The Movie and Television Review and Classification Board’s decision to slap an X rating on “The Carpenter’s Son” invites an uncomfortable question: are we, quietly and politely, sliding back into an age of censorship?
At a time when freedom of expression is routinely defended alongside calls for equality, representation, and diversity, the ruling feels jarringly out of step.
We are told, repeatedly, that society must learn to coexist with ideas and identities that challenge the norm. Yet when a work of art provokes discomfort—particularly discomfort rooted in religion—the reflex seems to be prohibition rather than engagement.
The board insists that the film’s “non-canonical” and horror-inflected portrayal of the childhood of Jesus Christ crosses legal and moral lines. Certainly, religion occupies a deeply sensitive space in a predominantly Christian country, and respect for faith matters. But respect should not automatically translate to insulation from critique, reinterpretation, or even disturbing artistic exploration. Art, by its nature, unsettles. It asks “what if,” prods inherited beliefs, and holds a mirror to society’s anxieties. To ban it outright is to short-circuit that conversation.
The irony is hard to ignore. In recent years, regulators and institutions have celebrated works that push boundaries in the name of inclusivity and marginalized storytelling, even when they contain explicit or challenging material. That these works can be defended as socially “valuable,” while a film deemed offensive to religious sensibilities is denied public viewing altogether, exposes an inconsistency in how freedom is measured—and for whom.
Classifying “The Carpenter’s Son” as restricted, contextualized, or age-limited might have struck a better balance. An X rating, however, forecloses choice, assuming viewers are incapable of discernment. It replaces dialogue with decree.
Protecting minors and respecting faith are valid aims. But when the answer is suppression rather than classification and discussion, we should worry.
