Return with us now to those whacky years B.C. when the buildings were big and white, men were
manly, women womanly and in the words of a songster two millenia later "heaven knows,
anything goes." Filmmakers haven't been able to resist stories set in such wild times since at least
the early 1910s when the Italians pioneered gigantic, ancient-world spectacles followed shortly by
D.W. Griffith and Cecil B. DeMille. The heyday, though, ran for about a decade from the mid-1950s
up until the rough reception of the prestigious 1963
Cleopatra and surrounding flood of
cheap Italian Hercules/Goliath/Maciste films knocked the market back down to a small but
consistent stream which sometimes produces films that win Osca® (
Gladiator) or mass
audiences (
300).
This 50s heyday is well where Warners drew for
Cult Camp Classics Vol. 4: Historical Epics,
part of a wonderful new series greeted with much excitement by film buffs. Each volume collects
three films of somewhat tarnished reputation at a more-than-reasonable price (or a tad more if
purchased separately), gives them a sharp new transfer and adds a bonus or two in the form of
commentaries or trailers. That series name probably clues you that these aren't necessarily films
you absolutely need to see-they're cult classics after all not classic classics-but they're often
entertaining in spite of themselves. At least for stretches anyway since pacing has been a
perennial problem with historical epics, the real point being the enormous sets, luxurious costumes
and earth-shattering events instead of the kind of snap and pop that drove, say, screwball
comedies. But then that's the nature of the game and you wouldn't expect that type of dialogue
any more than you'd expect
Bringing Up Baby to stop and admire the museum
architecture.
Speaking of Howrd Hawks, the highlight of this set is definitely his 1955
Land of the
Pharaohs, with a script by William Faulkner and starring Joan Collins. Such a pedigree on a
film of this type means nobody would expect it to be good exactly but it's certainly not dull. Filmed
partly in Egypt with what appears to be the legendary Cast Of Thousands,
Land of the
Pharaohs is basically about the construction of the Great Pyramid. Pharaoh Khufu has
amassed quite a haul of gold, jewels and other treasure that he wants to take with him to the next
life. To do that he needs a tomb that can't be robbed but nobody can design such a thing. Enter an
architect from a recently enslaved race who will design such a clever, unbreakable tomb in return
for the freedom of his people. It's all a bit stately and slow until the entry of Collins as the
pharaoh's second wife. She would just as soon enjoy the jewels in the here and now and her
greed sets in motion a twisting array of betrayal, skullduggery and murder.
Land of the Pharaohs doesn't skimp on the requisite scenes of big events such as a nearly
endless army returning from war and an admittedly very impressive sequence of the enormous
pyramid construction. You can just imagine the squads of assistant directors with megaphones and
swarming support staff required to organize such scenes. But while Hawks doesn't pace the film as
he might have two decades earlier he does lean towards forward momentum and giving the actors
room for more naturalist delivery, even if it's occasionally a little discordantly colloquial. But better
that where these sound reasonably close to real people than actors intoning leaden speeches.
That "script by Faulkner" statement is a bit misleading since the bulk was reportedly written by
Harry Kurnitz (later
Witness for the Prosecution) with Hawks collaborating without credit as
usual. Harold Jack Bloom, who had just been nominated for co-writing
The Naked Spur,
was brought into the project later. With Faulkner in something of a slump due to money and
alcohol troubles-despite having just completed
A Fable which would win a Pulitzer though
it's considered a minor work today-his contributions were often spotty. Working as they did in
Italy provided its own distractions. A famous anecdote has the team discussing how to write
dialogue for the pharaoh which Faulkner said he would do as a Kentucky colonel, Kurnitz thinking
King Lear a better model and Hawks deciding they should do whatever they want since he would
rewrite it anyway.
The Colossus of Rhodes (1961) is notable as the first feature of future spaghetti Western
mastermind Sergio Leone. Or at least the first he received full credit for helming since typically for
Italian productions of the time Leone's earlier filmography is a melange of assistant director
positions, second-unit filming and completely uncredited work. In any case, he acquits himself
well on
Colossus though if you're hoping for hints of his future abilities you'll be looking in
vain. The story concerns an Athenian who visits the "peaceful" island of Rhodes for the dedication
of, yep, the Colossus only to find treachery, betrayal, rebellion and even true love. There's a lot of
grand spectacle displaying classical wonders but then Italy pioneered this sort of thing back in the
early silent era; 1912's
Quo Vadis is often considered the first feature-length historical epic.
Colossus isn't terribly accurate in historical terms: there was no rebellion at this time (280
B.C.) and though historians argue about exactly where the Colossus stood or what it looked like
they all are in complete agreement that it could never have straddled the harbor as depicted in the
film or countless other images. The statue would simply have collapsed. Nevertheless, Leone gets
good use out of the Colossus, showing it frequently in the background and setting a lot of action
around its base. At one point there's even a sword fight with combatants balanced precariously on
top of its arms. More impressive is the feel of a lived-in city that Leone creates. Though still
intended to impress viwers there's not the usual sense that if you went through one of the doors
you'd see nothing but scaffolding behind a façade.
This being a Leone film it's of course in widescreen, this time something call SuperTotalScope, a
variation on TotalScope which was itself a version of CinemaScope. It's an odd tension for the
images to run sideways when the thrust of the title's statue is upwards but then most of the
action-whether fights or courtly entertainment-is spread horizontally. Leone does get mileage
from filling the screen with people and objects as well as his Rhodes with numerous hidden
passages (including an underground zoo!), caves, docks and museum-like living quarters for the
characters to romp and scheme. There's not much of the complexity of his later films and
Colossus does run a good 15-20 minutes too long but at least it delivers what it promises.
To see more of the camp promised in this set's title you don't have to go any further than
The
Prodigal (1955). It's a peculiar vehicle for top-billed star Lana Turner since she is allotted a
fairly small amount of screen time, mostly spent looking regally statue-like (but not really
statuesque) during pagan rituals. Bosley Crowther called it "pompous, ostentatious, vulgar, and
ridiculous" so how could you not want to see it? The project certainly must have been a test for
Hollywood screenwriters when confronted with the skimpy statement that the prodigal son of Jesus'
parable "took his journey into a far country, and there wasted his substance with riotous living"
(according to the Gospel of Luke, the only place the story appears). Out of such a sparse beginning
we get-deep breath now-the film's Micah who hightails off to Damascus over his father's
objections after one glimpse at the High Priestess of Astarte (La Lana in her first CinemaScope film)
has knocked him head-over-heels into gotta-have-her lust, just as the High Priest of Baal intended
after Micah saved a slave that the High Priest had other plans for.
And if any of that makes sense, well, there's even more. Some dastardly rulers intend to make a
fortune by starving the populace and Micah's girl back home pines a bit but mostly that's padding.
In fact if nearly all the film feels like padding, even the main romance, that might be because it is.
The Biblical parable isn't about the wasting substance and riotous living but clearly the studio
figured if the original moral is stuck into the closing few minutes then that gives them nearly two
hours to do whatever else might draw in audiences. That of course would be Lana Turner and the
genre's by now familiar massive set design and outlandish costuming. Turner wanders through
gigantic temples of flames and peculiar idols while wearing masses of light-colored fabric now
that is the point of
The Prodigal. After all, we're expected to believe that merely
one glimpse of Turner (her blondeness explained several times during the movie) will drive men
just mad. Oddly enough the filmmakers went out of their way to portray her as something of a
temple prostitute with frequent references to her, ah, dalliances and even lines like "I belong
to...all men." This camp aspect lives up to the collection's title and might be one reason the film
was such an influence on future Warhol genderbending superstars Candy Darling and Jackie
Curtis.
If this wasn't enough director Richard Thorpe and his writers decided to add more, maybe to
convince themselves they were doing a work of substance. Micah refuses to renounce his faith so
they set up an entire spirit vs. flesh dichotomy and then Micah as a wealthy person gets involved
with the oppressed masses so there's the class aspect as well. But really we're supposed to expect
that of our movie heroes even if none of it amounts to much. Once again Hollywood portrays Jews
as basically honorary Christians and viewers are supposed to take the badness of the pagan
religion on just the filmmakers say since apart from a human sacrifice its adherants seem perfectly
as happy as anybody else. (In an interesting side note, one of the production's pagan statues
appeared in a Tarzan movie or two before eventually being transported to Delaware where years
later city officials made the owner hide it from view.) In the end, though,
The Prodigal is a
weak effort, not really campy enough to justify much more than the tiniest of cult interest and too
leaden to be even an efficient way to waste time.
Each disc in this volume of
Cult Camp Classics, Vol. 4 includes a trailer and a commentary.
For
Land of the Pharaohs Peter Bogdanovich does the duty, assisted by selections from
interviews he recorded with Hawks. Leone biographer Christopher Frayling does
The Colossus
of Rhodes and though he spends a smidgen too much time telling us what we're seeing on
screen he's otherwise such a fount of information on the production and other Italian popular films
of the time that you shouldn't skip his commentary.
The Prodigal has a commentary by
USC professor Drew Casper who really has a challenge in filling the time.
For more information about
Cult Camp Classics, Vol. 4: Historical Epics, visit
Warner Video.
To order
Cult Camp Classics, Vol. 4: Historical Epics, go to
TCM Shopping.
by Lang Thompson
