THE BOOK OF CLARENCE - Mark Reviews Movies

The Book of Clarence, TriStar Pictures

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Review by Mark Dujsik | January 11, 2024

Writer/director Jeymes Samuel's The Book of Clarence is a strangely uncertain concoction. Part satire of Biblical epics and part straight-faced dissection of faith, the movie skirts far too many lines to possess any clear sense of purpose.

For example, it wants to nudge and mock notions such as religious fervor and the way organized Christianity has—let's say—adapted history to suit the views of certain people and the world. Samuel, though, can't take those ideas too far, because to do so would be to raise questions and a line of thought that are counter to the movie's ultimate message. The movie constantly undercuts itself, in terms of its humor, its themes, and whatever point it actually wants to make.

At first, it's pretty much a comedy, revolving around the eponymous Clarence (LaKeith Stanfield), a hustler living in Jerusalem in 33 A.D. He's introduced in the middle of a chariot race, with his best friend Elijah (RJ Cyler) serving as his co-pilot, against Mary Magdalene (Teyana Taylor) through the streets of the city. Samuel pulls inspiration from assorted Biblical and sword-and-sandal epics of the past here, in a sequence involving gladiators, and in many other plot points, as well as the way the story is divided into three chapters, introduced as bold stone text against a cleanly colored proscenium.

Initially, it's in order to have some fun with the old-fashioned genre, with Clarence finding himself in debt to local crime boss Jedediah the Terrible (Eric Kofi-Abrefa), realizing his schemes and selling a certain kind of weed aren't going to cover it, fearing he'll never impress the woman he loves (played by Anna Diop), and feeling like a nobody compared to others. That's especially true of his twin brother Thomas (also played by Stanfield), who has become one of the 12 apostles of a man from Nazareth whom many believe to be the prophesized Messiah.

Clarence's first plan is to become the 13th apostle, despite the fact that he doesn't believe this Jesus character is the real deal and doesn't even believe in the divine power this man claims as his father. There are inspired scenes of comedy that arise from this setup, such as when Clarence visits Jesus' mother Mary (Alfre Woodard) to get the inside scoop of how her son performs his tricks. A man who holds knowledge and rational thinking above any tenet of faith, Clarence starts picking apart Mary's story, leading to a couple slaps and Mary's very funny introduction to her meeting with an angel: "I was just minding my virgin business."

Another bit of business, which becomes a belated hook for the plot, has Clarence attempting to become another Messiah, since he images Jesus and the apostles must pulling in coins from believers. The plan gives Omar Sy's rescued-gladiator Barabbas perhaps the funniest line when his outrage overcomes his belief in not denigrating people with epithets.

Such moments are few and far between, though, because Samuel clearly has restricted himself and the comedy with one major choice. Clarence exists, not as the voice of reason amongst zealots or within some world of fantasy and Hollywood mythmaking, but as a man who needs to undergo some religious transformation (Stanfield, who's usually so dynamic in playing subdued characters, just seems bored in the role—technically, both of his roles). The movie's Jesus, initially kept in shadow but later revealed to be played by Nicholas Pinnock, is as real as his miracles are, and once the story crosses that threshold, it's not as if it can return to the playful blasphemy the material has teased.

Apart from a couple of jokes (like Micheal Ward's Judas trying to play off being revealed as a traitor at a particular supper and a clever but convoluted explanation for how Jesus' "traditional" appearance came to be), the remainder of the material is played with utter, faithful sincerity. Simply put, it doesn't work, because the movie's tone until that point has been so cheeky, while its aims remain loose (arguably too much so, considering how long it takes for the main gimmick of Clarence's deception to arrive). With a set goal in front of it, the material begins to take itself seriously, and as soon as it does so, we're able to determine why so much of the humor feels so neutered in hindsight.

The whole thing is torn between two purposes—between wanting to be a subversive take on religion and ultimately needing to be a genuine tale of faith. The Book of Clarence never figures out how to balance those competing ideas, and the result is a messy contradiction of a movie.

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