Manchester 9pm, Friday April 14 2006. Jesus Christ is about to tuck into his last supper, at a fish and chip van close to the cathedral and M&S. "Take, eat. This is my body, which is given for you. Do this in remembrance of me," he says, before offering his disciples some chips. "This is my blood, it will be shared among many for the forgiveness of sins." He hands round his drink before launching into song. We've been here before, of course. Bach, Handel, and Andrew Lloyd Webber have been playing Jesus the Musical for years. Actually it all goes back to the 8th century when the story of the Passion was first chanted. By the 1200s different singers were playing different characters and it had become drama.
But this is different. Never before has the music of so many blasphemers, adulterers, Judases, sodomites, narcissists, drunkards, pill poppers, and ne'er-do-wells been compiled to celebrate the passing and second coming of Jesus.
It could only happen in Manchester, home of the Guardian, the Peterloo massacre, and a disproportionate number of great pop stars from the past half-century. Here the Passion is being re-enacted not in church but in Albert Square (forget EastEnders, this is the real Albert Square).
The chosen music is usually the soundtrack to student bedsit miserablism - Joy Division's Love Will Tear Us Apart (surely the most desperate song ever written), the Smiths' Heaven Knows I'm Miserable Now (probably the second most desperate song ever written) and New Order's Blue Monday (very possibly the third most desperate song ever written). To top things off, the actor cum hardman Keith Allen is the narrator.
At the dress rehearsal on Thursday night, he explained how it would be recorded by the BBC in many different parts of Manchester, and brought together for an ambitious live transmission yesterday evening (Friday). It's a logistical nightmare, a potential minefield and great fun - just the kind of thing BBC should be doing.
Processions from far and wide (Moss Side, Burnage, Prestwich, you name it) were due to converge behind a huge eight-metre cross weighing half a tonne in the centre of Manchester. Meanwhile, Jesus himself was making his way through the Arndale centre towards Albert Square, doubling up as Calvary where his fate was to be decided by Pontius Pilate and the crowds.
Jesus knew he was going to be betrayed, and that the end was nigh. "He's a marked man, his time has come," Allen said. "He's the son of God for heaven's sake, he knows his words are revolutionary, they're rocking the boats, challenging the vested interests." This is a very contemporary Passion. Jesus is booted into a Transit van by the riot police. He emerges at Calvary, badly beaten in an orange suit. The Guantánamo analogy is obvious - but I'm not sure it works.
The Bishop of Manchester, the right reverend Nigel McCulloch says: "Manchester Passion has a sincerity and an ability to shock and connect that is not far removed from how it must have been on the first Good Friday."
He's right. Some of it is shocking. Ian Curtis would turn in his grave if he could hear Darren Morfitt as Jesus destroying Love Will Tear Us Apart. He sounds as if he's singing from the bottom of a swimming pool.
But this is a minor quibble. Morfitt is a convincingly intense Jesus - a classic northern class warrior. Tim Booth (once baby-faced singer with James and now a scarily angular actor) makes for a haunting Judas. Denise Johnson, who sings with Primal Scream, has a lovely, melancholic voice. As Mary, she even manages to turn M People's upbeat Search For a Hero into a supreme dirge. The cast is accompanied by a stirling 16-piece string orchestra and busking disciples.
It all has something of an am dram feel, but that is part of its charm. At times, we could be watching Stars in their Eyes. "Tonight Cat, I am going to be Jesus Christ being Liam Gallagher singing Wonderwall." At other times, it could be Big Brother. After the son of God is charged with blasphemy, inciting religious hatred and conspiracy to directly or indirectly encourage the act of terrorism, the crowd are invited to vote either Barrabas or Jesus out of the temporal house. Jesus goes - but I'm not so sure he lost the vote.
The crowd - more straggling passersby than disciples at the dress rehearsal - are impressed. Nayam, Meene and Linda, two Hindus and a non-practising Christian, admit they don't know much about the Passion. "I'm guessing it's Jesus who dies," Linda says. But that's the beauty of this production, Meene says, it fills in the gaps for you.
After the performance, Denise Johnson says she has fulfilled one ambition. To see a crucifixion? "No, to sing with an orchestra. They called me up and said will you come and do this. I was a bit dubious at first because I'm not religious."
Tim Booth raves about the inspirational people he has met on the Manchester Passion. "Jesus is so down to earth. He's so real. I love that." You don't need to be a Christian to appreciate a good Passion, he says. "This is such an archetypal story. Anybody can relate to the betrayal. Everybody gets betrayed and everybody betrays at some point in their life."
Meanwhile, Jesus is being snapped by the paparazzi at his cross, and is in a rush. "Right, what's the crack 'cos I've just come off and I've got loads of notes to work through. You know what I mean, fuckin' hell."
Has it gone to his head playing Jesus? "Has it gone to my head? Give me a break man I'm the most down to earth person you'll meet. I'm not Jesus I'm an actor." Martin Luther would be disappointed. He wrote: "The passion of Christ should not be acted out in words and pretence, but in real life." But this is the 21st century, and in a largely godless society, with virtual reality more real than real reality, I'm with Jesus on this one.
There are no nails, no stigmata, nothing bloodthirsty about this Passion. For that, you're best off with Martin Scorsese or Mel Gibson at the cinema. But by the end of the evening there is something truly transcendent about it.
Jesus dies on the cross, and a minute later he rises, luminescent, arms held out wide, high in the sky. At the top of the town hall's clocktower he's singing I Am the Resurrrection, and it really is quite beautiful.