GIBSON'S JUDAS-PETER MOMENT.

Byline: CHRIS WEINKOPF

ONE of the most haunting, powerful portrayals in Mel Gibson's ``The Passion of the Christ'' is that of Judas Iscariot. Taunted by his demons, Judas drives headlong toward doing the very thing he despises -- because he's too weak to resist.

This is how evil works. It burns coolly in our hearts, flickering at our souls, waiting to consume us at the moment we are least able to fight it. Ultimately, Gibson's Judas is more pathetic than contemptible, more wretched than wicked.

Kind of like Gibson himself.

Like Judas, Gibson's demons seek to lead him to ruin. Judas committed suicide, and Gibson -- driving plastered, 40 mph above the speed limit on the treacherous Pacific Coast Highway -- seemed, if nothing else, indifferent toward meeting the same end.

Like Judas, Gibson's story also contains an element of betrayal: the betrayal of his family, humiliated by his despicable comments and conduct. The betrayal of millions of fans who supported him. And the betrayal of those who, like myself, came to his defense when some Jewish groups condemned ``The Passion'' for its supposedly anti-Semitic message.

But most of all, Gibson seems to resemble Judas in his weakness, in his frailty, in his vulnerability to the vices he can't seem to overcome.

Those vices, which announced themselves to the world last week, are alcoholism and anti-Semitism. The latter, no doubt, is the product of his upbringing at the hands of his Holocaust-denying father -- by all appearances an unrepentant bigot in the real sense of the term.

But Gibson is not his dad. He is manifestly repentant. And, if the public record is any indication, he is no bigot.

To be sure, the demon of anti-Semitism has a claw in Gibson's heart, and it clearly got the better of him in his pre-dawn moment of shame. But unlike his father, who seems to have given in to his anti-Semitism, Gibson fights it. Obviously, as with his years-long fight against drinking, some days the fight goes better than others. But he keeps fighting.

We see the fight in Gibson's obvious revulsion at his own conduct, in his pleadings to Jews to help him in his struggle. And while all this could be cynically dismissed as career-saving pandering, it's worth remembering that Gibson's entreaties to the Jewish community began well before last week.

Until the news broke of his drunken, anti-Semitic rant, ABC had been working with Gibson's Icon Productions on a nonfiction miniseries about the inspiring life of Flory A. Van Beek, a Dutch Jew who barely escaped the Holocaust. Gibson also reportedly planned another biblical epic based on the Hanukkah story, celebrating the Maccabees' triumphant preservation of the Jewish faith under Greek occupation. And he has financially supported Toward Tradition, an alliance of conservative Christians and Jews founded and headed by an Orthodox rabbi.

With the hindsight of the past week, these gestures now seem like further evidence of the struggle, as though Gibson hoped to vanquish his bigoted temptations through his work.

Even ``The Passion,'' which never generated any of the anti-Semitic reactions its detractors warned about, reflects this same effort. The film deliberately depicted Christianity as fundamentally Jewish in its roots, while laying blame for deicide squarely at the feet of all mankind, and not, as some charged, all Jews. That much is plain in the movie's opening sequence -- white text on a black screen, with a quote from the prophet Isaiah: ``He was wounded for our transgressions, crushed for our iniquities; by His wounds we are healed.''

Not surprisingly, an Institute for Jewish & Community Research poll found that after seeing ``The Passion,'' viewers were less likely to believe that Jews bear collective responsibility for the death of Christ. After all, Gibson meant the film to be a reflection of his faith, a faith, he says, which ``hatred of any kind goes against.''

But, as we all know too well, Gibson sometimes fails to live up to his faith. Don't we all.

If we are honest, we can all confess to our own PCH moments. We each have our unique temptations, the wicked or shameful thoughts and feelings that lie dormant in our souls -- hatred of individuals or groups, lusts and unhealthy appetites, bitter envies, smoldering angers, destructive pride.

We know these sentiments are wrong, and that they are irrational. We detest them. When they pop into our minds, we swat them away like flies -- when we're at our best. But when we are weak, or tired, or frustrated -- or drunk -- we can let down our resistance. Whether it's during periods of loneliness, or in an instant of freeway rage, we sometimes allow them to infiltrate our conscious thoughts, our words or our actions.

Fortunately for most of us, it doesn't usually happen while the whole world is watching.

It's not a sign of evil intentions when a man says one thing while drunk, and the opposite while sober. It's a sign that he works to keep his temptations in check, and that when his faculties are in order, he generally succeeds.

None of which excuses Gibson's outburst, as he is the first to admit. But it does tell us that Gibson need not be Judas, succumbing to his demons as they drag him into hell.

Another powerful portrayal in Gibson's ``Passion'' is that of Peter, who in his moment of weakness and fear, betrays Jesus three times. But through repentance and forgiveness, Peter recovers from his failures and rises to greatness.

We can only hope and pray that Gibson will do the same.

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(color) no caption (Mel Gibson)