With the DVD release of this first sound version of "Cleopatra" in newly restored form, the hype labeling this the best of all filmed Cleopatras is hard to avoid. Although I like this version and enjoy Claudette Colbert, the overacting of other key players and obviousness of Cecil B. DeMille's direction as well as the serious condensation of the story holds me back from loving it.
Although Colbert is witty and conveys a lot through expression (particularly her eyes), I really can't buy her as Queen of the Nile. Though the actress was born in France and schooled in New York, her accent and manner echoes more mid-west America than Ancient Egypt. The same could be said of Elizabeth Taylor, but Taylor's physical features evoke the middle East more than Colbert's. Still, Colbert's performance is enjoyable if taken as Hollywood hokum masquerading as high art - like the Liz Taylor version.
The production design and costumes of DeMille's film shimmer and glitter on screen like an ancient living dream. The look of the film is undeniable. The huge pillars with patterns of reflective design, though black and white, suggest gold everywhere. Colbert's gilded headdresses emblazon themselves to memory, becoming Hollywood fashion icons in the process. The sets of Egypt, Rome, and particularly Cleopatra's barge, are pure silver screen eye candy. The highlight of the film is the stupendous crane shot that starts on Cleopatra and a drunken Antony, then pulls back to reveal the oarsmen rowing methodically in time to the suggestive pound of a drum as the barge sets off back to Egypt, reinforced by a pulsing score. It is both sexual, romantic and remarkably cagey, transforming power from Antony to Cleopatra, cleanly ending the act and setting the stage for the rest of the story. It's a phenomenal sequence, probably the single finest moment in DeMille's career.
So with all this wonderful stuff, what's not to like? It's the character relationships, which come across as simplistic and unbelievable. The time Cleopatra spends with Caesar is supposed to make us buy her passion for him, but it felt rushed and forced. The one high moment is when she kills a man hiding behind a curtain with a knife. Did this man intend to kill Caesar or Cleopatra? She would have Caesar believe the man wanted to kill him, when more likely he was there to kill her. The ambiguity is wonderful, and there should have been more material like this. Yet, even before their relationship solidifies, Caesar is assassinated and Cleopatra is off to Egypt. Warren William as Caesar is physically right for the role, and much older than Cleopatra, which is historically accurate, but the obviousness of his dialog and the "beware the ides of March" foreshadowing is thick enough to be cut with every dagger plunged into Caesar's chest.
Even worse than William is Henry Wilcoxon as Antony, who when told Cleopatra intends to poison him, gives us not only one unrelenting fake over the top laugh, but gives us another when he relates the notion to Cleo herself, even laughing himself sillier. Cringe inducing. It is this sort of heavy-handedness that brings the film down to lower than pulp quality. Yet it is more than Wilcoxon's performance. When Antony is told Octavian is marching to Egypt, Cleopatra, who indeed had intended on poisoning Antony for the sake of Egypt's future, suddenly finds herself filled with admiration when she watches him order his men about. This is a short cut by the writers to transform Cleo's feelings for Antony, but like most sequences (with the exception of the barge sequence where enough time is given to show Cleo seducing Antony with her physical charms and exotic wonders), the writers cut to the chase before any expository groundwork is laid.
The battle of Actium is sandwiched among a montage of land battles. Not all that much is conveyed until the end when we see Antony sitting atop an Egyptian gate, defeated. This episode is far more effective in the 1963 version, with Antony (Richard Burton) charging Octavian's troops single-handedly after his men have deserted him. With DeMille choosing montage as the way to wow the audience, the sequence becomes a bit tedious. There's only so many times you can watch men swing swords at each other before it becomes repetitious. And neither is the montage all that dramatic. Mostly we witness choreographed crowds in action. Actium was a sea battle and that is where the focus should have remained. How Antony was defeated we can only surmise via the montage.
Claudette Colbert made me care for her, in spite of the simplistic relationship development, anachronistic dialog and Cliffnotes ancient history. Had someone like Roger Livsey played Caesar and Laurence Olivier played Antony, perhaps even their own poorly written dialog could have been overlooked as well. So, ultimately, Colbert is the only one who comes out the winner, mid-west Americana Queen of the Nile and all. She's loads of fun to watch.
Still, in spite of the film's shortcomings, I highly recommend it. There is much to admire. Fans of Colbert will not be disappointed, and it's a complete feast for the eyes. I might add that this version as well as the Taylor 1963 version and the 1999 epic with Leonor Varela, all end identically with a camera move back from the dead Cleopatra, the bodies of her handmaidens nearby as the Romans view the scene with disappointment and humility. Apparently, all three directors agreed there was no better way to end than to copy Shakespeare.
Although Colbert is witty and conveys a lot through expression (particularly her eyes), I really can't buy her as Queen of the Nile. Though the actress was born in France and schooled in New York, her accent and manner echoes more mid-west America than Ancient Egypt. The same could be said of Elizabeth Taylor, but Taylor's physical features evoke the middle East more than Colbert's. Still, Colbert's performance is enjoyable if taken as Hollywood hokum masquerading as high art - like the Liz Taylor version.
The production design and costumes of DeMille's film shimmer and glitter on screen like an ancient living dream. The look of the film is undeniable. The huge pillars with patterns of reflective design, though black and white, suggest gold everywhere. Colbert's gilded headdresses emblazon themselves to memory, becoming Hollywood fashion icons in the process. The sets of Egypt, Rome, and particularly Cleopatra's barge, are pure silver screen eye candy. The highlight of the film is the stupendous crane shot that starts on Cleopatra and a drunken Antony, then pulls back to reveal the oarsmen rowing methodically in time to the suggestive pound of a drum as the barge sets off back to Egypt, reinforced by a pulsing score. It is both sexual, romantic and remarkably cagey, transforming power from Antony to Cleopatra, cleanly ending the act and setting the stage for the rest of the story. It's a phenomenal sequence, probably the single finest moment in DeMille's career.
So with all this wonderful stuff, what's not to like? It's the character relationships, which come across as simplistic and unbelievable. The time Cleopatra spends with Caesar is supposed to make us buy her passion for him, but it felt rushed and forced. The one high moment is when she kills a man hiding behind a curtain with a knife. Did this man intend to kill Caesar or Cleopatra? She would have Caesar believe the man wanted to kill him, when more likely he was there to kill her. The ambiguity is wonderful, and there should have been more material like this. Yet, even before their relationship solidifies, Caesar is assassinated and Cleopatra is off to Egypt. Warren William as Caesar is physically right for the role, and much older than Cleopatra, which is historically accurate, but the obviousness of his dialog and the "beware the ides of March" foreshadowing is thick enough to be cut with every dagger plunged into Caesar's chest.
Even worse than William is Henry Wilcoxon as Antony, who when told Cleopatra intends to poison him, gives us not only one unrelenting fake over the top laugh, but gives us another when he relates the notion to Cleo herself, even laughing himself sillier. Cringe inducing. It is this sort of heavy-handedness that brings the film down to lower than pulp quality. Yet it is more than Wilcoxon's performance. When Antony is told Octavian is marching to Egypt, Cleopatra, who indeed had intended on poisoning Antony for the sake of Egypt's future, suddenly finds herself filled with admiration when she watches him order his men about. This is a short cut by the writers to transform Cleo's feelings for Antony, but like most sequences (with the exception of the barge sequence where enough time is given to show Cleo seducing Antony with her physical charms and exotic wonders), the writers cut to the chase before any expository groundwork is laid.
The battle of Actium is sandwiched among a montage of land battles. Not all that much is conveyed until the end when we see Antony sitting atop an Egyptian gate, defeated. This episode is far more effective in the 1963 version, with Antony (Richard Burton) charging Octavian's troops single-handedly after his men have deserted him. With DeMille choosing montage as the way to wow the audience, the sequence becomes a bit tedious. There's only so many times you can watch men swing swords at each other before it becomes repetitious. And neither is the montage all that dramatic. Mostly we witness choreographed crowds in action. Actium was a sea battle and that is where the focus should have remained. How Antony was defeated we can only surmise via the montage.
Claudette Colbert made me care for her, in spite of the simplistic relationship development, anachronistic dialog and Cliffnotes ancient history. Had someone like Roger Livsey played Caesar and Laurence Olivier played Antony, perhaps even their own poorly written dialog could have been overlooked as well. So, ultimately, Colbert is the only one who comes out the winner, mid-west Americana Queen of the Nile and all. She's loads of fun to watch.
Still, in spite of the film's shortcomings, I highly recommend it. There is much to admire. Fans of Colbert will not be disappointed, and it's a complete feast for the eyes. I might add that this version as well as the Taylor 1963 version and the 1999 epic with Leonor Varela, all end identically with a camera move back from the dead Cleopatra, the bodies of her handmaidens nearby as the Romans view the scene with disappointment and humility. Apparently, all three directors agreed there was no better way to end than to copy Shakespeare.