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Some will say that this expensive flop, produced by the devoutly Christian George Stevens (The Diary of Anne Frank, Shane), represents everything that is wrong with Hollywood adaptations of the Gospels: it's too pretty, it's too stilted, it's too American, it's too lavish to be an authentic depiction of first-century Galilean peasant society, and it's got too many distracting cameos, culminating in John Wayne's brief, out-of-nowhere appearance as the centurion at the crucifixion. And they would have a point. But the cinematography is gorgeous, and many of the performances are quite good, especially that of Max von Sydow (as Jesus), whose austerity is leavened with moments of deeply felt emotion. Note how he cries outside Lazarus's tomb, or the warm, robust smile he gives when he meets James the Lesser.

Prepare ye the way of the Lord! In some ways, Godspell, one of three musical Jesus movies released in 1973 (the others were Andrew Lloyd Webber's agnostic, angst-ridden Jesus Christ Superstar and Johnny Cash's The Gospel Road), may not belong on this list. For one thing, it's set in modern New York—or rather, it uses modern New York as a backdrop; one sequence even takes place on the roofs of the then-brand-new World Trade Center towers. It is also less concerned with the life of Jesus than with his sayings, especially the parables and the Sermon on the Mount, and how they resonated with the countercultural mood of that time. But it is precisely this focus on the teachings of Christ that makes the film unique. Its comical approach to the parables, and its depiction of Christ as a clown in make-up, were controversial at the time, but that debate seems quaint now in the age of VeggieTales. The giddy, and at times prayerful, music is by Stephen Schwartz (The Prince of Egypt).

Roberto Rossellini was one of the pioneers of post-war Italian neorealism, in films like Open City (1945), and his controversial film The Miracle (1948) prompted a landmark American court case which ultimately led to movies being recognized, for the first time, as an art form protected by free-speech laws. Toward the end of his life, he made a series of "didactic" historical biopics focusing on characters like Socrates, St. Augustine, and Blaise Pascal, and one of his very last films was this portrait of Jesus. Rossellini did not believe in "seducing" the audience with dramatic effects, so he downplays the miracles and the violence—all the stuff that other filmmakers revel in—even while he acknowledges that they occur. His version of the story emphasizes the brotherhood of men more than Christian faith, per se, but in doing so it also underscores the fact, often ignored by films in this genre, that the disciples went out and spread Jesus' message even while the Master was still alive.

Some would say this is the best Jesus film; it is certainly the most. At six and a half hours, Franco Zeffirelli's mini-series gets to explore the Gospels at greater length than usual, and it fleshes out the supporting characters in ways that convey the breadth and depth of the impact Jesus had on his contemporaries. The film alternates, somewhat awkwardly, between everyday naturalism and pious theatricality; this may be the first film to show the Virgin Mary going into labor, but after her pains have ended, some shepherds arrive and speak portentously about their encounter with the angels, finishing each other's sentences as they do so. Also, as Jesus, Robert Powell has the British accent, blue eyes, and John Lennon hair that have become something of a cliché. Still, this film is supported by a fine cast (no distracting cameos here!), as well as some stirring music by Lawrence of Arabia's Maurice Jarre, and it emphasizes the Jewishness of Jesus like few others—not only to remind us of his ethnicity, but to underscore the prophecies that he fulfilled.

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