THEOREM Explained: A Mystical Treatise on the Essence of Life

Born in Bologna, the director left behind around twenty feature films, many of which have become permanent fixtures in the history of cinema. Among Pasolini’s numerous important cinematic achievements, I consider the film that marks its 56th anniversary this year to be his most perfect work. On this occasion, I decided to explore the significance of one of the greatest philosophical treatises ever captured on film, and the pinnacle of Pasolini’s humanistic thought – Theorem.

The Gospel According to Pier Paolo

The term “theorem” in logic refers to a proposition derived from previously existing and accepted statements. It is thus a derivative of a set of propositions (prior theorems or axioms) that form a system within which the new proposition exists. The etymology of this Latin-Italian term traces back to the Greek theorema, which, besides its logical meaning, also conveys the ideas of “spectacle” and “intuition.” It seems that all three categories suggested by the title are reflected in the film. Theorem is indeed a film—a kind of spectacle or show—where religious reflection and a form of theological deduction intertwine with intuitionism, giving cognitive primacy to non-verbal, sensory perception.

The story Pasolini tells in Theorem is spare and brilliantly simple—a mysterious, unnamed Guest arrives at the home of a wealthy Italian family. He intrigues them with his sensual confidence, wise and penetrating gaze, and the mere fact of being an Outsider, someone from the outside. Played by Terence Stamp, the man gradually seduces all the household members: the maid (Emilia), the son (Pietro), the mother (Lucia), the daughter (Odetta), and the father (Paolo). However, when the head of the family, the last to succumb to his charm, finally does, the Guest departs just as silently and without explanation as he arrived. His disappearance leaves a void in the family’s life that each member tries to cope with in their own way.

The sequences of seduction and the struggles with the Guest’s departure constitute the two fundamental parts of Theorem —the moment of Presence and the confrontation with the Void, connected by transitional farewell scenes. Before we witness the course of the fateful visit, Pasolini shows us a quasi-documentary scene of interviews with the factory workers managed by Paolo (as we later learn, this was actually the epilogue of the whole story), and sepia-toned scenes presenting the family members, signaling their characters and personality traits. Color appears only when the father reads a brief telegram brought by a cheerful messenger: “I’m arriving tomorrow.” From this moment on, the gray, monochromatic overlay and documentary style disappear, replaced by the restrained yet carefully composed frames characteristic of Pasolini’s cinema, colored with vivid, expressive hues.

The Guest’s name remains unknown, as does his relationship with the family that entitles him to sudden and authoritative visits. His identity can only be inferred from the context—the Guest is God Himself. However, this is not the God preached by priests, nor does He seem to belong to any earthly religious institution. The mysterious, laconic Guest is more a vital force, divine energy clothed in human form than a personal Creator known from catechism. By using direct quotes from the Bible and transforming religious symbolism, Pasolini creates in Theorem something akin to a personal spiritual impression, a kind of personal Gospel in which he tries to understand and describe the absolute through his own sensitivity. It is no surprise that the Vatican reacted sharply after the film’s premiere, deeming it blasphemous and sacrilegious.

The Prophet Pasolini

Theorem is Pasolini’s sixth feature film—roughly in the middle of his career, which spanned from 1961 to 1975. By the time of its release, Pier Paolo Pasolini was already an acclaimed filmmaker with at least three significant works to his credit (Accattone, Mamma Roma, and The Gospel According to St. Matthew). From the very beginning of his career, the director was recognized as a highly intellectual artist, using the language of cinema in a very deliberate way. His uniqueness on the map of Italian cinema of the time lay in his skillful and sometimes surprising combination of poeticism with the socialist zeal of his films. Pasolini’s sensibility was deeply rooted in both Marxism and Catholicism, from which emerged a specific existential fatalism in his portrayal of the world, as well as a dual revolutionary potential. Concerning the conservatism of post-war Italy, Pasolini was a revolutionary, sharply attacking class inequalities and the rigid institutions oppressing the working class. On the other hand, from the perspective of leftist orthodoxy, the creator of Salò appeared as a spirituality-obsessed intellectual whose theological-historical inquiries had little to do with the ideas of global proletarian revolution. The result was a deep anti-orthodoxy in Pasolini, who seemed to break both the frameworks of tradition and revolutionary thought.

This dialectic was reflected in the creator’s approach to sexuality, suspended between contradictions and the classical understanding of it. On one hand, depicting the social problems of the poor and undertaking a sharp cultural critique, Pasolini drew attention to the issue of prostitution, explicitly pointing to sex as a tool of male dominance and class oppression. However, sexuality is also, for him, a form of vital energy, oppressed by cultural institutions of life force and affirmation of existence. This resulting ambivalence gives Pasolini’s work a dark, provocative flavor, making his films continually elude clear-cut interpretations. Considering Theorem as the pinnacle of the Italian master’s anthropological thought, I believe he comprehensively combined in this work the three outlined threads and perspectives, illustrating the meanings that emerged at their intersection in the most nuanced way. In Theorem, the three Pasolinis—Pasolini the mystic, Pasolini the provocateur, and Pasolini the revolutionary—came equally to the fore. It was from these three identities that the God-Guest was born.

Divine Presence

The mystical and theological dimension of the film forms its framework, organizing the entire narrative. Before Theorem, Pasolini twice attempted to delve into the mystery of past spirituality, examining the early Christian figure of Christ in The Gospel According to St. Matthew and the ancient pagan mysticism of action and destiny in Oedipus Rex. In Theorem, he examines contemporary spirituality, proposing a synthetic vision of God and faith. The director does not hide the religious tone of the film, opening its main part with a quote from the Book of Exodus: So God led the people around by the desert road… (Ex 13:18), read against the backdrop of the volcanic wasteland of Etna, which will recur as a vision interrupting the main course of events. The barrenness and emptiness, creating the need for divine guidance, serve as the backdrop for the Guest’s visit, whose arrival brings color to the gray existence of the family. During his Presence, the character played by Terence Stamp reveals discreet similarities to Jesus—his facial expressions, as he looks benevolently at the family members trying to please him, occasionally resemble the gentle gazes of crucified Christ’s images, and his power goes beyond seductive charm, allowing him to sense the emotions and intentions of others and even heal the father, suddenly struck by illness. However, the Guest primarily gives meaning to the lives of the family members, liberating them and unleashing their repressed elements. In this sense, the metaphysical vitality he embodies becomes the impulse that gives significance to human life, hitherto engulfed in lethargy and stagnation.

The suggestions regarding the Guest’s divine identity culminate in the quote from the Book of Jeremiah that concludes the Presence part: You deceived me, Lord, and I was deceived; you overpowered me and prevailed. I am ridiculed all day long; everyone mocks me. … All my friends are waiting for me to slip, saying, ‘Perhaps he will be deceived; then we will prevail over him and take our revenge on him (Jer 20:7–10). At this point, it becomes clear who the Guest is, or at least what role he played in the family’s life. However, the divine breath they experienced also carries danger. You came here to destroy, the father will say in farewell to the unnamed man. For after his departure, a gaping void remains, and the awakened spiritual individuals will suddenly feel naked, weak, and lost in a world whose meaning was given by the inspiration of Presence. The sudden departure is not, in Pasolini’s view, God’s whim, taking away what He once gave, but rather an inherent element of religious experience. The intimate experience of communion with divine force must at some point be confronted with the outside world, which lacks His Presence. That is why, in Pasolini, God is a Guest, not a father. The second part of the film is a record of this very struggle of spiritually awakened individuals with the absence of God and their desperate attempts to fill the barren void of their lives.

Mysticism Today

In the depiction of divine seduction, it is not so much the fatalistic dualism that seems controversial, but rather the portrayal of sexuality as the means by which the Guest enlightens the various characters. This could, of course, be interpreted as an expression of the provocateur spirit of the Italian director, who never shied away from controversy or challenging common moral standards. However, in this case, I believe that eroticism is primarily a logical consequence of Pasolini’s proposed vision of spirit and body, rooted in ancient and early Christian thought. This extremely anti-dogmatic, heretical vision is not, for Pasolini, a tool to attack the Church. The director is not interested in overthrowing church dogmas in this film (after all, the erotic scenes are very restrained and modest), but rather in presenting a particular, universal vision of faith and the spiritual dimension of reality. Pasolini draws on the sexual magic present in ancient religions, weaving it together with Christian symbolism and biblical messages of love, to create a sensualist interpretation of God that transcends human interpretations, assuming only a temporary form for the benefit of the believers who are discovering Him.

Although personified and real, the God of Theorem also has the character of a personal emanation, influencing individual experiences rather than broader historical events. He does not seem to follow a grand plan, remaining indifferent to what people will do with the spiritual liberation He has granted them. The household members are not so much actively seduced as they are, under the influence of the Guest’s magnetism, luring and provoking Him to come closer. Thus, Pasolini’s God departs from the vision of a creative, proactive force, adopting a form closer to the ancient concept of a violent, elemental power that complements the raw world of matter. The ancient motifs in the interpretation of divinity are also justified in the context of associating the arrival of God with the Greek figure of Hermes, suggesting a highly synthetic understanding of divinity by Pasolini, one that transcends specific systems and doctrines. In this sense, it is neither surprising nor shocking to depict a God who enlightens through sexuality. He is meant to embody a metaphysics, an idea that gives meaning to existence in a materialistic world.

Pasolini’s God is neither Creator, Father, nor Shepherd—He is a mystical, undefined being, a spark that initiates life and movement in a world immersed in apathy. Such an interpretation seems to be a gesture of restoring archaic religion’s ontology of the senses and experience while rejecting the logocentric canon of contemporary systems. The God personified by the Guest is not accessible through reason but through the senses. By accumulating erotic energy, He brings illumination through sexual acts and His physical closeness, while the words and actions of His lovers are merely their own attempts to understand and process what they have experienced. His intentions are neither evil nor good; they are simply acts of liberation, a reevaluation of the characters’ previous perception of the world. It is their mistake to trust Him as a shepherd in the Christian sense.