After his winning 2021 reimagining of the Western “The Harder They Fall” for his second feature, British filmmaker Jeymes Samuel applies that go-for-broke entertainer’s sensibility to the Christ story in “The Book of Clarence.” It’s a wildly ambitious effort — equal parts satire, modern Black take on the Holy Land of 2,000 years ago, serious dialectic between belief and knowledge — that plays out rather shaggy. But Lord is it fun, in a way church and Hollywood’s biblical epics almost never are.

Samuel employs attitude and details to make his main points rather than direct preaching about religion or how the Roman occupation of Palestine parallels contemporary policing. The performance by LaKeith Stanfield (“Sorry to Bother You,” “Judas and the Black Messiah”) as the title bad boy also avoids hitting us over the head while staying on message. A hustler from Jerusalem who really wants what he wants but goes for it with a certain lackadaisical cool, Clarence’s blithe surface covers up deep insecurities. He loses chariot street races, sells weed, is always committing petty larceny and owes local crime boss Jedidiah the Terrible (Eric Kofi-Abrefa) too many shekels. Meanwhile, Clarence wishes he were good enough to make something of a mutual attraction with Jedidiah’s sister Varinia (Anna Diop, “Nanny”), who works at a marvelously imagined Iron Age beauty parlor.

Stanfield also plays Clarence’s twin Thomas, forever high-hatting his loser brother since becoming a member of J-Town’s most exclusive entourage, Jesus’ apostles. Clarence gets it in his head that becoming the 13th member of that crew is his best path to success, despite the slight problem of his skepticism toward the whole Messiah thing. This leads Clarence into the gladiator ring (Omar Sy of “Lupin” fame is quite the presence as self-proclaimed immortal Barabbas) and into amusing if unenlightening encounters with a foolish, intolerant John the Baptist (David Oyelowo) and down-to-earth Mother Mary (Alfre Woodard).

As events move toward, but never stumble into repetition of, “Life of Brian” territory, Clarence gets in deeper trouble with the centurions (James McAvoy does a droll, slippery Pontius Pilate). The Romans’ representation of white supremacy becomes explicit, while Black and Jewish oppression are more intertwined. Kofi-Abreva’s Jedidiah delivers a hopeful, defiant soliloquy that dodges sanctimony — the whole film does that, too — and Benedict Cumberbatch could not be funnier as the rest of the film’s final act morphs into anything but laughs.

Samuel, also an acclaimed recording artist known as the Bullitts, composed the film’s music. It’s a distinct mashup of funk, choral, hip-hop and soul, evident in its divergence from traditional sandal movie soundtracks yet seeming to fit just fine, as most other contemporary aspects of “Clarence” do. The music is at its best during a couple of party-bordering-on-orgy scenes, sensual indulgences that Cecil B. DeMille surely would have approved, then winked and disapproved, of. There’s also a sequence that evokes a famous line from the rock opera “Jesus Christ, Superstar.” 

But even with its floating hookah smokers, this movie feels far more grounded than most shows that grapple with the divine.

In the film’s production notes, Samuel cites all kinds of cinematic influences from “Spartacus” to “Raiders of the Lost Ark.” He perhaps proclaims too much, as the scope of this production — shot in the same, ancient Italian town of Matera, where Mel Gibson staged “Passion of the Christ” — doesn’t quite meet the epic bar. But Samuel also wanted to view big biblical business from a normal person’s point of view, and at that he often succeeds. Stanfield’s Clarence may be more extraordinary than he or anyone else realizes, but it’s in a way we all are. 

Amen.

Bob Strauss is a freelance writer.