Gladiatorial-trainee slave Spartacus (Kirk Douglas) inadvertently kicks off a slave rebellion when Varinia (Jean Simmons), the girl heâs fallen for, is sold to a Roman senator. Spartacus leads a growing army that eventually includes Cixus (John Ireland), David (Harold J. Stone), Antoninus (Tony Curtis) and an escaped Varinia. Their goal is to reach the coast where they will take ships to freedom. Meanwhile in Rome, high born Crassus (Laurence Olivier) and his protĂŠgĂŠ Glabrus (John Dall) vie for power with populist Gracchus (Charles Laughton) and his protĂŠgĂŠ Julius Caesar (John Gavin), both using the slave rebellion as a lever. All the while slave trader Batiatus (Peter Ustinov) bounces around trying to find the best deal for himself.
It feels a bit strange slipping Spartacus next to other ânot-so-greatâ films because parts of it are brilliant. And itâs seldom bad. But itâs inconsistent, stuffing together variations in style and quality that reduce the whole. Those mediocre moments, that would be fine in another film, look ridiculous when spliced with the genius work.
This is also a film whose cultural significance often gets it a pass on its flaws. The Hollywood Blacklist was already unraveling, but Spartacus tore it apart. The novel that the film is based on was written by Howard Fast while he was in prison, serving a sentence for Contempt of Congress for refusing to name names to the House Un-American Activities Committee. He had to self-publish the book as no one would touch it. But Douglas wanted to play Spartacus, so the rights were acquired. Blacklisted and communistic Dalton Trumbo wrote the screenplay, and unlike his works of the previous decade, was given screen credit. Right-wing groups protested at theaters, but when John F. Kennedy walked though the picketers, the Blacklist was over. Why Trumbo got that credit is unclear. It may have been for altruistic reasons, or due to fighting between star/producer Douglas, director Stanley Kubrick, and Trumbo. Whatever the case, the result is what mattered.
Though the clashes between the filmmakers may not have mattered with regard to cultural significance, they do matter for the coherence of the film. Besides general personality differences, and a schoolyard desire to be top dog, Douglas and Trumbo clashed over the theme. Douglas wanted a parable about the Jews. Trumboâs plan was to examine communism, the cold war, and McCarthyism. Those things do not fit together easily. They do all lead to a lot of heavy-handed speeches, which Kubrick disliked. He found most of the dialog given to Spartacus false and annoying. He was right; it is. He also thought Spartacus was a poorly developed character, lacking in human frailty, but Kubrick wasnât allowed to change things. He disowned the film, and made sure he was never in this situation again.
None of that is the starting point for even a passable film, but a few smart casting choices set things off on the right foot. Laurence Olivier, Charles Laughton, and Peter Ustinov are all wonderful. Laughton and Ustinov imbue their characters with humor and a degree of likability (tricky in the case of the slave trader). Everything they do and say is engaging. And Olivier is better, giving the finest performance of his career. It is hardly coincidental that Ustinov and Laughton have the best lines in the film as they re-wrote their dialog. Olivier also rewrote his lines, though it is unknown how much made it into the final cut. It helps that their sections of the film, mainly the politics in Rome, is smart and makes the audience feel a part of the deals and betrayals. If this had been the whole film, with only references to the Spartacus, it would have been the best film of the year and one of the true greats.
So what pulls it down? What doesnât fit? The problems start with a horrible narration that implies Christianity wiped out slavery, though it took 2000 years to do so. It also gives us a few lies about Spartacus (no, the actual man was not born a slave) before thankfully vanishing from the film. (I mentioned that Spartacus is rarely badâthis is one of the times.)
Then there is the casting of the slaves, particularly Douglas himself. Olivier, Laughton, and Ustinov give their characters a reality and seem to inhabit this faux-Roman universe. Douglas, on the other hand, always had a hard time playing anyone other than Douglas, and here itâs particularly noticeable. With a strong directorâor when his own power was weakâDouglas could do the job, as in The Strange Love of Martha Ivers. In Spartacus, Douglas had power, both as star and producer, firing the first director and hamstringing Kubrick. So Douglas appears not as a slave in a Hollywood Roman Empire, but rather as a modern guy from New York goofing around in play-armor. Nowhere in the film does he ever fit the part of a gladiator in 73 BC. That isnât bad on itâs own (though it certainly isnât good). The â50s and â60s are jammed with period pieces led by actors who felt like â50 and â60s era Americans (check out Kerwin Mathews in The 7th Voyage of Sinbad). But sticking Douglas next to Ustinov, Laughton, and Olivier and that inability is highlighted. Many of the other actors playing slaves do little better. Harold Stone comes off as a gangster. And Tony Curtis as⌠Tony Curtis.
The result is, once the slaves escape, none of their scenes workâwith the exception of battle scenes where the camera has pulled back. Even the famous âI am Spartacusâ scene feels silly, that is, until the focus is switched to Crassus. His understanding of what is happening, his fear (which Olivier captures perfectly), makes it something memorable.
And even a few Romans seem odd. Very American and questionable actor John Gavin seems to be in a different movie than Laughton, yet they share most of their scenes. Heâs not great when he keeps his mouth shut. When he speaks, it pulled me completely out of the picture.
Originally the casting was supposed to tie into the themes, with proper Brits playing the Romans and less restrained Americans as the slaves, but that fell apart when some original casting choices fell through and proper Brit Jean Simmons joined the film. It doesnât look like it would have worked if theyâd managed to actually do it.
Like the acting, the cinematography is inconsistent, though here Iâd never say it was bad, but simply the parts don’t work when connected. When we approach a battle (and it is pretty much always approaching as thereâs only a few minutes of actual combat) or travel over long roads and hilly countrysideâs, we get vivid, bright, realistic shots, using a healthy bit of real light. It looks epic. Any other time, we are clearly on a sound stage with artificial lighting, artificial buildings, and artificial landscaping. It couldnât look more fake. Thereâs a scene where a couple is burying their child where there is no possible in-world source for the light. Fake scenery can work. The Ten Commandments always looks great and never looks real. The problem is the combination.
Composer Alex Northâs score is reasonably good on its own, but not so much in the film. Its use is crude and obvious, and is likely to instigate a few giggles now. Sometimes it just doesnât fit with a scene. At others, it overwhelms. Since thereâs no hummable theme weâre suppose to pick up, the music needed to be turned down several notches, and given a touch of subtlety.
The result of all of this is an enjoyable. gem-filled, schizophrenic mess. I canât even say it had potential to be more as it was doomed from the start. It certainly should not have won an Oscar for cinematography, nor been nominated for editing and score. However the win for Peter Ustinov is reasonable, though Iâd have given it to Olivier, and with my Foscars, I do.
