Before he was ever accosted by apes, Charlton Heston galloped to Oscar gold for his performance as a Jewish prince turned slave in the 1959 historical epic Ben-Hur. The film was the most expensive of its time and yielded great financial and critical success to the tune of 11 Academy Award wins and label of second-highest grossing movie to date. It was a remake.

Many fail to acknowledge that their celebrated Ben-Hur is not in fact the first of its ilk. Rather, it’s a “remake” of a not-so-proliferated 1925 silent film, which was in turn a “remake” of a 15-minute film fiasco from 1907. But all this “remake” business seems a big hogwashy once we peel back some layers. I mean seriously is 2016’s Ben-Hur really to be thought of as a remake of a remake or a remake? Remake has become an ugly and ubiquitous term, one that depending on the circumstance can be thrown with the bathwater if we merely interpret the phrase. After all, how does one delineate “remake” from “adaptation”, particularly when we are discussing films that have been adopted from novels?

To me, the difference is critical. A “remake” implies a technological update whereas an “adaptation” infers a new translation of some kind has been made. With the later, someone has reconfigured the Rosetta Stone of the source material, found something within it that makes it not-to-be-missed for the standing zeitgeist. Remake may be the preferred blanket nomenclature but be assured that there are multiple brands of such.

Look no further than King Kong, Superman, Hercules, Zorro, Snow White, Peter Pan, The Wizard of Oz, Tarzan, Frankenstein or even Heston’s own Planet of the Apes for examples of films that iScream for remakes every few decades. Money-hungry studios can’t help but gobble up these oh-so-familiar properties, forking them through their most state of the art FX arm and plopping them unto the cineplex for all to behold. At times, these remakes can be unbearable. Pollution to an already over-crowded blockbuster trough.

Either by shifting their stories into a modern cultural context, focusing on different narrative threads or finding new subtext to bring to the forefront, so long as there is a substantial difference in the tone, delivery or moral footing, a remake can stand on its own. While most cannot pass muster, some have. 20th Century Fox’s newly configured Planet of the Apes franchise, Jon Favreau’s Jungle Book and Gareth Evan’s critically approved Godzilla have all stood on their own feet; offering new interpretations that invite their histories into the 21st century rather than shoehorn them in per studio mandates, irregardless of their applicability. The truly problematic remakes are those that champion one thing and one thing only: effects.

Which brings us to 2016 and Ben-Hur. The question remains: is this version of Ben-Hur a timely adaptation of Lew Wallace’s supremely influential novel “Ben-Hur: A Tale of the Christ” or merely a remake meant to update outdated special? Simply put: the latter. Definitely the latter.

Before we get further into the business of lamenting yet another unnecessary remake for being just that – and believe you me, the issues of this Ben-Hur extend far beyond merely being than an unnecessary remake – we should face its biggest issue. That being, Ben-Hur doesn’t have a clue how to square its aggressively Christian roots with a largely secular Hollywood mainstream. It makes for an oddest duck hybrid. Gladiator mashed up with God’s Not Dead. The religious overtones are overbearing and unwieldy. They’re handled with all the nuance of a circus bear. Hogtied upon an otherwise insubstantial Timur Bekmambetov popcorn showpiece.

When Jesus (Rodrigo Santoro) makes his first appearance, a quiet coup of laughter spread throughout the theater. Flanked by bright beams of light, even cinematographer Oliver Wood seems like he’s mocking Ben-Hur’s outdated theological outreach. It couldn’t be more obvious, Ben-Hur’s cultural antiquity, but rather than try to square the preachy, convert-ready material with an age of moviegoers 99% less likely to have a bible in their nightstand than they were in 1959, Bekmambetov and screenwriters Keith R. Clarke and John Ridley (yes, the same John Ridley who wrote 12 Years a Slave) turn the religious aspects into a full-blown, ultra-preening PSA for Christ. Go team!

This singular aspect leads to some accidentally hilarious material – the religious imagery is as overbearing as a clown car full of pandas and as on-the-nose as a witch’s wart – and basically makes the movie unrecommendable except to those of the most devout persuasion. It also makes it undeniably fascinating. It’s as if Bekmambetov translated the “moral purity” of 1880 and accompanied it with the spastic special effects of 2016. Think Freddie Wong’s Passion of the Christ. Hollywood Jew bashing ain’t been this ripe since Mel’s last tirade.

As to those special effects updates on which this reboot rides, there is actually commendable work worth mentioning. A scene that has the enslaved former prince Judah Ben-Hur (Jack Huston) rowing to battle in the galley of a Roman ship is near tremendous; Bekmambetov reminding us that he can work wonders with an action shot, even when he’s so often shellshocked by the dramatic angle. Toby Kebbel‘s Messala Severus sees a war montage that moves from one landscape extreme to another and again Bekmambetov’s skill flares. As one of the pioneers of slo-mo set pieces, he fails to challenge himself so much as flaunt what he’s already so good at. The man’s a bombastic technician, just not quite a storyteller.

The perfunctory chariot sequence – which is still the most notable topic of conversation surrounding Heston’s cut – is a spectacle to behold, CGI dominated though it is. A fair share of groans and moans escaped the audience but for all the right reasons. Particularly when various champions meet their crunchy doom under the hooves of stallions or the wheels of chariots. Bekmambetov locks into a brutish physicality often not afforded PG-13 efforts. He splashes blood across the scene like an oil painter. Marco Beltrami’s horny, kind-of-heavy-metal, Middle Eastern-tinged score helps sell the absurd reconciling of so many divergent sources. Jesus! Chariots! Betrayal! Oh my! Rare joy exists in when everything clicks. It’s a far more welcome flavor than necessity, whose scent dominates a large swath of the film’s template.

Former Boardwalk Empire star Jack Huston proves capable as a leading man, giving Ben-Hur its measure of humanity and emotional weight while Kebbell struggles to sell the duplicitous nature of Messala, a fact especially potent in his relationship with love interest Tirzah (Sofia Black-D’Elia). The melodramatic twists and turns fail more often than the succeed – and the women of the film are little more than pawns, strewn hither and thither to motivate our characters when they need a push. In more than one moment, we’re left scratching our heads as to how one character could possibly betray or forgive another. Massive character pivots are as fickle as a Jerusalem sandstorm. Lay blame at Bekmambetov’s Khazak feet. He handles the familial material with the same nuance and subtlety as all that Jesus business. “Just cram it down,” seems his mindset, “it’ll fit.” In the very least, Morgan Freeman sporting white dreadlocks is good for a laugh.

CONCLUSION: Ben-Hur’s failure rests more in its antiquated religious tactics than its admittedly impressive technical achievements. Naturally, it makes no excuse for its flagrant unnecessary rebootery and this in turn leads to dramatic gridlock, even when Jack Huston proves an able lead.