This is a very special column: the first time I am fulfilling a reader request! In fact, this entire YEAR will be dedicated to films chosen by you, the readers of this obscure little corner of the Internet. So many thanks to you, readers, and above all thanks to pulpatoons, who picked this month’s subject. You chose a doozy.
Happy New Year! And Merry Christmas! Lest we forget, a substantial portion of the world’s Christians celebrate Christmas in January. Even Western Christians have some Christmas-adjacent business in January. First up is the Solemnity of Mary, the Holy Mother of God, eight days after the Nativity of the Lord. If you do the math, you can deduce that January 1 was originally the Feast of the Circumcision, but the Church cut it. Then there is the Epiphany on January 6, closing out the twelve days of Christmas. The Christmas season lingers on even longer than that, with the Baptism of the Lord and (in the East) the wedding at Cana marking the other moments of “Epiphany” (i.e., the first manifestations of Jesus’ divine power). But it’s the first Epiphany that interests us here, when the Magi from the East came to visit the infant Jesus. It is the inspiration for today’s feature, the Spanish film The 3 Wise Men. Hitch onto that star. We’re going for a wild ride.
Sects!
The Gospel of Matthew 2:1-12 states that the Magi first went to Herod, king of Judea, claiming that they had followed a star heralding the birth of a new king. This came as a bad surprise to the notoriously paranoid Herod, but instead of sending spies to follow these foreigners from beyond the Roman frontier, Herod told them to report directly back to him after finding the child. They left him on read, so Herod ordered a massacre of all male infants while the Holy Family slipped across the border to Egypt.
This tale of illegal immigration and mass murder might be overly familiar to some of you. Let’s make it weird again by pointing out what isn’t there. First, no shepherds. NO SHEPHERDS. You can take all your images of the shepherds looking at the star of Bethlehem and throw them in the garbage. I hate that crap.
There is also no manger. No ox and ass (the ox and ass do not appear in Luke either). We do not even know how long it has been since Jesus was born—only that his family is still living in Bethlehem. More to the point, it does not say that the Magi were kings or that there were three of them. The king stuff is suggested by passages such as Psalm 72 and Isaiah 60:1-6, which talk of monarchs from distant countries bringing gifts to the land of Israel. These passages are read in conjunction with Matthew 2 on the Feast of the Epiphany. The number “three” probably derives from the three gifts of the Magi: gold, frankincense, and myrrh.
What are Magi anyway? They are members of the Zoroastrian priestly caste (Middle Persian: mobed). Zoroastrianism is not an Abrahamic religion, but it shares some major beliefs with them, including the worship of one god, the resurrection of the dead, and the belief in a coming messianic figure. The Greek perception of Zoroaster was a bit different from the reality. To them, Zoroaster was a Chaldean magician and the founder of astrology. The very words “magic” and “magician” arise out of the Greek word magos and its derivatives, even though Zoroastrianism, like any other organized religion, disapproves of magic and sorcery (like “idolatry,” such words always designate a deviant practice).
The biblical Magi are first and foremost astrologers. They are obviously not Christian—that’s not an option yet—but they are not Jews either. They never appear again, so their little adventure goes largely unexplained. Just who are these guys?
The first person to answer that question was Origen of Alexandria (d. 254), the great Christian biblical scholar.
He noted the presence of the star in Matthew 2 and drew a straight line back to the first star-based prophecy in Scripture, the oracle of Balaam, the pagan seer hired to curse Israel in the days of Moses but who, under divine inspiration, uttered these words instead (Num 24:17-19).
I see him, but not now;
I behold him, but not near.
A star will come out of Jacob;
a scepter will rise out of Israel.
He will crush the foreheads of Moab,
the skulls of all the people of Sheth.
Edom will be conquered;
Seir, his enemy, will be conquered,
but Israel will grow strong.
A ruler will come out of Jacob
and destroy the survivors of the city.
The Magi are, in Origen’s estimation, the heirs of Balaam (Homilies on Numbers 13.7.4; 18.4.2).
Origen (as his name implies) was just the beginning. Later Christians consulted the works of the Jewish historian Josephus and found this corker of a passage, speaking of the children of Seth (Hebrew: Sheth), the third son of Adam and Eve.
They also were the inventors of that peculiar sort of wisdom, which is concerned with the heavenly bodies, and their order. And that their inventions might not be lost before they were sufficiently known, upon Adam’s prediction that the world was to be destroyed at one time by the force of fire, and at another time by the violence and quantity of water, they made two pillars: the one of brick, the other of stone: they inscribed their discoveries on them both: that in case the pillar of brick should be destroyed by the flood, the pillar of stone might remain, and exhibit those discoveries to mankind: and also inform them that there was another pillar of brick erected by them. Now this remains in the land of Siriad to this day (Antiquities 1.69–71).
We have several interesting elements here: the children of Seth, astrology, a prophecy, and the “land of Siriad,” or “Seiris.” The passage itself is probably inspired by Balaam’s oracle. By the transitive property, imaginative Christians associated this description of earliest humanity with the Magi, and so was born one of the strangest apocryphal tales: Adam received a prophecy of Christ’s birth and transferred it to his son, who wrote it down and placed it in a “Cave of Treasures” with the other gifts. There it was guarded by his descendants, the Magi, who lived in the land of Seir in the Far East until they were literally summoned by the star of Bethlehem to journey West.
The story, as summarized above, is found in a bewildering number of commentaries, chronicles, Infancy Gospels, and Lives of the Virgin, all coming from the Syriac cultural orbit (i.e., the pre-Islamic Middle East). The most complete form has been published in English under the title The Revelation of the Magi. One remarkable feature is that there are TWELVE Magi, and they have authentic Babylonian and Persian names.
As with many aspects of Christianity, what you believe depends upon where you live. If you lived in Medieval Russia, for example, or any other part of Slavia Orthodoxa, you might be familiar with a completely different version of the Magi story, called the Legend of Aphroditianus. Aphroditianus is a pagan philosopher in the Persian court who tells a story of miracles that occurred in the Temple of Hera at the birth of Christ. Its vision of Persian religion is perfectly harmonized with the Greek pantheon.
If you live in Western Europe, or in a country impacted by Western European culture (that is, if you live on planet Earth) you know of three Magi, and their names are Gaspar, Melchior, and Balthasar. The first attestation of these quasi-canonical names is an anonymous Latin chronicle slapped with the disparaging title Excerpta Barbari, referring to the quality of the Latin (bad). It is not the source of the names but a witness to the fact that these names were already in use by the eighth century. When, much later, German Crusaders brought back the relics of the Magi and deposited them in Cologne Cathedral, that cemented the legend.
In art, the three Magi are often depicted as coming from the three continents (Europe, Asia, Africa). One of them is typically depicted as Black.
They represent the totality of humanity, based on the understanding that every nation and culture originated from one of the three sons of Noah (one of whom was Black or–if we want to go there–cursed with Blackness) and each inhabiting his own continent.
Earlier depictions, such as the famous one in the Ravenna Basilica of Sant’Apollinare Nuovo, depicts the Magi as fellow countrymen, as a plain reading of the text suggests.
Lies!
I can’t ding The 3 Wise Men too harshly for its portrayal of the titular heroes. Making up stories about the Magi and their adventures is a time-honored practice. Not only do we have the ancient examples listed above, but modern novelists have not stopped mucking around with the Magi, from Ben Hur onward.
I can, however, ding the movie for its depiction of other characters better known from the annals of history. For starters, this is supposed to be King Herod (right).
You can call him whatever you want. That is not Herod the Great. That is Nero Caesar.
Nero, Emperor of Rome, persecutor of Christians, matricide, pyromaniac, and musician, has a reputation for unrestrained decadence and hedonism. He was also born a full generation after Herod the Great died (Christ, he was born after Jesus died). Also, crucially, he was not king of Judea.
Our knowledge of Herod the Great paints a very different portrait.
Our primary source for his life is not the New Testament but the works of Josephus–the same Josephus mentioned above–who cribbed from Herod’s court historian Nicolaus of Damascus. Josephus found Nicolaus’ biography so nice he used it twice, once in his masterpiece, The Jewish War, and again in his summary of Jewish history, the Antiquities.
The Herod that emerges in Josephus is that of a murderous rage monster. But he had other qualities! As I outlined in last month’s column, Herod came to power when Rome became tired of adjudicating the family squabbles of the Hasmoneans. By this time, Herod had already emerged as a “tough on crime” administrator. He eliminated his Hasmonean rivals while simultaneously marrying into their family and producing two sons. Unfortunately, he already had a son, Antipater, who played the critical role in having his Hasmonean half-brothers killed (Herod had already killed their mother, Mariamne). This is, incidentally, the same Antipater who belts out showtunes in last year’s Journey to Bethlehem.
When Herod learned about this, he had Antipater executed too, prompting Emperor Augustus to remark (allegedly) that it was better to be Herod’s pig than his son.
Herod may not have been the best husband or father, but he was a master builder. Many of his buildings are still around today, including the palace of Herodium, sitting atop a mountain like the lair of a Bond villain.
Or the fortress of Masada, famous for its role in the Jewish War and the resulting miniseries.
Even the Western Wall was once part of Herod’s renovated Temple.
The point is, while Herod was an objectively terrible person, he wasn’t some ginger fop.
You might be wondering who that fellow is standing next to Herod/Nero. His name is Belial, Herod’s advisor and the film’s primary villain. Belial is a pretty loaded name to have, especially when you look like an imp. It comes from a Hebrew word meaning “useless or worthless person.” In the New Testament (2 Corinthians 6:15) and the Dead Sea Scrolls, “Belial” has become a personal name and is synonymous with the devil. It is unclear to me whether this movie’s Belial is Satan incarnate or merely one of his agents. In any case, he is a stand-in for the chief priests and scribes of Matthew 2 who inform Herod where the Messiah was to be born. The filmmakers have deftly avoided any charges of antisemitism by exchanging the Jews for a crafty, sickly fellow in league with the devil. Bravo!
Beyond our heroes and villains, our cast of characters includes Tobias, a soldier in Herod’s employ, and Sarah, a revolutionary Action Girl. If the Wise Men are Groucho, Chico, and Harpo, then these two are the boring couple that the Marx Brothers assist.
There is nothing remotely interesting about them apart from their names. They are the same as the lovers in the apocryphal book of Tobit, a pretty great example of Catholicism by way of Judaism.
Speaking of Jews, here are three who are never seen or mentioned in the film: Jesus, Mary, and Joseph. That’s right. This film about a religious subject is no piece of religious propaganda. It does not even have the temerity to pronounce Jesus’ name, instead referring to gifts destined for the “King of Kings.” What makes this even weirder is that there is a Nativity scene on the DVD cover.
If the goal is not evangelization, what is it? That’s a good question! Let’s delve into it some more!
Videotape!
Holy moly, this movie. It transcends the categories of good and bad. It must be seen to be believed.
It starts out harmlessly enough. Young Jimmy, a boy living in the rat– and hobo–infested slums of New York, is bummed that he has received nothing for Christmas this year. A kindly uncle assures him that there is no reason to be sad since another gift-giving opportunity is right around the corner.
This leads us into the story of the Magi, who lived a long time ago, in an age of monsters and dark magic.
WHAT. I mean WHAT. This movie has given the biblical period a fantasy makeover, and the three Magi are–for the first time to my recollection–portrayed as for-real magicians. It’s a bit like Don Bluth’s Anastasia (1997). It might be less weird than that film’s total perversion of history. While it might not have a Satan-worshiping Rasputin, you know what it does have? Werewolves.
How about those Magi? First up is Gaspar, who teaches at Hogwarts.
The second is Melchior, an alchemist searching for the Sorcerer’s Philosopher’s Stone. His familiar is also a chicken? It’s unclear.
The third is Balthasar. We are introduced to him saving children from African slavers. Spike Lee had a term for people like Balthasar. He probably didn’t mean it this literally, though.
The three espy the star and separately make their way to Judea. They cross paths in Agrabah, which underlines the film’s primary aesthetic error: cribbing from other animated features, especially those of the 90s.
At this point, I need to thank Alternate Ending lurker Dan S. and his friend Brian T., who invited me to talk about this film on their movie podcast The Goods. Brian noted that Melchior looks a bit like the Sultan from Aladdin (1992, a pox upon the House of Mouse forever for requiring this qualification) and especially Maurice from Aladdin’s predecessor in the Disney canon, Beauty and the Beast (1991, may Walt’s bones be ground into dust).
The two lovebirds, Sarah and Tobias, vaguely resemble Megara and Hercules from Hercules (1997). Brian sees a little bit of Milo from Atlantis: The Lost Empire (2001) in Tobias as well. I will not be posting stills from that film because it sucks.
The deepest pull that Brian noticed is that Tobias’ guardian Baruch looks a bit like the Pagemaster from the eponymous film. You remember The Pagemaster (1994), don’t you? With Christopher Lloyd and Macauley Caulkin? You don’t? Lucky you.
Even when the characters don’t exactly resemble their animated predecessors, the movie is channeling the “Disney knock-off” energy of a Don Bluth picture. To return to Anastasia, Belial is clearly a descendant of Rasputin without looking much like him. He even pulls out his goddamn eyeball.
As for the plot, it is basically Aladdin. The Wise Men are sent on a fetch quest by the king’s evil vizier to procure some royal treasures that will make one the “King of Kings.” The implication seems to be that Jesus would have amounted to nothing without his birthday gifts. I wouldn’t think about this too much.
Tobias is a spy for Herod and Belial. Sarah is just along for the ride. They get into hijinks, antics, and escapades before arriving at the Cave of Wonders Treasures, where they each undergo a test of character, one of which involves a trash-talking Jinn.
They fight Herod, Belial, and his berserkers and defeat the lot of them by BLOWING UP THE MOON like it’s the fucking End of Evangelion (1997, a banner year for this movie’s influences).
Then Tobias awakes on the shores of the Dead Sea under a blood red sky. He sees Sarah next to him and, for reasons he can barely understand, begins to choke her. She tenderly touches his cheek, and he stops and breaks down crying. The end.
Now, if you don’t believe me, and you think I’m making all this up… First of all, how dare you call me a liar. You don’t even know me! Second, you are going to have to see the movie for yourself. It is a 5/5 viewing experience. I highly recommend watching it with friends and/or in an altered state. It’s just that crazy.
But that’s not all! The movie has an esteemed place in the history of animation. Acknowledgements to Dan S. for his eagle eyes: the very long credits sequence features the hallowed name of Cartoon Saloon.
Cartoon Saloon is an Irish animation studio with a modest output and a Ghibli-level batting average. Nothing about The 3 Wise Men suggests the studio who later made The Secret of Kells, The Song of the Sea, and Wolfwalkers.
In fact, I wasn’t sure it was the same studio at first. After all, Magdala Rose was made by Angel Studios, but not THAT Angel Studios–the Chosen, His Only Son, and Sound of Freedom Angel Studios. However, you can see just as well as I can the name of Nora Twomey. Unless she has an evil twin (after all, “two” is in her name), this is the same Nora Twomey who co-founded Cartoon Saloon, co-directed Kells, and directed The Breadwinner and My Father’s Dragon.
So there you have it. You can’t be a Cartoon Saloon completionist unless you’ve seen The 3 Wise Men. And you can’t claim to love animation if you aren’t intimately familiar with Cartoon Saloon. Therefore, if you have not seen The 3 Wise Men but claim to love animation, you are an amateur, a dilettante, and–dare I say–a poser.
Christmas Bonus!
Did you think The 3 Wise Men was the only cruddy hispanophone Christmas movie with a dubious claim to historical importance? Well guess what! There’s another, and it’s sheer lunacy.
This one is a Mexican film called Los 3 Reyes Magos, which is Spanish for… The 3 Wise Men. It is the first Latin American animated feature to claim to be the first Latin American animated feature.
Earlier Latin American animated features cannot make this claim because they have been lost.
The title is not the only thing the two films have in common. I am certain that the 1976 Mexican film was a model for the 2003 Spanish film. My proof of this is that they are both batshit bananas. Since I have no more space to discuss this film, my Christmas gift to you, dear readers, is a series of my favorite stills utterly devoid of context. Not that it would help!
Merry Christmas and best wishes for the New Year.
Gavin McDowell is a Hoosier by birth and French by adoption. He received his doctorate in “Languages, History, and Literature of the Ancient World from the Beginning until Late Antiquity” and is currently investigating Aramaic translations of the Bible. He is supremely unqualified to talk about film. For more of his unprovoked movie opinions, see his Letterboxd account.