At the intermission of this Cecil B. DeMille epic, I had the sneaking suspicion that I'd been duped. This was the film blamed with bringing down in earnest the iron fist of the Motion Picture Production Code on Hollywood, but I'd seen precious little up to that point to warrant the claim. O.k. so I had seen Claudette Colbert's nipples as she frolicked in a milk bath (and let me tell you, I was NOT expecting that!) which I know for certain were her nipples and not a trick of lighting because I watched the scene in extreme slo-mo on my DVD player to make sure. But that was about it. However, the second half started rolling, my jaw dropped to the floor, and I began to understand all of the broo-ha surrounding this film.
Part two kicks off with a drunken orgy, in which a salacious lesbian performs some sort of seductive dance for the benefit of Elissa Landi (I assume it was meant to be seductive, though it looked more like she was suffering from full-body cramps). But that was lightweight compared to the film's climactic 20 minutes, which chronicles in grisly detail the goings on in a Roman arena. We see all manor of wild animal (crocodiles, elephants, bears, oh my!) chomp down on hapless victims. We see a naked woman chained to a post for the sexual gratification of a gorilla (I'm not making this up). We see a battle between "barbarian women and African pygmies" (as they're billed in the event's program), in which one barbarian woman lops off the head of one African pygmy while another skewers hers on a scimitar and holds him up over her head like a Thanksgiving turkey. And of course, no Roman epic would be complete without some Christians being fed to some hungry lions.
You're forgiven if you don't shed much of a tear over the loss of the Christians. DeMille makes them so pompous and boring, and the Romans so much fun, that you end up rooting for the lions. The whole movie smacks of hypocrisy. DeMille really wants an excuse to get us off on sex and violence, but couches the whole thing in a pious framework to justify his own bloodlust. He's as debauched as the Romans in his movie.
Mostly, "The Sign of the Cross" is terrible. The somnolent pacing will threaten to put you to sleep before you get to any of the good parts. The acting is atrocious, especially from Landi -- who would be the worst person on stage in a high school play -- and Fredric March, who looks about as much like a Roman prefect as I do (and I don't look a thing like a Roman prefect). Leave it to Charles Laughton and Claudette Colbert to bring some dignity to the proceedings. In Laughton's first scene, the one that opens the movie, he babbles incoherently about the burning of Rome while sucking his thumb. Colbert, for her part, vamps through the movie tossing out sexual innuendos like she's Mae West. The most unbelievable thing about the whole film is that March could possibly fall for the goody-goody Landi when he already had Colbert on the side.
I can't wholly recommend it, even for the laugh factor, because there's so much dull movie to slog through, but I would recommend at least tuning in for the grand finale and enjoying the spectacle like a true lecherous Roman.
Grade: C
Part two kicks off with a drunken orgy, in which a salacious lesbian performs some sort of seductive dance for the benefit of Elissa Landi (I assume it was meant to be seductive, though it looked more like she was suffering from full-body cramps). But that was lightweight compared to the film's climactic 20 minutes, which chronicles in grisly detail the goings on in a Roman arena. We see all manor of wild animal (crocodiles, elephants, bears, oh my!) chomp down on hapless victims. We see a naked woman chained to a post for the sexual gratification of a gorilla (I'm not making this up). We see a battle between "barbarian women and African pygmies" (as they're billed in the event's program), in which one barbarian woman lops off the head of one African pygmy while another skewers hers on a scimitar and holds him up over her head like a Thanksgiving turkey. And of course, no Roman epic would be complete without some Christians being fed to some hungry lions.
You're forgiven if you don't shed much of a tear over the loss of the Christians. DeMille makes them so pompous and boring, and the Romans so much fun, that you end up rooting for the lions. The whole movie smacks of hypocrisy. DeMille really wants an excuse to get us off on sex and violence, but couches the whole thing in a pious framework to justify his own bloodlust. He's as debauched as the Romans in his movie.
Mostly, "The Sign of the Cross" is terrible. The somnolent pacing will threaten to put you to sleep before you get to any of the good parts. The acting is atrocious, especially from Landi -- who would be the worst person on stage in a high school play -- and Fredric March, who looks about as much like a Roman prefect as I do (and I don't look a thing like a Roman prefect). Leave it to Charles Laughton and Claudette Colbert to bring some dignity to the proceedings. In Laughton's first scene, the one that opens the movie, he babbles incoherently about the burning of Rome while sucking his thumb. Colbert, for her part, vamps through the movie tossing out sexual innuendos like she's Mae West. The most unbelievable thing about the whole film is that March could possibly fall for the goody-goody Landi when he already had Colbert on the side.
I can't wholly recommend it, even for the laugh factor, because there's so much dull movie to slog through, but I would recommend at least tuning in for the grand finale and enjoying the spectacle like a true lecherous Roman.
Grade: C