“Because it’s fun to play a bad guy,” is the superficial
answer I give when someone asks me why I wanted to play Pilate. And that is
true. It is engaging for me as an actor to portray a “bad guy” in a show. There
are more layers of the character to reveal.
And his story, as the early church told it, is similarly
complicated. Some early documents indicate he converted to become a follower of
Jesus himself. The Coptic tradition considers him to be a martyr. The date and
manner of his death are subject to scholarly debate, which is odd for such a
notable figure. Augustine believed that Pilate was sincere when he wrote,
“Jesus of Nazareth, the King of the Jews” (see John 19:19-22). “It could not be
torn from his heart that Jesus was the King of the Jews,” Augustine wrote.
So I am working with a lot of “back story” to enter into
this character and attempt to convey at least some of that nuance and
complexity on stage. And here’s what I’ve got…
Pilate has been appointed to Jerusalem, in the Jewish nation
of Judea, to be the head Roman in charge. But he is not the least bit engaged
with governing the people. In fact he would rather just isolate himself in his
palace and let the temple leaders handle their own business. As long as there’s
no trouble, as long as the people stay quiet and continue to pay their taxes,
as long as Caesar’s attention is not turned this direction, all is well. No
news is good news.
Enter Jesus.
Jesus draws the aloof Pilate into the story against his
will, kicking and screaming. The first pull comes when Pilate is haunted by a
vision in which Pilate sees Jesus, though he only knows him as a random
Galilean. Pilate confronts him, but gets no response, and since Pilate is a man
accustomed to people responding, this alone is noteworthy. Suddenly Pilate
witnesses Jesus attacked by wild and angry men who disappear into the mist, a
puzzling development. The vision shifts into an image of countless people
grieving for Jesus, and the deepest cut of all, they seem to be leaving Pilate
the blame for his death.
This dream has shaken Pilate, enough that he feels compelled
to share it, to talk about it. He has no idea what it means, but he cannot let
it go. The most amazing Galilean in his dream has looked directly into his hidden
self, and left an imprint that cannot be erased.
And so, when the temple leaders bring Jesus to him, it comes
as somewhat of a relief to see that he is a rather ordinary, unfortunate man.
Not a king at all. Pilate is actually bemused,
if somewhat annoyed, at this initial encounter with Jesus, and he even
connects with him on a personal level, bantering a bit, admiring how cool Jesus
is under pressure.
But Pilate gets bored easily, and after all this is just a
random smelly Galilean, so Pilate dismisses him - Herod’s race? Herod’s case!
Jesus does not stay long at Herod’s place, however. All too
quickly he is dragged back to Pilate, and the point is clear. His role in the
drama is limited. “We need him crucified, it’s all you have to do,” say the
leaders of the temple.
Pilate resists. First of all, Pilate does not take orders
from anyone in Judea. He is naturally inclined to minimize the significance of a
demand coming from the temple. And so he initially attempts to laugh it off, to
wave it away like a persistent swarm of gnats.
And then there is a moment. The crowd is still, Pilate
kneels next to Jesus whose eyes meet his, looking directly into his hidden
self, and a phrase from his dream floats through the room. In this moment
things begin to change; from here the energy builds relentlessly toward the
inevitable conclusion.
Hoping to avoid killing him, Pilate decides to flog Jesus.
Many times before, public flogging has been enough. Perhaps that will satisfy
the crowd this time, too. But something happens as the punishment is enforced.
What begins as a mundane event, chilling in its ordinariness, becomes a disturbing,
horrifying, and convicting act of savagery.
Something inside of Pilate cracks.
It is just at this moment, when he is the most vulnerable,
the most exposed, that grace comes to Pilate. “You have nothing in your hands,”
Jesus tells him. “Everything is fixed and you can’t change it.” Jesus absolves
Pilate of blame, removing from his hands the shame and guilt of this atrocity.
But grace, as it often is, is difficult to receive. The
shock of it terrifies Pilate, and deepens the fissures in his soul. He
struggles to keep himself together, to regain control.
The crowd spots the weakness and intensifies their pressure,
leaning on Pilate, pressing him, shouting at him. “Remember Caesar!” they yell,
which of course adds a whole new dimension to the torment. If news of this
disturbance somehow gets to Caesar’s ears, the consequences get serious for
Pilate. The weight is enormous, unrelenting, eroding his resistance, crushing
him.
And finally … he breaks.
Pilate shatters into a thousand pieces, his thoughts reduced
to a nearly indecipherable shriek. “DIE, if you want to! You innocent puppet…”
And he exits. He has become the broken man, the unfortunate,
good for nothing but cluttering up a hallway. He tries to wash his hands of
Christ’s great self-destruction, but finds them indelibly stained.
And yet, there was a glance. There was a hint. A seed of grace has been planted deeply in his hidden self. We are left to wonder if it will take root and blossom.
And yet, there was a glance. There was a hint. A seed of grace has been planted deeply in his hidden self. We are left to wonder if it will take root and blossom.
