The prefect of Judaea, Pontius Pilate, was looking out at an angry mob below, and I have been watching him again and again now for several years, as he assesses the situation in the streets and is deciding how he must respond. In the end, Pilate will talk to those to whom he is predetermined to talk (to the crowd, to the high priests, to his wife, to Jesus) and do that which he is predetermined to do (to display the beaten Jesus, to release Barabbas, to dispatch Jesus to the cross, to wash his hands). It has been a chore, at times, to watch Jesus condemned to the cross again and again, and to watch prefect after prefect come to terms with the decision he has made, from tortured indecision to malicious self-justification to casual dismissal of another person’s life. There are times I have suffered under Pontius Pilate, to be sure. Each time he speaks and acts, however, although I have known how it would all turn out, I have been fascinated to see how it would unfold. What expression would there be in his face, what catch in his voice, what unexpected glance or gesture? There is a constancy from production to production in the portrayal of Jesus that verges on monotony – there he is, as always, in his robe and sandals, with beard and hair of a certain length and a steadfast look in his eye. Pilate, however, has always been allowed a far wider range of appearances on stage and screen.