This is Arnold Böcklin's Mary Magdalene Weeping Over the Dead Christ. Almost everything about it strikes me as wrong — psychologically, dramatically, narratively, even theologically. The translucent black mantle lends the image a perverse erotic quality. The Magdalene's grief seems melodramatic, almost self-involved — the beautiful figure of the dead Christ becomes a prop for a diva.
And yet . . . it delivers a grisly, Gothic frisson, of the sort Böcklin specialized in, unsettling, macabre. It's hard to stop looking at it.