The Book Of Clarence review: Jeymes Samuel’s film can’t decide if it’s making fun of the Messiah or not

“He’s not the Messiah, he’s a very naughty boy!” It’s impossible to watch The Book of Clarence and not be reminded of Life of Brian, Monty Python’s full frontal assault on the sacred cows of Christianity.

Condemned from the pulpit, banned in Ireland and Italy, denounced on British television, Life of Brian turned the Passion of Jesus into a vaudeville knockabout by slyly transforming the crucifixion into a matter of mistaken identity.

Jeymes Samuel’s film does precisely the same thing, but in the end can’t decide if it’s making fun of the New Testament or singing its praises.

It has its moments though, and is led from the front by LaKeith Stanfield, a fine actor too seldom in the spotlight. He is Clarence, a charming wide boy ducking and diving his way through the streets of Jerusalem.

It’s 33AD, and the occupying Romans are sick and tired of hearing about Jesus, a Galilean prophet who’s amassed a large following and claims to be the son of God.

Clarence is not that keen on him either: his twin brother Thomas is one of the apostles, and Clarence reckons it’s all a load of nonsense.

There is no God, and meanwhile he has more pressing matters, namely an outstanding debt to a local crime boss, Jedediah the Terrible (Eric Kofi Abrefa), who seems intent on living up to his name.

To complicate matters, Clarence is in love with Jedediah’s daughter Varinia (Anna Diop), who’s flattered but doesn’t think he’s a realistic marriage prospect. He certainly won’t be if he’s dead, but after losing his shirt in a chariot race against a dynamic Mary Magdalene (Teyana Taylor), Clarence hits on a daring plan that might solve all his problems.

There’s big money in the messiah business, he reckons, so if he poses as one himself and performs miracles for money, before you know it he’ll have paid off his debts and won the hand of the fair Varinia.

When his best friend Elijah (RJ Cyler) points out that all of this is rather blasphemous, Clarence shrugs: all miracles are magic tricks anyway, so his will be no different.

Clarence has been rebuffed by the disciples, given a hard time in the River Jordan by John the Baptist (David Oyelowo), and is out to teach those smug Christers a lesson. But as his fame and following grows, he draws the unwelcome attention of the Romans, who now begin to wonder if he might not be the real Messiah.

Marianne Jean-Baptiste plays Amina, Clarence’s mother, who watches worrying from the sidelines as her son’s fame grows. Micheal Ward of Top Boy is a sly and watchful Judas Iscariot, and Omar Sy is Barabbas, a burly and slightly unhinged gladiator who becomes Clarence’s devoted minder.

Clarence is troubled by a good conscience, and abruptly decides to spend his ill-gotten gains freeing slaves forced to fight in the arena. Most of all, though, he wants to find out what is so special about Jesus Christ, and goes to visit his parents to find out how he does those magic tricks. Not surprisingly, Mary and Joseph (Alfre Woodard, Brian Bovell) give him short shrift.

It’s no coincidence that Hollywood Romans are usually played by English people, who slip easily into the smug and superior attitudes of the empire builder. But it’s a Scot and an Irishman who must do the heavy lifting here.

James McAvoy is great fun as Pontius Pilate, a sexually ambivalent, eyeliner-wearing dilettante who is highly amused by Clarence’s antics until they threaten his career. And Tom Vaughan-Lawlor is tetchiness itself as Antoninus, a grumpy centurion.

Like Life of Brian, The Book of Clarence pokes fun at the mindlessness of the sheepish follower, but stops short of a two-footed tackle on the Christ.

This is a US film, remember, and no stand-up American is ever going to try and take down Our Lord, whose stock has remained consistently high in the land of the free.

And so, in the end, the film hedges its bets and casts Jesus (Nicholas Pinnock) as the Gary Cooper of the piece, riding in at the last moment to save the day.

​In cinemas from Friday, April 19​

Rating: Three stars

Abigail (16, 109mins)

If blood is your thing, Abigail has buckets of the stuff, but gore-lovers will have to be patient. For a calm and competent opening 40 minutes or so, Tyler Gillett and Matt Bettinelli-Olpin’s film operates as a kidnap thriller, as a group of strangers hired by a Svengali convene to kidnap a sweet 12-year-old girl.

Abigail (the astoundingly talented Alisha Weir), a ballet-obsessed billionaire’s daughter, is abducted from her home by a gang led by Frank (Dan Stevens), a twitchy misanthrope. When they take her, as ordered, to a remote mansion to await the payment of a ransom, everything starts to go wrong.

Gang member Joey (Melissa Barrera) befriends the girl and promises to protect her, but begins to wonder if Abigail is as innocent as she seems when people start dying horribly. Abigail is purest schlock, and its makers would claim to know it: the tone is broadly comic, and Dan Stevens does a fine line in eye-rolling villains.

Does it need the exploding bodies and mounds of corpses thrown in during a hectic finale? Possibly not, and Ms Barrera’s huge, luminous eyes offer the only evidence of soul in this cheerfully nasty horror.

​In cinemas from Friday, April 19

Rating: Three stars

The Sweet East (No Cert, 104mins)

As Trump fans gather outside a Manhattan courthouse threatening to get their guns and start a civil war if their glorious leader is not acquitted, the great Union seems in peril. Sean Price Williams is much of this opinion, and in his debut feature sends a self-absorbed teen across the eastern US on a sort of idiot’s Pilgrim’s Progress.

Lillian (the excellent Talia Ryder) has come to Washington DC from South Carolina on a high school educational trip, but absconds from the group after a gun attack.

After that, Lillian bounces like a pinball between various groups on the fringes of a disintegrating society: a shambolic bunch of anarchists, self-absorbed filmmakers, neo-Nazis, Jihadi terrorists. Most amusing of all is her encounter with Lawrence (Simon Rex), a college professor and far-right sympathiser whom she manipulates with ridiculous ease.

As ignorant as she is self-absorbed, Lillian is an empty vessel, the kind of person who could vote for just about anyone, if she could be bothered. The Sweet East has a ragged charm but is a little too glib to be taken seriously as a political satire.

​In cinemas from Friday, April 19

Rating: Three stars