In 1951, surrealist artist Man Ray, who was a fan of the cinema, quipped, “The worst films I have ever seen, the ones that put me to sleep, contain ten or fifteen marvelous minutes. The best films I have ever seen only contain ten or fifteen worthwhile ones.” Man Ray made this provocative statement because he liked to gripe that popular movies were too long. I don’t necessarily agree with the reason for his comment, but I like the idea behind it in general, especially the first half of the statement. I often find a scene, sequence, performance, shot, or. . . ten marvelous minutes. . . in movies I don’t like. In the spirit of Man Ray, and with the entire FilmStruck catalogue at my disposal, I decided to challenge myself by occasionally watching and writing about a film that I detested. The challenge is to find something about the film that I did like, or to offer a suggestion on why it should be viewed.
This is not to suggest that any of the films available on FilmStruck are “bad,” which is vague criteria to being with, but to recognize that viewers don’t all have the same tastes, and to acknowledge that some films don’t age well.
I like to think that I love movies so much I will watch anything, but the truth is that there are entire genres I avoid. Tops on that list are historical and biblical epics, which in general I find talky, tedious, and turgid. So, for my first Man Ray movie challenge, I opted to watch Caesar and Cleopatra, a 1945 historical epic by Gabriel Pascal based on the play by George Bernard Shaw.
The historical epic, especially from the classic era, is identified by its scale and spectacle. Enormous interior sets and exterior locations made up the visual design, which were populated by the obligatory “casts of thousands.” In the post-WWII era, historical and biblical epics experienced a resurgence because color and widescreen added to the spectacle. But, a formal style dialogue that was heavy and often ponderous also typified the films. The films tended to look static, because camera movement and editing were kept to a minimum in order to showcase the sets, costumes, and actors with long passages of dialogue.
It was conventional to cast British actors in primary roles no matter the film’s historical epoch or geographical locations. This week, social media was abuzz with controversy over the casting of Disney’s live-action version of Aladdin; rumors are afloat that the studio can’t find a Middle Eastern actor to play the title role, though I suspect those rumors are inaccurate or incomplete. Given this debate, I couldn’t help but think about the historical/biblical genre in which British and articulate American actors were often cast as Romans, Israelites, Egyptians, Persians, even Frenchmen. There was never any attempt to capture the accents of the characters’ ethnic backgrounds; indeed, the point was for formally trained actors to speak in that theatrical, artificial style we have all heard in The Robe, multiple versions of Cleopatra, Quo Vadis?, Julius Caesar, The Egyptian, The Sign of the Pagan, etc. (British and American stars are still cast in biblical/historical epics, which critics condemn as the “white-washing” of ethnic roles, though performances tend to be more modern and natural.)
I found Caesar and Cleopatra followed the conventions of the genre, making the film static, talky, and packed full of Brits masquerading as Romans, Egyptians, and Persians. In other words, it features everything I dislike about the genre. Vivien Leigh starred as Cleopatra, while Claude Rains played Caesar. Stewart Granger costarred as a Sicilian named Apollodorus, and Flora Robson costarred as Cleo’s Egyptian nurse, Ftatateeta. In an early speaking role, Michael Rennie appeared as the 1st Centurion. The exception to the all-white cast were the black actors who played the Nubians, though their subservient positions made their scenes uncomfortable to watch, especially a scene in which Cleopatra chases a frightened Nubian slave with a stick just because, “I must beat someone.” In the context of the play, the scene was supposed to be comic, and show Cleo’s lack of suitability as a ruler, but the slave character is too stereotyped for the scene to be effective.
George Bernard Shaw’s fictionalized version of Caesar and Cleopatra was written as a play in 1898, published in 1901 in a volume titled Three Plays for Puritans, and produced in New York City in 1906. Given the time frame, the dialogue is literary and theatrical; in other words, highly artificial. The narrative revolves around middle-aged Caesar mentoring the immature, 16-year-old Cleopatra. From Caesar, she learns to be a mature ruler who is respected and revered. Even accounting for the age of the material and the relationship of the two main characters, I still cringed at some of the dialogue. Captivated by Cleo’s vivaciousness, Caesar chuckles, “You impossible little dream witch.” Good grief.
Though the film was the most expensive produced in England up to that time, and director Pascal imported Egyptian sand for the exterior sets, the look of the film is not spectacular or impressive. The sets are large but generic, the costumes mediocre, and the wigs downright hideous. If I were going to find something I liked, or something to recommend in Caesar and Cleopatra, then I had my work cut out for me.
Thank God for Stewart Granger. About a third of the way through the film, a boyish Granger bolts onto the screen as Apollodorus, a Sicilian from a patrician family who is a lover of the arts. Unlike Leigh, whose youthful demeanor reads as bratty immaturity, Granger exhibits an exuberance that adds energy to his scenes. Even his costuming is different from the other Romans; his togas are far shorter and much skimpier. His youthful persona makes a nice counterpart to Claude Rains, who plays Caesar as a sagacious sage in a floor-length toga bemoaning his middle age. Granger and Rains are more interesting to watch as they play off each other than Rains and Vivien Leigh. I disliked Shaw’s interpretation of Cleo, who seems like an early version of Eliza Doolittle to Rains’ Henry Higgins-like Caesar. Poor Leigh is buried under an unearthly pale makeup and hideous wig, and her experiences on this production were tragic and horrible. She was sick and pregnant during shooting, and she miscarried after tripping and falling during the slave-flogging scene mentioned earlier. According to Granger in his memoirs, she attempted to have Pascal removed as director for the rest of the production.
Granger’s performance accounts for my “ten to fifteen marvelous minutes,” but for those viewers who are more ambitious, I recommend doing a little ground work before watching the film. Caesar and Cleopatra is a faithful production of Shaw’s play by director Pascal, who devoted the second half of his career to bringing the playwright’s work to the screen. A close, careful viewing reveals the subtleties of the characters’ motivations and maneuverings: Caesar teaches Cleopatra how to rule and how to act like royalty, but she learns so well that she begins to “maneuver” him. This is likely Shaw’s jab at Britain the Empire, which liked to think it could best tell its colonies how to govern their own peoples. Likewise, close attention to the dialogue rewards patient viewers with examples of Shaw’s wit, unlike the example given above. The impossibility of pronouncing Ftatateeta’s name becomes a running joke, which is amusing.
So, step up and take the Man Ray Challenge. If you have seen Caesar and Cleopatra—and found it wanting—try to find something you did like. If you haven’t seen it, take a look: It may turn out to be a favorite.