Around the midpoint of writer/director Jeymes Samuel's The Book of Clarence, there's a sinuous, sensual dance scene in the first-century Judean equivalent of a nightclub, set to the Jones Girls' disco hit "Nights Over Egypt." It's emblematic of the stylistic innovation that Samuel can bring to the depiction of biblical times, especially in an impressionistic moment devoid of dialogue. The rest of The Book of Clarence isn't nearly as effective, with an awkward mix of satire and spirituality that doesn't quite succeed on either front.
The title font recalls classic Hollywood biblical epics, and the movie opens with chariot race that deliberately evokes Ben-Hur, but The Book of Clarence takes itself much less seriously than those bombastic vintage parables. Set in Jerusalem just before the crucifixion of Jesus Christ, the movie stars LaKeith Stanfield as Clarence, a small-time criminal who finds himself heavily in debt to a local gangster known as Jedediah the Terrible (Eric Kofi-Abrefa). Clarence is a dedicated atheist, but he sees how the supposed messiah Jesus (Nicholas Pinnock) commands attention and respect, and he figures that if he can join Jesus' entourage, Jedediah might cut him some slack.
Samuel freely mixes modern slang, stoner humor and Blaxploitation pastiche into his biblical story, casting Black actors as the residents of Jerusalem and white actors as the occupying Romans, who act more like modern American police officers. The result is a movie that is alternately goofy and reverential, with frequent, jarring shifts in tone. Clarence is a snarky skeptic of Jesus' so-called miracles, and when his own twin brother, Thomas (also played by Stanfield), one of Jesus' apostles, refuses to vouch for him, he decides to set up his own messiah racket.
The section of the movie that deals with Clarence's con-artistry, easily fooling local residents into believing that he is just as holy as Jesus, is its most playful and rewarding, and the closest that Samuel gets to religious parodies like Monty Python's Life of Brian. Even at its most comedic, though, The Book of Clarence remains devout, and while Clarence may question Jesus' claims to godhood, Samuel never does. Like the Roman tribune protagonist of 1953's CinemaScope extravaganza The Robe, Clarence is a non-believer who will eventually see the light, becoming a more effective proselytizer in the process.
Yet The Book of Clarence is nothing like a typical faith-based film, and Samuel allows his characters to blaspheme freely. While that could be a refreshing approach to a religious story, it just muddles the focus, rendering the satire toothless while making the message of faith seem disingenuous. Like Samuel's debut film, 2021's revisionist Western The Harder They Fall, The Book of Clarence brings a Black perspective to a historically white-dominated old-fashioned film genre, but it lacks that prior film's unified vision and narrative momentum.
Stanfield makes Clarence so laid-back that it's hard to understand his motivations, either to take down Jesus or later to follow him. The cast includes memorable if brief appearances from Alfre Woodard, David Oyelowo and James McAvoy, but the romance between Clarence and Jedediah's sister Varinia (Anna Diop) is underwhelming, as is the bond between Clarence and his loyal friend Elijah (RJ Cyler).
It's hard to blame Samuel for being overly ambitious, and if The Book of Clarence is a mess, at least it's always a bold, risk-taking mess. No one else would make a movie like this, although that may be because there's no effective way to simultaneously parody and pay homage to such a staid, stilted style of filmmaking. It's a minor miracle that anything in The Book of Clarence works at all.
THE BOOK OF CLARENCE
