When you revisit a centuries-old story that almost everyone knows and thinks they understand, you have to approach it differently. You have to enter through “side doors” to invite audiences to sit with it longer, feel it more deeply, and recognize how (uncomfortably) relevant it remains.
James Dalrymple’s The Good Samaritan does exactly that—his 45 minute film on ANGEL.COM isn’t a simple retelling but rather a rich exposition on compassion in this modern age that is often plagued by polarization and prejudice.
Dalrymple’s film is the first in a broader effort to bring the parables of Jesus Christ to life for modern audiences. This first parable in the series is not crafted as a simple moral lesson but compels audiences to ask: what does it mean to stop, to notice, and to help the ONE—right here, right now?
Dalrymple himself points to what he sees as a world on edge: “I’m bombarded by a polarization in politics. I’m bombarded by signs of the times. I’m bombarded by wars and rumors of wars… the anger and the frustration and the anxiety that has become part of our world.” That sense of bombardment—of emotional and spiritual overload—becomes the film’s backdrop.
A Story (We Think) We Know
The parable of the Good Samaritan is one many of us know and can recite at a moment’s notice. A man traveling from Jerusalem to Jericho is attacked, robbed, and left for dead. A priest passes him by. A Levite does the same. Finally, a Samaritan—belonging to an ethnic group despised by the injured man’s own people—stops, tends to his wounds, and cares for him.
Due to the familiarity most have with the story, I appreciated Dalrymple’s approach to make me think longer and harder by focusing on the parable’s friction. He slows the narrative down, expands its context, and gives emotional weight to each character and point of decision. The traveler is not anonymous; he has a wife and daughter and a specific purpose in traveling to Jericho.
The Samaritan? He’s not merely a symbol of compassion; he’s a nuanced person with his own burdens, his own plans, and his own reasons not to stop and provide assistance..
Producer Howard Collett explains the philosophy behind this expanded context and emotional weight: “[We] add some backstory to [very brief parables] so we can put ourselves in the minds and the hearts of the people back in the first century… It brings it alive. It makes it believable. And it allows us to have emotions that would have been similar to theirs.”
Accessing that emotion is one of the film’s central strengths.
By the time the pivotal moment arrives, the decision to help or pass by has a weight that the characters and the audience both carry.
Another compelling way to read the parable of the Good Samaritan is as a miniature portrait of the Christ condescending to save us all. In this respect, Jerusalem represents our existence with God before this mortal life, Jericho represents the journey we are all on in this earthly existence, and the wounded traveler is every soul that enters this world. The man left half dead is not only a figure representing physical injury, but of all of humanity’s deeper need for rescue, healing, and grace that only Christ can provide.
That is what makes the Samaritan so powerful as a symbol of Christ. He does not merely pass by, and he does not help from a distance; He sees, approaches, administers relief, and carries the injured man to safety.
The whole parable focuses on the Savior’s ministry: His compassion, His sacrifice, and His willingness to bear what we cannot bear ourselves. Even the inn can be read as a place of ongoing care, a fitting image of the church’s role in the healing work of Christ, while the innkeeper reflects those entrusted to assist with that ministry until the Lord returns in glory.
Read this way, the parable becomes more than a lesson about kindness (though it certainly is that as well). It becomes the ultimate act of redemption, restoration, and divine love enacted in human history. The wounded traveler teaches us to recognize our own need, the Samaritan teaches us how Christ responds to that need, and the entire parable invites every Christian reader to ask not only, “Who is my neighbor?” but also, “How has the Lord Himself come to MY aid on my own road to Jericho?”
The Weight of a Choice
Dalrymple’s retelling of The Good Samaritan also shines in its insistence that compassion is never convenient.
The film shares the circumstances that make stopping difficult; the injured man is encountered in the middle of exigent plans, responsibilities, and expectations.
The traveler is on his way to a festival, carrying goods meant to support his village. His journey matters. His time matters. His success matters. And then, suddenly, something else matters more.
It is not only a question of “Who is my neighbor?” but “What am I willing to interrupt in order to be a TRUE neighbor?”
Dalrymple underscores this tension in his interpretation of the priest and Levite characters. They aren’t portrayed as one-dimensional villains; they are recognizable figures—people who are constrained by obligations and concerns (and perhaps even a little fear).
They are not monsters; they are ordinary people.
They are very likely me and you at some points in life’s journey..
Their actions–and equivocations for not stopping—are understandable. The audience sympathizes. And that is precisely what makes it unsettling. This forces introspection; it requires us as viewers to look in the mirror and see if we have ever acted in a similar fashion (different circumstance perhaps, but similar outcome).
Against this backdrop, the Samaritan’s decision becomes all the more striking. “Yet the person that we think would have animosity towards someone from another race, the Samaritan, makes the choice, the human choice, to help and serve and minister,” Dalrymple explains. The emphasis on making a “human choice” is critical—the film does not depict Christ-like compassion as automatic or effortless. It is deliberate and costly (and therefore, as shown by the [in]action of the priest and Levite, many times unlikely).
Ministering > Mechanics
One of the film’s most compelling themes is its critique of prioritizing systems over people.
Dalrymple articulates this directly: “Ultimately I think the question that Christ is invoking by his parable is what is most important? And I think in every case it elevates ministering and healing over policy, practice, and procedure.”
Think about it.
The act of stopping for someone in need often feels disruptive (and potentially even irresponsible). This film challenges that instinct and suggests that compassion is not a deviation from what matters most; it is EXACTLY what matters most.
Producer Howard Collett reinforces this point in practical terms. For him, the film’s success is not measured by viewership alone, but by transformation: “If we’re not inspired to make a change in our lives, to do something better, it’s just another movie.”
That insistence on impact woven with entertainment shapes this production, and the vision for the production company Emmaus Road Media.
The Emmaus Road Vision
The film is produced under the banner of Emmaus Road Media, a name that carries its own symbolic weight. It references the biblical account of disciples walking with Christ after his resurrection, only recognizing him later as their “hearts burned within them.”
For first assistant director Jon Farrell, this idea encapsulates the project’s ultimate goal: “We named this company Emmaus Road Media… and that is ultimately our goal: to help people have a personal experience with Jesus Christ.”
Farrell’s background in major animation studios like Pixar and DreamWorks informs his understanding of storytelling, but he describes a shift in priorities that led him to this project: “I got my start… in Hollywood… ultimately there was something missing for me. And I wanted to work on things that had a lasting impact.” That desire for lasting impact—something that extends beyond entertainment—is reflected in the passion carried by all the members of the Emmaus Road Media team.
Measuring Success
One of the most distinctive aspects of The Good Samaritan is how its creators define success.
Dalrymple articulates this clearly: “My measure of success is if I can tell a story that someone feels the spirit of and the Spirit in it, then I’ve been successful.” This emphasis on emotional and spiritual resonance shifts the focus from external validation to influence and impact.
Collett echoes this sentiment, emphasizing the importance of positive change: he says the film should not merely be watched, but lived. It should “prompt viewers to reconsider their actions, their priorities, and their understanding of what it means to be a neighbor.”
Farrell, meanwhile, situates success within a broader perspective: “Although I would love this to go big… Ultimately, you know, the glory is the Lord’s.”
In the end, The Good Samaritan suggests that the world is shaped not only by large-scale events, but by small and often unnoticed acts of kindness and mercy.
By focusing on a single act of compassion, the film invites the audience to consider their own responsibility for similar choices. This film made me uncomfortable and introspective on how I can personally do more and better see–and aid–the One. In religions that are often framed as asking for perfection in their congregants, the movie reinforces that the demand is not for perfection but for Christ-like awareness and focus on the One.
WATCH on ANGEL.COM now!
Holly Wallace is a writer and storyteller drawn to meaningful questions and overlooked details. Her work explores Latter-day Saint life and culture through faithful inquiry, inviting readers to pause, consider, and engage more deeply with what matters most.
Beautiful article! Love the perspective of this parable being an example of our own life, and the ministry of Christ.
Holly did excellent work in capturing the essence of this film. Her weaving of her story and ours, including the plan of salvation, was masterful. As a producer, I often cringe when someone retells the story and misses the point. Holly was spot-on.