The Ambiguities of ‘Mary’
Netflix’s new biopic about the mother of Christ fails to offer a clear vision of its subject.
CREATING MOVIES INSPIRED BY the Bible is a high-risk, high-reward endeavor. You know the standout successes: Films like The Prince of Egypt and The Ten Commandments are cultural touchstones that have helped shape the way generations of Americans imagine stories from scripture. But for every biblical epic that made it, there are countless others that flopped.
“For wide is the gate, and broad is the way, that leadeth to destruction” (Matthew 7:13-14), Jesus once said, and the same goes for the road to creative or commercial failure: poor quality, awkward execution, and controversies related to the production have all played a role in tanking Bible films. Wannabe biblical epic Exodus: Gods and Kings, directed by acclaimed filmmaker Ridley Scott and starring Christian Bale, was mocked for the ham-handed ways it tried to update its source material and criticized for casting white actors for almost every role. Martin Scorsese’s The Last Temptation of Christ enjoys much greater critical respect, but it scandalized conservative audiences with its controversial depiction of a romantic and sexual relationship between Jesus and Mary Magdalene. And faith-based films, whether about the Good Book or anything else, often fail simply for maxing out the cringe meter.
So, which path did Netflix’s Mary, a biopic about the life of the mother of Christ released just in time for the holidays, take?
On the execution front, things are in good order: The film boasts commendable production quality and impressive cinematography, and the cast list is full of high-performing lesser-known actors; among them, Noa Cohen and Ido Tako, who play Mary and Joseph, are standouts. But the real scene-stealer is Anthony Hopkins, who shines with crazed intensity as the villainous Herod. He clearly relishes portraying Herod’s descent into murderous madness and chews every scene he is in.
The film’s treatment of its material is its most compelling—and risky—feature. “You may think you know my story. Trust me, you don’t,” Mary asserts as the film begins. Her delivery sets the tone for a deliberate reimagining of the Nativity and the Holy Family, one that may offer surprises even to those most familiar with the traditional story. Some of the film’s bold creative liberties have caught viewers off guard: a provocative confrontation between Mary and a lustful Satan, Mary being threatened with stoning in the wake of being accused of fornication, the dramatic murder of her father Joachim at the hands of Zealots, and a fiery horseback escape from Bethlehem are some of the dramatic set pieces that may give viewers a jolting frisson of excitement and apprehension.
Where did these elements come from? I expect it is Protestant audiences that will be most concerned with that question: While familiar elements from the Gospels of Matthew and Luke provide some of the narrative structure, the film makes unexpectedly heavy use of apocryphal sources.
This reliance on non-canonical material likely owes to the relatively minor role Mary plays in the New Testament. For instance, the Apostle Paul makes only a passing reference to her, describing Jesus as “born of a woman” (Galatians 4:4). In Mark’s Gospel, Mary is mentioned as Jesus’ mother (Mark 6:3) but is also portrayed, along with Jesus’ family, as trying to restrain Him out of concern that He is “out of His mind” (Mark 3:21).
Matthew’s Gospel highlights Mary’s role in fulfilling Isaiah’s prophecy that a virgin would conceive and bear a son named Emmanuel (Matthew 1:22–23), but Joseph, not Mary, is the central figure in Matthew’s nativity narrative (Matthew 1:18–25). By contrast, Luke’s Gospel gives Mary the most prominent role, detailing her encounter with the angel Gabriel (Luke 1:26–38), her visit to Elizabeth (Luke 1:39–45), and the Magnificat (Luke 1:46–55). John’s Gospel does not mention Mary by name, referring to her only as “the mother of Jesus.” But she is present at two key moments in that account: Jesus’ turning water into wine at the wedding in Cana, the first of His signs (John 2:1–11), and the crucifixion, where John mentions her as a witness to her son’s death (John 19:25–27).
Netflix’s Mary goes beyond this slender corpus to draw much of its plot from the Protoevangelium of James (also known as the Infancy Gospel of James), a late-second-century Christian text that provides an elaborate and imaginative expansion of Mary’s life beyond what is given in the biblical narratives. Elements from this apocryphal work—such as the story of Joachim, Mary’s father, wandering in the desert and receiving a visit from the angel Gabriel in response to the barrenness of his wife, Anne—are incorporated into the film, which also depicts the time the young Mary spent in the Temple as a dedicated child servant.
While the Protoevangelium of James was ultimately condemned by Church authorities, it was widely read and has profoundly influenced Christian devotion and liturgy, including the development of Marian feasts and such doctrines as that of the Immaculate Conception. The apocryphal text also significantly shaped theological and cultural depictions of Mary in early Christianity, intertwining her story with broader debates about Jesus’s divine and human natures.
As screenwriter Michael Hayes said in an interview, “One challenge was that they wanted the film to appeal to all denominations and all dogmas.” This makes sense, given the curious diversity of the team behind the movie: More than two dozen individuals served as executive producers for the film, including Joel Osteen, the famous prosperity gospel pastor and televangelist, while Adam W. Schindler, chief digital officer at the Trump-aligned America First Policy Institute (AFPI), is credited as one of the “biblical scholar” consultants. But creating a truly ecumenical treatment of the life of Mary is a nigh-impossible task, and the film inevitably falls short.
Beliefs about Mary have long divided Christians: Roman Catholics uphold doctrines such as the Immaculate Conception, Mary’s perpetual virginity, and her assumption into heaven. They believe that her giving birth to Christ not only happened without sin, but without pain. “Light writes white,” as the old saying goes; these features of Mary’s profile in Catholic theology create obstacles to the filmmakers’ attempt to depict her as a relatable human being. Protestants, meanwhile, generally reject these teachings; they honor Mary as the mother of Jesus but hold that she, like all humans, sinned, gave birth to Jesus’ brothers and sisters mentioned in the New Testament (Mark 6:3; John 2:12; Acts 1:14; Galatians 1:19), and experienced the pains of childbirth described as part of the curse upon the human race pronounced by God in response to Adam and Eve’s original act of disobedience (Genesis 3:16). And so, notwithstanding the film’s reliance on the sources outside the Biblical canon that might be more familiar to Catholics, Mary’s portrayal reflects a Protestant sensibility for the way it tries to bring her down to earth.
As a story, and as a movie-watching experience, Mary is a mild entertainment—a pleasant-enough way to pass an evening, but unlikely to leave a lasting impression. But if the filmmakers’ aim is to give audiences a Mary everyone can accept, Mary is doomed to fail: Devout Catholics will likely find its deviations from dogma offensive, while Protestants may bristle at its reliance on extrabiblical sources and its overt nods to Catholic theology. In trying to straddle these theological divides, the film sacrifices coherence, depth, and a more meaningful engagement with its subject. The film’s theological ambiguity is ultimately less an invitation to reflect on the mysteries of Mary’s life than a testament to its lack of a clear vision.
But ultimately, Mary’s subject will resist all efforts to depict her on film. The true Mary remains the one whose proclamation, “From now on, all generations will call me blessed” (Luke 1:48), continues to spark ongoing reflection and debate about her role and significance in Christian theology.
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