This is a good book for anyone interested in how Mel Gibson's film relates to the Jesus of history, and the editors generally take the right approach: "We should not impose what we want Gibson to do with his movie but rather seek to understand, appreciate, and critique what he has done." Aside from one contributor (Crossan), the twelve authors do a fairly good job of this.
The first part presents two overviews of the film written by John Dominic Crossan and Mark Goodacre. Differences in tone, reason, and sanity cannot be overstated. Crossan's is a sanctimonious indictment and hard to take seriously, with preposterous overstatements found on every page: "If this film is not anti-Semitic, no such film can ever be made." In fact the film is no more anti-Semitic than the gospels, and considerably less so than Matthew and John. "Any Christian who accepts the Emmerich-Gibson theology of vicarious atonement is trapped in support of pornographic sadism." While the violence is extreme and the gore a blood-bath, neither is gratuitous. The subject matter demands them. Pornography encourages the viewer to want more, and the film does precisely the opposite. In effect Crossan serves as the foil against which Goodacre radiates sound judgment. The latter's essay is easily the book's finest: well-organized, well-written, explaining why the film can offer a powerful vision to Christians and non-Christians alike.
The second part is half the book and deals with particular subjects: the flashbacks (Robert Webb), the character of Judas (Scot McKnight), the figure of Satan (Mark Allan Powell), Mary and the women (Kathleen Corley), the Jewish leaders (Alan Segal), the Romans (Helen Bond), the trials of Jesus (Glenna Jackson), and the procession/crucifixion (Craig Evans).
Webb thinks the flashbacks are key to comprehending Gibson's vision: "without them the film would be a pointless gore-fest". I disagree. The flashbacks are unnecessary and distractive given the film's focus. And Jesus' passion isn't pointless; the context is supplied by familiarity with the gospel stories. I agree, however, with Webb's conclusion that Gibson's use of the flashbacks is "problematic and inadequate", not only because they insufficiently communicate the significance of Jesus, but because the viewer's own image of Jesus can provide all the framework one needs. Gibson's snapshots are too brief and superficial. In any case, Webb's individual commentaries on the flashbacks are helpful.
McKnight explains why Judas' betrayal and suicide is likely historical, while his demonization in the film is mythological though dramatically effective. Powell argues that the androgynous and alluring figure of Satan, while not exactly true to the gospels (let alone history), is a well-used and convincing representation of evil. Corley corrects Gibson's association of Mary Magdalene with the adulteress of Jn 8, and opines that both Marys should have been in the flashbacks with the disciples -- since historically they were disciples too.
Segal's objections are fair and considered (unlike those of Crossan) but misplaced. He believes the film is anti-Semitic for portraying the Jewish leaders under Satan's sway. Historically the priesthood had very good reasons for having Jesus arrested: he was stirring up crowds during passover, and he acted against the temple. Messianic movements (of which there were a variety) and threats against the temple could easily get one killed in Jesus' day, and these would certainly account for an historical passion more than any mythological reason owing to Satanic influence. Segal is obviously right. But Gibson's film is Catholic myth according to Emmerich, not history according to E.P. Sanders and Paula Fredriksen. Controversial as it is, Satan's power over the Jewish leaders must be understood as foreordained in the context of this myth: "They act as the chosen people prepared by their whole history to carry out the ironic rejection of God, even as they defend his name. They persecute Jesus out of a righteousness given over to Satan for the time being, so that the battle Christ fights alone can be most intense: it is against his own." (Glenn Arbery, film critic)
Bond explains why the film's portrayal of Pilate is a blend of history, gospel apology, and artistic imagination: the real Pilate would have been callously indifferent to Jesus and killed him without second thought. Jackson observes many historical problems with the film's (and gospels') trial scenes. Evans gives a superb analysis of the relationship between the historical procession, the gospel route, and the medieval stations of the cross before turning to the crucifixion and what this terror entailed in the time of Jesus. He notes in conclusion that the early Christians would have been puzzled by Gibson's focus on passion instead of resurrection -- since Jesus' suffering and death was important as a prelude to the more climactic vindication by God.
The third part wraps up with contributions from W. Barnes Tatum, David Goa, and Robert Webb, who discuss the artistry of the film. Finally, editors Webb and Corley conclude that while Gibson's use of a harmonizing trajectory with the four gospels can be fairly expected (as in most Jesus films), his use of Emmerich is problematic on levels of both history and theology. That Emmerich is unreliable history is a given. That her theology is problematic amounts to a subjective claim which cannot be resolved by editorial appeals to modern sensibilities such as: "In a world where violence is seen as the answer to social and political problems, and where violence is glorified in various media, to suggest that God requires equally extreme violence for the salvation of humankind, is, to say the least, problematic." This is an inadequate response to the question of suffering in general and atonement theology in particular. Still, the editors have done an invaluable job of providing a useful handbook for those wanting to know where history ends and myth begins in Gibson's film.