The ever-fascinating Jesus Christ Superstar was a 1970s rock opera album, musical, and film that dramatized the last days of Jesus Christ and his betrayal by his own disciple, Judas Iscariot. The twist: Jesus's ministry is portrayed as a modern counterculture movement, mixing period dress and setting with dozens of modern anachronisms. I am going to focus on the film version, which I consider definitive.
In trying to explain Judas's betrayal of Jesus as something other than magical satanic possession—a common explanation for Judas's actions—Weber and Rice find themselves examining instead how social and political coalitions can fracture based on seemingly minute ideological divides. Hence this pivotal scene and song early in the film, a scene which the Bible itself has no semblance of an equivalent. It took a hippie rock opera in the mid-20th century to finally visualize this central event: Jesus and his most forceful, purist disciple fatefully falling out before our eyes. And it throws into question whether Jesus's eventual death was prophecy or self-fulfilling prophecy.
The three-part lead vocals—shared in the film by Yvonne Elliman as Mary Magdalene, Carl Anderson as Judas Iscariot, and Ted Neeley as Jesus Christ—are musically excellent and overflowing with characterization in their performances.
Mary Magdalene's lines are sweet and soothing, only growing slightly more urgent in attempts to calm Judas out a little. Her performance is the heart of the song, beautifully sung, her song intended to comfort her leader and friend at a time of quickly rising stakes in his ministry. It also establishes the central melody for Jesus and Judas to take over and escalate in their debate. The descending line resolving her part—beginning in a minor phrase and finishing in sublimely turned major—is one of my all-time favorite passages. And the backing voices that rise behind her are cooing angels. It's musically striking, and if you know her background, you are aware of the juxtaposition at play.
Judas's performance is a developed countermelody to Mary Magdalene's, perhaps more sophisticated but darker, increasing the tension, as he seems to do in everything of which he is a part. He cannot bring himself to share the sentimental phrase of Mary Magdalene. My god, Carl Anderson's ability to shriek to the heights of his range is the leading edge of this whole film, and he really gets into it here—quickly peaking in this actually quite short song, this compact, compressed situation in this claustrophobic subterranean setting.
Jesus's performance is all expertly interpreted reaction by Ted Neely. Vocally, his tone and delivery are incredible. Can you believe he was only the understudy for the Broadway production? Now, notice his facial reaction while Mary is singing the introductory verse and producing the expensive ointment at the heart of the confrontation. He himself is a little taken aback by her gesture, his eyes grow just slightly in shock as he sees the ointment. But he couches his reaction in a neutral poker face. This is how quickly he can observe and intuitively understand the basis of her actions, determine their good intent, and pass no further judgement on her. It's a capacity for acceptance that lesser leaders lack, leading them into abstract battles that distract from ultimate aims.
When it is his turn to sing, he responds to Judas using Judas's melody, communicating with him on his terms but with a much more staggered delivery, a far calmer voice. His staggered delivery is really a great touch because it shows a kind of patience, a kind of peaceful confidence to take his time and not feel rushed to smack every note down on top of the beat. He expresses himself with the license of the inspired. It's one of two of Jesus's best rhetorical devices in his ministry: Speak to someone on their terms but subtly explode those terms with his own personality, teaching with the example of his attitude—literally using the musical concept of theme and variation to educate by means of that variation.
His other top rhetorical tactic is guilt. It's fairly the basis of the whole Jesus story (and many others): Watching this one man/demigod go willingly to his known death as a sacrifice to atone for the arrogance, avarice, and failing humanity of a nation drunk on its own power. The theory being that, in feeling guilty for his pain and loss, the descendants of that world who learned his story would have their consciences re-activated and recover their lost humanity.
And what line is at the peak of Jesus's vocal in this song? "You'll be lost and you'll be sorry when I'm gone."
Mary Magdalene wants to soothe Jesus, giving him some momentary comfort not knowing the torture he is on the eve of enduring. Judas, ideologically purist, loudly disapproves. Jesus is now forced to take this one moment of down time to teach his disciple a lesson in appreciating genuine, if imperfect, gestures of kindness. And in the back of his mind, he also knows this squabble will seem awfully small in the scheme of the next few days. So he plants these seeds of guilt in Judas's mind, maybe only just trying to urge his patience in the moment, but maybe aware that these words will eventually ring loud in Judas's memory; as it turned out, too loud for him to bear.
But one person's appeal for patience can be another person's feeling of being minimized, depending on the person. In this case, Jesus almost guarantees Judas's quitting of the ministry by taking this line of argument. Literally by attempting to warn him about the guilt Judas may feel, Jesus may have pushed Judas onto the path of betraying him.
It really is a no-win situation when you are dealing with the non-compromising.
And that is why the wise sometimes have to die.