"It's been a hard year."

So says Mel Gibson as he nears the finish line for his very personal, very controversial film.

On Wednesday, Gibson will release into 2,000 theaters "The Passion of the Christ," the $25 million film he conceived, directed, co-wrote and personally financed.

The film has been a dozen years in gestation "and finally comes out now, whelping like a baby," Gibson says.

But it also comes with a flood of controversy, which has grown more heated over the past year.

Is the depiction of the role of Jewish leaders in Jesus' death anti-Semitic, as some have charged?

Will filmgoers accept a subtitled film in which all dialogue is in the ancient, dead languages of Aramaic and Latin?

Are the very realistic, very graphic R-rated depictions of the scourging and crucifixion of Christ too violent, even for modern audiences?

"It is very violent," Gibson readily admits. "You're watching a man being tortured to death, but as lyrically and as beautifully as I can film it. I hope (my method) allows audiences to stay there and experience it."

Filmgoers will see an unflinching account of scourging that rips skin and draws much blood, the nails driving Christ's hands onto the cross, the spear piercing his side and much, much more. "It's shocking, horrific and repulsive, but should provoke thought," Gibson says.

"I think it's necessary to push people to the edge for an understanding of the enormity and the innocence of what happened — and that it was willingly done."

Perhaps to stress the nature of his project, Gibson is releasing it on Ash Wednesday, a day of fasting that begins the Christian Lenten season, a period of reflection and penance.

But why would Gibson, a highly regarded Oscar-winning actor and director whose action epics and romantic comedies have made him wealthy, risk his career on such a volatile project as the crucifixion of Christ?

He says despite his success, he hit an emotional low several years ago, which caused him to renew his faith.

"Life is a scarring experience for everybody. Nobody gets off light. It doesn't matter if you make a lot of dough; you hit the wall and ask the big question: 'Why am I empty? What do I need to do?'

"Gradually, an answer takes shape," Gibson says. "It's an evolution of heart, but it's not possible until you begin to worry that you don't have a heart. And you wonder where it went."