Pitchmen: The Films of the Christiano Brothers, by Tyler Smith

In the world of modern film discourse, the word “propaganda” is thrown about with such reckless abandon that it risks losing its meaning. Increasingly, people tend to apply it to any movie that has a point of view they don’t like. For those of us that love film, a director’s outlook, expressed through both narrative and style, is invaluable. Many people have said they don’t like their movies to have an agenda; they just want movies that “entertain”, as though that concept is incompatible with a film that has something to say. I’ve found that most critics, however, are actually eager for a specific perspective, whether they agree with it or not. Thus, to label a film “propaganda” is to dismiss the possibility that there is any artistic value to it at all, which we know is untrue. In fact, even films that are literal government propaganda – such as the Soviet films of the 1920s can have a tremendous artistic impact on cinema. 

Despite my reluctance to label any film as propaganda, there are some that can’t be labeled anything else. Those movies whose message is at the forefront, with any and all artistic elements sidelined. There is usually a sense of artificiality to these films, though not the purposeful kind you will find in German Expressionist classics like The Cabinet of Dr. Caligari and Metropolis. No, these films have an artificial humanity, as one would see in lower quality commercials, in which the people on screen exist exclusively in relation to a specific product they really think the viewer could benefit from buying. This is appropriate, as propaganda is, at its core, a pitch; a form of communication designed solely to convince the audience of its message, by any means necessary. The message could be that we should vote Republican or watch The Big Bang Theory or recycle or eat at McDonald’s. 

Or, yes, that we should accept Jesus Christ as our Lord and Savior. 

In my time as a film critic, I’ve never seen a subset of cinema more frequently labeled “propaganda” than Christian film. Sometimes this description is apt, and sometimes it isn’t. Some Christian movies are about inspiration and sacrifice, while others just want to be a part of the culture war. All of these films have something to say, but some are much more recognizably human than others. We can see ourselves in the struggles of these characters and, as such, are more likely to listen closely to the messages of the film. Other movies, however, simply assume the viewer’s agreement with the message and go from there, no matter how much lip service they pay to the idea of being evangelistic. 

Perhaps the most successful Christian filmmakers are the Kendrick brothers, whose family dramas leave a lot of room for improvement, but are at least organic attempts at reflecting the audience’s experience rather than merely its viewpoint. Close behind the Kendricks are the Erwin brothers, who have cornered the market on inspirational true stories, such as American Underdog and I Can Only Imagine. However, neither the Erwins nor Kendricks are our focus here. Instead, we will be looking at a pair of brothers who, almost 40 years ago, helped lay the foundation for the modern Christian film industry: Dave and Rich Christiano.

Since the 1980s, the Christianos have been consistently cranking out a low budget faith-based feature every few years. With a couple of exceptions, they make dialogue-driven dramas. In these, characters are often faced with a moral or philosophical problem – sometimes of their own making, sometimes not – that they must embrace biblical principles in order to overcome. These films rarely stray from this formula. Even on those occasions where the brothers have ventured into science fiction or fantasy, the framework remains largely the same. 

Of course, there is nothing inherently wrong with a filmmaker finding a style or theme or narrative that works for them and then devoting their careers to exploring it. In fact, this is the backbone of the Auteur Theory, which suggests that the director can be considered the sole author of a movie, regardless of the other artists involved. There is, however, an innate risk in treading the same ground over and over. There is a high probability of stagnation; that unfortunate state in which a filmmaker has nothing more to mine from their material, but keeps digging nonetheless. 35 years ago, we were all enamored of the visual style of Tim Burton, in movies like Batman and Edward Scissorhands. Unfortunately after decades of the same thing, Burton’s sensibilities are no longer intriguing, but stale and predictable.

This is most certainly the case with the Christianos, whose work has not changed at all from when they first started, aside from having higher budgets. However, their stagnance can’t be chalked up only to artistic laziness. It’s not so much a case of refusal to improve as it is the inability – or unwillingness – to acknowledge that they need to. When we look at their output over the decades, we don’t see resignation or settlement. Quite the opposite, in fact, as their films give off an air of extreme satisfaction; the absolute confidence of a job well done. 

This leads us to ask how two directors, whose early films can best be described as “cringeworthy” and who have made exactly zero artistic progress since then, can be so sure of themselves. The answer is as simple as it is infuriating: it was never about the artistry in the first place. The Christianos’ films were only ever meant to communicate a message, completely and unequivocally. And, as a result, the basic elements of filmmaking are not a priority. In fact, when watching their films, we get the distinct feeling that these elements are, at best, regarded as a necessary evil. They are seen as something to approach with caution, lest they start to dilute the all-important message. 

Gone are any showy camera movements or fancy edits, as they might distract the viewer from the dialogue, which is the Christianos’ preferred method of delivering information to the audience. And, since they can’t risk their message being even slightly unclear, that dialogue is written as straightforward as possible. No flourish, no nuance, no analogy. The characters will always say exactly what they think outright, which gives them all an unfortunate commonality. It is as if they live in an alternate dimension, where there is no inner monologue and no unspoken motivations. 

What we are talking about here is essentially the complete absence of subtext. This brings us back to the concept of propaganda, which elevates its messaging above all else. This doesn’t necessarily mean that it contains no artistry; only that it is in service of the film’s ideology. With propaganda, the artist must ensure beyond any doubt that the message is in any way unambiguous to the viewer. The audience must come away from the piece knowing exactly what the artist believes and, ideally, start to believe it itself. Anything that might take the focus off of that one goal is discarded with extreme prejudice.  

This is most certainly the Christianos’ modus operandi, which utilizes dialogue without prioritizing character. Not only are all the characters saying the same thing, but they say it in the same way. From high school students to construction workers to college professors, every character speaks exactly alike, right down to sentence structure and vocabulary. It could be the hero or it could be the villain; they might as well be the same person. And why shouldn’t they? Trying to differentiate character would take time and effort, which should only ever be spent on articulating the message of the film. This means not only that the characters all seem to share the same consciousness, but that they are all equally awkward and naive. After all, what better way for one character to elicit information from another than by simply asking a question? That doing so might make the asker look astonishingly ignorant – or, at best, sheltered – is of no concern to the Christianos, who are eternally willing to sacrifice characters’ relatability if it means communicating the message as overtly as possible. 

These films are, in essence, little more than sermons. The directors are basically preaching directly to an audience. Sure, there may be the occasional half-baked illustration, but it is never lingered on. When watching their films, it’s difficult not to be put in mind of a Jack Chick tract. Chick wrote dozens of little stories in a style reminiscent of comic strips. They were short and very much to the point; that being to elicit fear or guilt in the reader, so that they might turn to Jesus. These tracts were so blunt and unsympathetic that it was easy to see them as judgmental. It’s appropriate that the illustrations were only ever in black and white, as that is undoubtedly how Chick approached the world. However, where these tracts were only a few pages long, the Christiano brothers’ films are generally about 90 minutes. And while that’s actually on the short side in the film world, it’s much longer than they need, considering how basic their storytelling is. This necessitates constant repetition; of story beats, of dialogue, of messaging. By the time we get to the ending, we have been so bludgeoned by their insistent agenda and non-existent stylization, we are both exhausted and a little insulted. These films are, after all, meant to appeal to adults, yet they treat the audience like children. 

The lack of respect for the viewer is likely unintentional. But with the non-stop lecturing, it’s easy to feel contempt from the filmmakers. For not following Jesus, for backsliding, for conforming, and somehow for seeing movies. The latter of these is what I find the most fascinating. The Christianos regularly incorporate warnings about modern filmgoing, even in films that have nothing to do with it. It is obviously something they feel passionately about. And it’s understandable; movies do have tremendous power and it makes sense that we should not go in passively, lest we find ourselves in tacit agreement with an outlook we may in fact despise. 

But the Christianos go well beyond that. Rather than approaching Hollywood with suspicion, they have no qualms about branding it as simply “Evil.” Characters in their movies will go on at length about the sexuality and vulgar language we find in modern movies. That they never mention violence is interesting; apparently they don’t have any problems with blood and guts, so long as nobody is swearing. This laser focus only on unacceptable content undercuts their stories on more than one occasion. A prime example of this is Time Changer, in which a Christian man travels from the 1890s to modern day. He gets involved with a local Bible study, who eventually invite him to come with them to a movie. Shortly after the film begins, he comes rushing out into the lobby, breathlessly decrying the language in the film. Of course, one might think that someone from the past seeing a modern movie might be too preoccupied with the utter insanity of images being projected on a huge screen, complete with sync sound, music, and special effects. But no, the apparent miracle of movies is immediately accepted, to be quickly forgotten once a dirty word is said. It is genuinely not believable that this man would emerge from a theater with this being his main takeaway. But of course, the Christianos aren’t interested in being true to the character; only the message. 

They are so committed to this approach, one gets the feeling they judge any filmmaker that isn’t. They have devoted their careers to directly preaching the Gospel and seem to feel that every other Christian filmmaker should do the same thing. The same way. Their way. This prescriptive attitude extends to the viewer, as well. As early as their 1988 film Crime of the Age, they suggest, none-too-subtly, that a Christian moviegoer should not only be in sympathy with faith-based films, but should genuinely like them. Any Christian who does not enjoy these movies should apparently check themselves to make sure their faith is intact. No “true” Christian would ever actively dislike a sincere piece of faith-based media. 

This is most certainly not the case for the Christiano brothers, who take it one step further. Not only do they like Christian films; they especially like their Christian films. They are clearly their own biggest fans. So much so, in fact, that even their characters endorse their work. In the film Play the Flute, a youth pastor tries to connect with his church’s teens however he can. Including referencing and recommending a film called The Secrets of Jonathan Sperry, produced 11 years earlier by – you guessed it – the Christiano brothers. Of course, it’s not uncommon for a director to reference his own movies, but to overtly cite it as particularly impactful is especially shameless. But perhaps it is not as narcissistic as it appears. Maybe, as they were looking for another movie to reference in order to make their point, they simply couldn’t think of any except their own. This is the problem with avoiding the vast majority of movies and focusing only on a small niche.

In fact, it could legitimately be asked whether or not the Christianos even like movies. Their complete lack of aesthetic distinction certainly shows an indifference toward fitting any accepted definition of what a film is. But, as with Time Changer, several of their movies decry film in general. And not just as a function of questionable content, like nudity or profanity. When we watch their films, it is made very apparent that they have strong opinions on what a movie should be, not just morally, but narratively, as well. Their 2018 movie Power of the Air addresses this directly. In it, our protagonist exits a movie theater not only concerned about its inappropriate content, but he is also quick to label the movie as “weird”. The look of bafflement on his face, his dismissive little chuckle, and his body language all work together to suggest that the worst thing a film can be is unconventional. There are plenty of people that see film primarily as a narrative art form, but even they would acknowledge – maybe even embrace – the occasional necessity to engage in experimentation as a way of enhancing the larger experience. 

But you will find no such mindset with the Christiano brothers. They employ a rigid structure and never stray from it. There is no curiosity about filmmaking and consequently no joy to be found in their work. It is all flat and obvious and plain. And it’s easy to see why. To do something different (or, God forbid, weird) could potentially cloud the message, which needs to be avoided at all costs. The idea that a film’s cinematography, editing, music, or art direction could be used to actually enhance this message is never entertained. One can never completely control a viewer’s response to stylized moviemaking; there’s always the chance that he might come away with his own interpretation, and that simply cannot be allowed. 

In this, the Christianos have a lot in common with those Soviet filmmakers of the 1920s. Those directors also left nothing up to interpretation. But that didn’t stop them from pushing the medium so far that they literally revolutionized it. Through their experimentation with editing, they changed the way movies would be made from then on. The fact that they were making propaganda was not a hindrance, but may have been to their advantage. That the message would act as a constant allowed them to explore the variables. It was, in a way, freeing. This is why we talk about these films decades after the fall of the Soviet Union. 

Will anybody be talking about the Christiano brothers in the future? If so, it will likely be due to their commitment to sharing the Gospel, and not at all about how they shared it. There is nothing to learn from these men as filmmakers; nothing that stays with us as a powerful work of art. Because they are not, at their core, artists. They are salesmen. Their feature length sales pitches try to push Jesus the same way your average commercial pushes deodorant, or a new car, or breakfast cereal: communicating a clear message with no real passion. 

To be sure, the Christianos have their place in the history of faith-based film. They were making Christian dramas before everybody else. But those that may have been inspired by their work quickly surpassed them in skill. And while Christian film still leaves a lot to be desired, there are those that have shown a genuine concern for the artistry that goes into filmmaking. And as directors like the Erwins or Dallas Jenkins deepen their command of style, the Christianos continue making the same bland, uninspired non-movies that they always have. No curiosity about the art form. No nagging need to challenge themselves. No desire for improvement. Because, in their eyes, they don’t have to get any better. By delivering their message so loudly and unambiguously, their films are already perfect. Haughtily dismissing all evidence to the contrary.