Nathan tricks his executioner into giving him extra time to figure out an escape by going full Br’er Rabbit, pretend-begging the killer to get his torture over with fast. “Not the pliers — please, not the pliers,” he pleads. Let me try that myself. Don’t put Quaid in a romantic comedy — please, not a proper romantic comedy.

Verdict: A decent but unexceptional adaptation of the greatest story ever told; while The Last Supper isn’t groundbreaking, it should still satisfy audiences looking for a new cinematic way to meditate on the familiar gospel story this Easter season.

About the Film 

Mel Gibson’s The Passion of the Christ (2004) was a monumental cinematic event. Two decades later, Jesus is thriving in Hollywood. With the mega-hit series The Chosen, Angel Studios’ upcoming animated feature King of Kings, and various other adaptations, there’s a “Jesus movie” for everyone these days. In a now-crowded genre, The Last Supper struggles to distinguish itself in any memorable way beyond simply offering “more Jesus” (not that many Christians are likely to bemoan having “too much Jesus” in their entertainment). The Last Supper offers a decent but unexceptional adaptation of the greatest story ever told; the film isn’t groundbreaking, but it should satisfy audiences looking for a new cinematic way to meditate on the familiar gospel story this Easter season.

Movies about Christ should never get a free pass on quality. Yet in several fundamental ways, they are not really like any other movies. More than offering mere popcorn-munching entertainment, The Last Supper serves a more sacred and worshipful function. (For more on the purpose of the film, you can check out my interview with Chris Tomlin and Michael Scott, CEO of Pure Flix and Pinnacle Peak Pictures).

From a purely cinematic perspective, The Last Supper forgoes many of the pillars of moviemaking (three-act plot, character development, etc.). The film presupposes that the audience already has an emotional attachment to the story and the characters. Despite some end credits title cards offering a gospel pitch, I’m not sure the film really works as an evangelistic experience. Instead, The Last Supper is primarily geared toward audiences who are looking for a fresh perspective on a narrative they know well.

The film tells the story from the point of view of the disciples, not Jesus. Judas Iscariot is present in all gospel retellings, but he has rarely (if ever) been given a central role. The Last Supper juxtaposes Judas with Peter, fleshing out their storylines to demonstrate their parallel (but ultimately diverging) paths. The film attempts to “humanize” the characters and explores Judas as a friend and member of the disciples, not merely as the man destined to betray Jesus.

Most Jesus films focus on the crucifixion and the resurrection, but this one dwells on the Last Supper and explores the religious roots of the Passover feast. For Christians who regularly partake in communion, there is value in meditating on its historical context. At times, the film is a bit clunky in how it handles this exploration, such as when a character explains the function of the blood painted over the door for Passover, exposition clearly included for the audience’s sake since Jewish characters would presumably already know the backstory.

For the most part, the film doesn’t alter the biblical narrative. It simply expands the story around the edges and fills in the gaps. As far as I could tell, most (if not all) of Jesus’ dialogue was taken directly from the Bible (which I appreciated, as I’m uncomfortable with filmmakers attributing their own words to Christ). 

In other areas, the film goes beyond recorded Scripture. The relationship dynamic between Peter and Judas is interesting, but it is original to the film, as is much of the dramatization of Judas being tormented and tempted by Satan. One of the most glaring additions is that rather than having Peter strike a servant with a sword and cut off his ear (John 18:10), a mini battle ensues between the disciples and the soldiers. The scene offers another unfortunate example of filmmakers including unnecessary Hollywood action rather than elevating the compelling dramatic tension already present in the biblical text (see also Netflix’s Mary). 

While not always the focal character, Jesus remains the story’s pivotal figure. Depicting the hypostatic union (Christ as both “fully God” and “fully man”) is cinematically impossible, and adaptations usually emphasize one aspect over the other. In some ways, The Last Supper offers a more reverent—at times, even “distant”—adaptation of Jesus than the more human version portrayed in shows like The Chosen. Though there are moments when Jesus appears surprisingly earthly and vulnerable in ways I didn’t always appreciate. For example, the “cleansing of the temple” (Mark 11:15-18) narrative is depicted more as Jesus losing control and throwing a tantrum rather than as a righteous, purposeful anger.  

While Hollywood mainstays like Star Wars and Marvel are faltering, biblical adaptations are on the rise. A byproduct of faith-based entertainment’s newfound success is that Christian viewers have plenty of options. The Last Supper doesn’t feel like an essential contribution to the genre, but that’s not to say that it is without merit. Familiarity can breed apathy, and there is power in approaching the gospel from subtly difference perspectives. At a time when films like Anora are celebrated as the best Hollywood has to offer, having a little more Jesus sprinkled into our entertainment isn’t a bad thing.    

On the Surface

For Consideration

Beneath The Surface

Engage The Film

Grace and Forgiveness

As an adaptation of the gospel, the film’s themes largely align with those of the biblical narrative itself—Jesus’ love, grace, and salvation. More specifically, the film attempts to unpack the similar experiences of Peter and Judas. Despite having spent years as followers of Jesus, arguably both characters’ most famous deed was denying their Lord. The film depicts both characters under the torment of Satan, who preys on their fear and guilt. Whereas Judas ultimately succumbs, Peter finds forgiveness and is restored.

Another theme the film’s producers specifically highlighted in my interview with them is the importance of the table. As many Christians partake in communion at church, the significance of the table has been somewhat forgotten. But there is power in being reminded that Jesus instituted the ritual while sitting around a table in intimate fellowship with friends. The Last Supper reminds audiences that the ultimate purpose of communion is not just to remember that Jesus died on the cross on our behalf but to dwell on the beautiful truth that he sacrificed himself to bring us back into a deep, loving fellowship with him.