One-time stage designer and director Franco Zeffirelli brings his operatic touch to the Gospel story, yet within the limitations of 1970s made-for-tv production values, including regular fade-outs for commercials. Yet the prime resource Zeffirelli has with this form is time: the precious leisure to let the story unfold slowly, to let characters develop, to dwell on certain scenes and images, and to take periodic breaks from the forward motion of the plot. This version still feels very much like a biopic, with a faithful and not always imaginative linearity. But the contributions of Jesus of Nazareth to the tradition are considerable.

Presented in two three-hour parts at Easter time 1977, this mini-series arrived amid a bit of controversy over Zeffirelli's promise to present a more human Jesus: any fuss was unwarranted. If anything, his Christ, played memorably by Robert Powell, erred on the side of divinity (so to speak), with spooky eyes and a bit of Jedi-like histrionics when performing miracles. Yet this was also a winsome Jesus, given to laughter and storytelling, and a charisma that made it understandable why people would be drawn to him. The script by novelist Anthony Burgess (A Clockwork Orange) is not flawless, but offers many fresh perspectives on a familiar story and provides some much-needed context. For example, this is the first Jesus film that gives anywhere near adequate treatment to the Jewish setting. The story begins, as it should, with the piety and expectation of the Jewish people. We follow a devout village carpenter named Joseph from his workshop to synagogue, through his betrothal, wedding and the ritual circumcision of the child he has accepted as his son: all surrounded by a village and culture, full of music, dance, and the Torah. We spend time with teachers of the law who are quite sympathetic and interested in the message of Jesus, and discussion over traditional understanding and his new approach is done with respect for tradition. Of course, as the story winds to a climax, the lines become more sharply drawn; but enough time has been spent on context that one is well able to sympathize with the authorities' concerns, if not for the fateful choices those concerns lead them to make.

Even Judas's choices are seen in context to have their own compelling logic. Indeed, several of Christ's followers emerge here from the "Generic Disciple" category: we first meet them "B. C.", then see the confrontation with something that wrenches them out of that life forever. Peter and Matthew come especially alive as individuals for us: the overworked fisherman and canny tax collector. In a party at Matthew's house, Jesus offers a detailed and spirited telling of the Prodigal Son story which holds his hearers spellbound, especially these old enemies who each find themselves in the story. This is the strength of Jesus of Nazareth, a care for particulars that can make a story live.

That said, it must be noted that the director drops the ball now and then, notably at the end, after the Crucifixion, in a long scene where it seems the disciples are standing around waiting for the movie to end. Likewise, John the Baptist (Michael York) never rises above mad-prophet stereotype, and Zeffirelli has a tendency to wash out an otherwise powerful moment with melodramatic religiosity and special effects. Actions speak louder than special effects, and the moments of authentic drama outnumber manufactured emotion. Meanwhile, Olivia Hussey's Mary is positively is angelic and Maurice Jarre's score is mournfully epic.