The Miracle Maker was made for American TV and theatrical release in Europe. The film had two directors, on two continents, working in two general styles: Derek Hayes in Wales provided scenes in a varied types of traditional animation. Stanislav Solokov in Moscow contributed the main part of the film in puppet-style claymation. There are moments when the clash of styles seems a bit schizophrenic. At the same time, however, the contrast between 2-D and 3-D animation is part of what gives this treatment of the Gospel story its astonishing power. The twin styles give the director two different dimensions to work with, so to speak, so that when we return to claymation from cartoon the former seems all the more real, and conversely, trips to 2-D take on the quality of dream or vision. Yet both, being artificial, lend a sort of coherence to the story all its own, and not achieved in any live-action treatment in which certain elements, such as miracles or parables or visions, always seem a little out of place. Ultimately, the strength of this version is not only because of the unusual format, but also because of the care and freshness of script, directing, acting and music — it would have been among the best had it been filmed entirely in live-action.

At the center of this treatment is the story of Jairus, the ruler of a synogogue, and his young daughter, Tamar. This is one more reason that The Miracle Maker is the all-time best children's film version of the Gospel. Yet that doesn't mean this cartoon/puppetoon is just for kids — no more than icons are. Comic artist Scott McCloud has brilliantly made the case for wider applications of the notion of the icon, especially as applied to allegedly "lowly" media as cartoons. In his classic book Understanding Comics, McCloud speaks of two dimensions of seeing: the realm of the sensible, with its many textures and subtle shades, and the realm of the conceptual, the stripped down, the iconic. While realism portrays the exterior world, asserts McCloud, the iconic forms offer a unique kind of access to the inner world. In religious terms, the icon is left intentionally simplified to leave room for the Divine Presence. Perhaps that explanation may help account for the unusual combination of closeness and distance, unversalism and particularism, mythic and naturalistic, which makes The Miracle Maker one of the best tellings of the story of Jesus in film, a style touching upon the hyphenated mystery of flesh-spirit / god-man of the Incarnation.

Another notable aspect of this treatment is how it sets the story in context: not just in a historical context, or a social context, but in a very specific historical and social context. Again, this is reminiscent of the Incarnation, which was so embarrassingly specific and individual as to be referred to in Christian theology as "the Scandal of the Particular." We first we meet a few key characters and get wrapped up in their ordinary human concerns, and then the more familiar elements of the Gospel story are gradually folded into the center. The story opens in and around a busy synagogue, whose ruler, Jairus, is vexed not just with construction and the ordinary daily round, but also a very sick little girl, Tamar. We first meet Jesus as a grown man, a carpenter working on the synagogue. The personal relationship between Jesus and Tamar threads through the entire film, and at the end, Tamar seems especially changed, deepened, matured, by her experiences. The personalness of this central thread reflects on other characters. Simon Peter is particularly particular here, even in the paradoxically more universal mode of a puppet. The character is vocalized in Scottish accent with a sharp business-sense for a face of angular features. The treatment of John the Baptist (usually a pretty good litmus test for the care and creativity of a director) is to show him as a man of the wilderness without making him a crazy man.

Mary Magdelene, on the other hand, is introduced to us as "Mad Mary" and one of the animated visions is from her own insane point of view, a perspective suddenly and very effectively changed by her own encounter with Jesus. There are a variety of these interludes in the main story done with traditional animation: flashbacks of Jesus' own past, miracles — such as when the heavens open up and the voice of God is heard at Jesus' baptism, sequences involving visions, including the temptation, and Judas' recurring vision of Christ as a conquering Messiah — done, most appropriately, in comic-book hero style. As noted before, there's a trade-off with this duo-style, but the payoff is an unusual new coherence at the expense of another. The miracles and visions are more seamlessly woven into the story and seem less special effects tricks.

Ralph Fiennes' voice and the animator's skill give us a gentle, knowing Jesus, who retains enough particularities to seem real yet remains universal in an iconic way to escape being dragged down too far down to earth. One of my favorite moments: when Jesus is approached with yet another trick question he lets out a weary sigh that lends such amazing humanity to his character, you forget you're watching a claymation figure. The sequence after the Resurrection is one of the best in the entire genre of Jesus films, continued a fully-realized story instead of just marking time until the end, making this one of the best of all Jesus films.