Le signe de la croix

Hollywood legend has it that DeMille cast Claudette Colbert as Poppaea by asking her if she'd like to play the "wickedest woman in the world". Who could refuse an offer like that? There are already quite a few excellent (and fun) reviews in this column now, but in view of the DVD release I'd like to add a few things. This lavish picture shows DeMille at his best, worst, most decadent and most unusual. I first saw the expurgated World War II era re-release on TV ages ago, and wasn't much impressed. My father said they'd bowdlerized it a lot, so I was curious to see the 1932 original when it appeared on VHS a few years back. "Astound Me" Diaghilev once famously said to Cocteau; and astounded I was. I was expecting a lot more craziness, but I wasn't expecting to see elephants stepping on men's heads or naked women being eaten by crocodiles. Released in December 1932 it is marginally a pre-code movie, but surely only DeMille could have gotten away with it. This movie has nothing to do with Hollywood of the Thirties; this is Hollywood of the Twenties having one last outrageous fling, with all its sex, drugs, decadence, and all round insanity. The movie plays very much like a silent; perhaps it should have been a silent, thus sparing us its greatest defect, which is some of the worst dialog ever perpetrated. Fredric March as Marcus, the male lead, struggles manfully with awful lines throughout; but it is the visual aspect which dominates one's attention. Consider Colbert's legendary bath in a veritable swimming pool filled with milk (and she's really naked under all that milk). A friend, played by Vivian Tobin with kittenish glee, arrives; they exchange a few verbal barbs worthy of a pair of snarky teenagers, then Poppaea simply says "Take off your clothes. Get in here and tell me all about it." Anyone who thinks the naughty implications of this were inadvertent in innocent old 1932 hasn't spent much time in Hollywood Babylon, to say nothing of Hollywood Rome. Colbert is a delight throughout; her scenes with Fredric March play as high comedy. As he desperately tries to assert his nobility and self control, Colbert effortlessly demolishes his dignity with the perfect lazy grace of a leopardess. And let's not forget Charles Laughton, whose Nero is a masterpiece of omnisexual megalomania. Only Peter Ustinov in the 1951 "Quo Vadis" could better him.

This is on the surface a standard lions vs. Christians epic, but it ain't one to take your Sunday School class to. Under no circumstances should this be viewed by kids, even today. Much of the imagery is equivocal, to put it politely, especially during the big arena show that fills the last half hour. And then there's Marcus' big party, where Joyzelle Joyner performs a dance that is startlingly obscene for 1932.

All of this is ravishingly photographed by cameraman Karl Struss, one of the great artists of monochrome, who makes every shot a work of art. There is one scene in the house occupied by Mercia and her aged guardian, where the old man is seen in a hallway with a gate and small yard beyond; in the yard is an urn. The whole shot is lit by a single brilliant light blasting down on the urn, with bounce boards sending the light gently into the house. This violates all the rules of how to light a scene, but the effect is magical. A quick word should also be put in for Rudolph Kopp, who supplied the music (curiously uncredited); he actually has a go at recreating an authentic ancient Roman sound (no actual ancient Roman music survives).

But the core of the picture is the last part, the ultimate Roman circus. DeMille does something genuinely startling here. First he invites us, a little salaciously, to watch the spectacle, which begins with gladiatorial combat, but proceeds to darker and darker exhibits, many of which are genuinely disturbing (I wasn't kidding about the naked women and the crocodiles; wait until you see the Gaulish Amazon women vs. the Pygmies). As it gets more and more evil, we keep cutting to vivid closeups of the audience that we have been invited to join; some excited, some revolted, some merciless, some bored to distraction, some filled with pity, some sadistic, some almost drooling with voyeurism; they are us, and we are them. DeMille has had the effrontery to show us our own faces as we feast our eyes on all this exquisitely photographed mayhem. It's not easy to watch, and I know of nothing else quite like it prior to Stanley Kubrick.

Rome - First Century A. D. Nero, the mad Emperor & Poppaea, his vile Empress, engage in every sort of vice & degradation. Wanton cruelty becomes a spectator sport and virtue & innocence are denigrated. Slowly, however, a new Power is growing. People calling themselves Christians are secretly spreading their Faith ever more widely. They are horribly persecuted, but they continue to multiply. Which will eventually triumph - the might of Imperial Rome, or the gentle ones who follow THE SIGN OF THE CROSS?

This Cecil B. DeMille epic is a vivid retelling of the struggles of the first Christians. Paramount gave the film a lavish production and DeMille wrings every drop of piety & puerile interest possible from the plot. Fredric March is stalwart as the Roman official who falls in love with a beautiful Christian girl. While his ultimate conversion wouldn't convince the average modern Baptist, he holds his own in scenes with other performers whom are allowed to behave outrageously. Elissa Landi is sweet as the virtuous Believer, effectively underplaying her role.

`Do you want to play the most wicked woman in the world?' DeMille asked Claudette Colbert one day on the studio lot. She did & she does memorably, from her eye-popping milk bath scene to her revenge on her would-be lover. Sniveling, whining and wearing a huge fake nose, Charles Laughton is pure effeminate evil as Nero (notice his catamite), a foul blot on the face of humanity & stealing all his scenes from everyone else. History tells us that Nero eventually murdered Poppaea by stomping her to death...

Ian Keith is enjoyable as an unpunished villain. Ferdinand Gottshalk & Vivian Tobin are effectively degraded as Roman bacchants. Film mavens will recognize the voice of John Carradine, calling `We who are about to die, salute you!' out of the arena to Nero; he can later be spotted in the role of a Christian martyr ascending the dungeon stairs to his death.

DeMille had just returned to Paramount from a 3-year, 3-picture stint at MGM, where he was remarkably subdued. Back at his home studio he was allowed more license. Wrapping a little sermon up in a lot of sin, he filled this pre-Production Code drama with plenty of the latter. When THE SIGN OF THE CROSS was re-released in 1944, many cuts had to be made. The film now having been restored, it's not difficult to guess which sections those were. The Dance of the Naked Moon & much of the antics in the final arena sequence are beyond the bounds of good taste, but certainly not beyond the bounds of Cecil B. DeMille.

Believe it or not some sort of code did exist during the pre-Code era but no one felt obliged to follow it. Although lapped up by audiences the excesses on display in this extraordinary opus proved too much to bear in certain quarters and undeniably hastened the formation of the Hays Code and the crackpot Catholic League of Decency. One would hazard a guess that it is not so much the unspeakable cruelty depicted here that caused such moral outrage but the skimpy costumes and the hip-swivelling cooch dance by Joyzelle Joyner with its distinctly lesbian overtones.

Piety and Paganism are in direct opposition here and although Mr. De Mille is seen to be on the side of the angels he is astutely aware of the box office potential of depravity and debauchery.

What should really concern an objective cinéphile is how well-made the film is and how well it has held up over nine decades. The cinematography is lustrous courtesy of Karl Struss, one of the greatest pictorialists in the history of cinema whilst Mitchell Leisen's art and costume design is exemplary. The plot is not entirely original of course as the play by Wilson Barratt from which it is taken had been strongly influenced by the novel 'Quo Vadis?' of Henryk Sienkiewicz. Here the ill-fated lovers are played by Fredric March and Elissa Landi, both of whom do their very best in one-dimensional roles. The classy Miss Landi's portrayal is virtuous without being self-righteous and her anguished cry: "Dear Christ, why?" really touches the heart. A relatively small amount of screen time is allotted to Charles Laughton and Claudette Colbert as Nero and Poppaea but they certainly make the most of it. Miss Colbert is utterly bewitching here and supremely sensuous which makes her the obvious choice to play Cleopatra for the same director two years later. Apparently de Mille was perplexed by the idiosyncratic Mr. Laughton and gave up trying to direct him. Left to his own devices his performance is touched by genius and we are obliged to film historian David Thomson for describing Laughton's interpretation as 'the most flagrant and fleshy portrait of an abandoned homosexual spirit seen in a Hollywood film until that time.'

Although not for the faint hearted this piece is arguably Cecil B. De Mille's finest achievement.

My favorite DeMille film. Charles Laughton and Claudette Colbert are delicious as the debauched emperor and empress of Rome. Prominent supporting players Arthur Hohl and Harry Beresford appeared in two horror classics (ISLAND OF LOST SOULS and DOCTOR X, respectively) the very same year. John Carradine can be seen as a condemned Christian on his way to the arena (you can also hear his voice as a spectator and as a gladiator). Very sharp viewers can also spot Dave O'Brien (a condemned Christian) and Kent Taylor (a disinterested spectator). Three famous scenes still impress today: Poppaea's milk bath; Ancaria's attempted lesbian seduction of Mercia; the outrageous arena sequence featuring beheadings, burnings, impalements, hungry crocodiles, untamed apes, bears, tigers and, of course, lions. Only C.B. could have gotten away with this in 1932! The closing cast list includes the characters Viturius, Servillius and Philodemus, but I'm not sure who they are. Viturius may have been Marcus' soldier-aide, although he doesn't look as burly as Richard Alexander. The other two must be Strabo's ugly, brutish companion and the old Christian man protective of the little orphan girl.

Yikes! De Mille's erotic raunchy graphic and splendid SIGN OF THE CROSS made at Paramount in 1932, and his first talkie bible study is a movie you not forget. It is infamous and famous for many sights and other comments here will give you the reaction to the graphic cruelty of the truly shocking Arena/Gladiator scenes. The ridiculously entertaining asses milk bath with nipples ahoy and Claudette's milky breasts, the very funny dialog of daily life amid the splendor, the horror of the rape and torture of a teenage Christian boy, the eerie similarity to the 1932 German persecution of the European Jews, the depression era parable of the idle rich uncaring at the financial death of the 1930s masses, the dazzling costumes (no bras in Rome either), the claustrophobic street sets with rushing horses and fights in corners, all in all create an amazing action tableau like a pencil sketch bible book drawing brought to life. The film's art direction and set design and costumes are especially evocative of 'a silent epic with sound' and one easily can transfer the idea of seeing the 1925 BEN HUR with sound as SIGN OF THE CROSS favorably compares. The Arena montage scenes are really shocking. The Moon Dance is outrageous lesbian swankiness and gorgeous as all hell... well pagan hell as depicted by the morally austere Demille. Great moving wallpaper for your next party if played on a big TV and without sound with your CD collection going instead. If you agree that SIGN OF THE CROSS made in 1932 is really a 1920s silent film with dialog, have a look at FOLLOW THRU made two years earlier in 1929 and in color and as jazz modern today in it's creative style. CROSS plays like an ancient movie but FOLLOW THRU still plays new.