Review: Written and directed by KD Sandhu (also featuring him as the antagonist Rolex), opens with a covert operation in Kashmir. A courageous soldier, Jaideep (Udhay Bir Sandhu), is gravely injured and left blind as the mission turns out to be a trap. He finds solace in a happy life with his fiancée, Jennifer (Farha Khan), who harbours a secret from her past. When her history resurfaces, it leads to tragic consequences, forcing Jaideep to confront his enemies despite his blindness.

While the premise holds promise, the film’s execution falls short. The narrative struggles with diluted storytelling and relies on gimmicky effects, failing to deliver an engaging experience. It attempts to maintain tension, particularly through action sequences between Jennifer and Rolex’s aide Sophia (Akanksha Shandil), but quickly loses momentum. The second half feels drawn out as Rolex and Sophia relentlessly torment Jaideep for the location of diamonds stolen from a terrorist syndicate. The connection between this and the Kashmir trap that cost Jaideep his career and vision remains inadequately explained.

The film’s central idea—a blind soldier trapped in his home with ruthless criminals, each trying to outwit the other—had potential. The script introduces mind games, with Jaideep attempting to manipulate Sophia against Rolex, but weak character development, exaggerated dialogues, and uninspired treatment dilute the impact. The eventual discovery of the diamonds feels farfetched.

Performances are largely unremarkable. Udhay Bir Sandhu, Farha Khan, KD Sandhu, and Akanksha Shandil are passable, with the two leading ladies executing action scenes effectively. Featuring York, Armenia, and other locales, Siddharth Akki Baiju, Arjun Kathuria, Pravesh Kumar, and Gautam B handle cinematography well, but Ujjwal Roy Chaudhary’s music fails to leave a lasting impression, as songs also pop up randomly.

Blindsided had a promising idea lost to flawed execution, making it a forgettable watch.

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.

Toward the end of his 2023 HBO comedy special From Bleak to Dark, Marc Maron tells the audience a high-wire joke he’s been working on since his partner, the director Lynn Shelton, died in 2020 from a rare blood disease.

It starts with Maron on the way to the hospital to say goodbye to Shelton after a doctor arranges for the comedian to see her body. When Maron gets there, he takes his time saying goodbye. As he’s walking out of the ICU, he stops to consider a thought: “Selfie?” he asks himself. “No,” he finally decides. Most of the audience laughs immediately, but a few gasp before succumbing to their chuckles. It’s the kind of blunt and slightly scandalous humor Maron has built his career on, but it’s also textured with something rare for the comedian: a tender emotional awareness. 

There are scenes of Maron workshopping this joke in Are We Good?, a new documentary about the comedian that premiered at SXSW. The film, directed by Steven Feinartz, chronicles the years in Maron’s life succeeding Shelton’s death. It follows the comedian as he returns to stand-up and uses his craft to navigate this painful experience. Unlike most recent celebrity docs, Are We Good, which is still seeking distribution, is a little more than a hagiographic tribute. It’s an introspective portrait of how grief forces Maron, who spent a career metabolizing his feelings into cantankerous jokes, to finally confront his emotions.

While anyone navigating loss can identify with parts of the comedian’s journey, Are We Good? seems best suited for those familiar with Maron. The film complements the HBO special, offering a kind of behind-the-scenes look at the efforts that brought Maron in front of that audience at New York City’s Town Hall. 

Feinartz, who also directed From Bleak to Dark, takes an unfussy approach to shaping Are We Good?. He uses home videos, recent footage of Maron living his life or testing new routines, as well as interviews with friends and colleagues like John Mulaney and Michaela Watkins, to tell the comedian’s story. The director occasionally indulges in some aesthetic flourishes — animation by Michael Lloyd, for example — but he mostly sticks to a spare style. This approach gives the doc a scrappiness that not only reflects Maron’s disposition, but also captures grief’s wayward turns. 

The doc opens with a brief overview of Shelton’s relationship to Maron and her unexpected death. Feinartz relies on the comedian’s own telling of the romance, but he also pulls in clips from Maron’s show. They encountered each other in the 2010s and Maron invited the director onto his show, WTF With Marc Maron, in 2015. Excerpts from that episode capture the beginnings of their friendship. Shelton was married at the time and Maron was in another relationship, but the two artists stayed in touch. Shelton directed a couple of Maron’s specials as well as episodes of GLOW. She even cast Maron in her 2019 comedy Sword of Trust, which premiered at Sundance. When they finally got together, their relationship seemed as much an intellectual match as a romantic one. 

“I was better in Lynn Shelton’s gaze,” Maron says at one point in Are We Good? Her death broke his heart and upended his world. Not only did the comedian lose his best friend, but he also couldn’t grieve her with his community. Shelton passed during the early days of the COVID lockdown. Maron frequently jokes about feeling like an exhibition when his neighbors, making an effort he appreciated, tried to comfort him from six feet away.

It’s no wonder Maron made use of Instagram Live. The comic started using the app’s feature while Shelton was alive (you can hear and see her in the background of some videos), but her death changed his approach. The livestreams, many of which Feinartz includes in the doc, became a way for Maron to connect with others and process his feelings. 

In fact, Maron used almost everything in his life to confront this loss. The Instagram videos, his stand-up routines once he got back on stage, his podcast and even his relationship with his two cats all became avenues through which the comedian processed grief. The experience, though a universal one, felt singular and overwhelming, and Maron needed to talk about it. At first the conversations and jokes were a bit stilted — awkward even — but he eventually got more comfortable, loosening up and letting the emotions wash over him like a wave. 

Are We Good? traces the evolution of Maron as a person and artist trying to make space for loss in his life. The process unearths other repressed emotions, especially about his early years. Feinartz uses Maron’s biography — the emotionally absent father, the youthful years in Albuquerque, his early interest in comedy and his substance abuse — as a lens through which to understand his present pain. This framing lets Feinartz cover most of Maron’s life and early career, but it’s by no means comprehensive. 

As with many of us, Maron’s emotional issues can be traced back to childhood. The comedian talks a lot about his dad’s emotional inaccessibility. In one telling anecdote, Maron remembers how he was often tasked by his mother with telling a joke whenever his father was in a mood. “You’re the only one who can make him laugh,” she would say. 

When Barry Maron appears in the doc, Maron reveals that his father has dementia. The condition complicates their relationship as Maron spends more time with a person he hasn’t really forgiven. The senior Maron is also more to the political right than his son, and sometimes the junior Maron references his father’s conspiratorial thinking. Here’s where I wish Feinartz had dug a bit deeper. It seems like Maron’s relationship with his father, changing so much in the face of the latter’s disease, has added another layer to his grief. But the doc doesn’t dwell. Instead, Feinartz splits his attention between this painful thread and one concerning Maron’s career ambitions.

When HBO taps the comedian for a special, it boosts Maron’s confidence. His excitement is palpable. He’s been a working comic for decades and hasn’t always felt as recognized as his peers. The special makes him feel like he’s arrived, and it becomes a place where his emotional and artistic lives meet honestly.