Sacred Cinema
Part II: Robes, Swords, and Sandals
I have always been blessed with a very loving and caring family, and a great circle of friends. Their love and support has helped me to navigate through the difficulties of lifelong, congenital medical problems. I was born with a very rare disease known as Superior Mesenteric Artery Syndrome, and it wasn’t until 1973 that it was definitively diagnosed. The following year, I underwent surgery that saved my life, but some years later, I experienced side effects from a poorly functioning GI bypass. I’ve had scores of surgical procedures since and I am thankful that I’m still among the living.
Such chronic medical issues were among the factors that severely impacted my childhood and my family’s financial well-being, as I explain in this autobiographical sketch. Still, we plowed through many traumatic events with kindness and sensitivity. My mom and dad may have separated in 1965, but dad remained a big part of my life until his death in 1972. I also had the great fortune of having a second father in my Uncle Sam, who was married to my mother’s sister, my Aunt Georgia.
We couldn’t afford to travel or to buy luxuries; virtually all our furniture came from extended family so much so that when my sister was once asked the style of our home décor, she simply replied: “Early mix!” But mix-and-match furniture aside, our home life was always rich with the best food and a surplus of love, fun, and entertainment.
Given many school absences, I worked hard from home to keep up with my studies. But I also enjoyed watching television. My viewing habits were very diverse. I laughed with reruns of The Honeymooners and I Love Lucy, was thrilled by the monster, horror, and sci-fi movies being shown on Chiller Theatre, as well as such anthology series as The Twilight Zone and One Step Beyond. By the mid-1960s, I was all-in with the Batman TV series (I even saw Adam West and Burt Ward in person!), as well as such shows as Bewitched, The Addams Family, The Munsters, F Troop, and, when I could stay awake, The Fugitive. And boy did I love my cartoons — from such primetime animated shows as The Flintstones and The Jetsons to the Saturday morning Warner Bros. lineup led by Bugs Bunny. I was also a big fan of Rocky and Bullwinkle, Gumby (and his sidekick Pokey), and a few superhero cartoons, including Spider-Man and Aquaman — I had a thing for blond guys back then!
Having been baptized Greek Orthodox, I rarely got to church because of my health. But when I did, typically during Holy Week, there was something special about the rituals that always impressed me — though we had a few laughs too! Nevertheless, on Sunday mornings, when I watched Davey and Goliath, a religious-themed Claymation TV series, I felt a strong affinity with the compassionate values it depicted.
Unfortunately, our old black-and-white TV wasn’t the most reliable. Sometimes it worked, sometimes it didn’t. When I was 7 years old, I remember watching one of those Davey and Goliath episodes and the picture suddenly transformed into a solid, light gray rolling wave. I started to play with the antenna, but there wasn’t even a hint of a signal. I turned the set on and off, stuck a screwdriver into a hole on the back of the television, and finally, I yelled out: “God, please let it work!” And I punched the side of the TV with all my might. Miraculously, the picture came back on! Convinced that this was divine intervention, I yelled out to my mother: “You see, ma! All you gotta do is ask!” Sacred cinema, indeed.
Barring other such miracles, it took us many years before we could afford to buy a new television, let alone a color TV. Extended family gave us the opportunity to see what color TV was like. Visits to my Aunt Georgia and Uncle Sam’s apartment or to my Aunt Joan and Uncle Al’s home were so very special partially because each of them had a color TV. Being invited over to watch those sparkling color images was a dazzling experience. The earliest of these visits was to my Aunt Georgia’s to watch showings of The Wizard of Oz (1939) on network television, a cherished annual rite — even though, as a kid, seeing that close-up of the Wicked Witch of the West in her crystal ball scared the bejesus out of me. Okay, it still gives me the creeps.
The Robe
But there were other Technicolor extravaganzas that also became special family events. Somehow, we’d all find a place to sit and be comfortable in my Aunt Georgia’s small apartment, taking in the sights and sounds of films that the youngest of us had only heard about from our parents and older relatives, but had never seen.
And so, we gathered together on Western Easter Sunday, March 26, 1967, to see, for the first time on network television, The Robe. (Our Greek Orthodox Easter was celebrated a week later that year, on April 2, 1967.) ABC had paid a record $2 million to screen the film for four consecutive years in primetime. Remarkably, on the night of the television premiere, there was only one commercial interruption. Years later, the film made its way into a two-part showing on WABC-TV’s “The 4:30 Movie”, until it finally migrated to cable, where it has been shown on American Movie Classics, the Fox Movie Channel and Turner Classic Movies.
The Robe was the first Biblical-themed film I’d ever seen. It transported me to a truly colorful world beyond my imagination. This 1953 adaptation of the Lloyd C. Douglas novel, directed by Henry Koster, starred Richard Burton as Tribune Marcellus Gallio; Jean Simmons as Marcellus’s childhood love, Diana; Victor Mature as the slave Demetrius; Michael Rennie as the disciple Peter; and Jay Robinson as the crazed Emperor Caligula. Aside from its spectacular sets and reverent storyline, the movie boasts a truly passionate and moving Alfred Newman score. Everything about this absorbing film enthralled me.
The story begins in Rome with Tribune Marcellus Gallio, the cynical, promiscuous, reckless son of a republican Senator who opposes the growing tyranny of the emperors. In the forum, Marcellus meets Diana, his childhood love, whom he has not seen in many years. Diana is pledged to marry Emperor Tiberius’s great nephew, Caligula, with whom Marcellus has had bitter, long-standing conflicts.
Marcellus intercepts a runaway Greek slave, Demetrius, who is later put up for auction. Upon the arrival of Caligula, the bidding war begins, and Marcellus outbids his rival by threefold. Enraged, Caligula leaves the pavilion, warning Marcellus: “You offend me, tribune. I think it’s time you offend me no more!” He conveys his orders to the Gallio household for Marcellus to join the garrison in Jerusalem, a city in Palestine, “the worst pesthole in the empire,” plagued by civil unrest and rebellion. As Marcellus’s father puts it: “What Caligula hopes he has given you is your death sentence.”
On the day Marcellus enters Jerusalem, the Passover feast has already begun. He sees the multitudes carrying palms to greet a young rabbi from Nazareth, riding a white donkey. Perhaps this is the messiah, redeemer, or “general troublemaker” he’s heard so much about. With powerful friends in the Roman court, however, Marcellus is later informed that he will be returning to Rome within a week. He is given one last assignment at the behest of the Roman governor, Pontius Pilate: a “routine” execution of three criminals, one of whom is that religious “fanatic” who arrived in the city on the day of Marcellus’s arrival.
The brutal task of crucifixion weighs heavily on Marcellus. He is among those Roman soldiers casting lots for Jesus’s garment, a red robe, which matches the red blood that trickles down the cross onto the tribune’s hand. As he hears Jesus ask his father to forgive those “who know not what they do,” a fierce thunderstorm ensues. Leaving Golgotha, Marcellus orders Demetrius to shield him from the rain with Jesus’s robe. The moment the robe is placed on Marcellus’s shoulders, he experiences agonizing pain, begging his slave to remove it. Demetrius grabs the robe, denounces Marcellus and the Romans, and walks away, free of his master.
Haunted by images of himself driving nails into human flesh, Marcellus suffers a mental breakdown on the way back to Capri, where he confers with the Emperor Tiberius. He tells the emperor of the events that have led to his declining mental state. The soothsayer Dodinius, one of the emperor’s “learned” associates, believes that the robe “bewitched” Marcellus. Tiberius therefore gives Marcellus an imperial commission to return to Palestine. He tells him to find the robe and destroy it. But he also orders him to “seek out the followers of this dead magician. I want names, Tribune, names of all the disciples, of every man and woman who subscribe to this treason. Names, Tribune, all of them, no matter how much it costs or how long it takes.”
Once Marcellus leaves the palace, Tiberius warns his courtiers that they are facing a greater threat than any “bewitched” garment. “When it comes, this is how it will start,” Tiberius explains. “Some obscure martyr in some forgotten province. Then madness infecting the legions, rotting the empire. Then, the finish of Rome. … This is more dangerous than any ‘spell’ your superstitious mind could dream of. It is man’s desire to be free. It is the greatest madness of them all, and I have sent the most effective physician I could find to cure it. I have sent a madman.”
Marcellus’s mission among the growing sect of Christians, who embrace a gospel of love, challenges his view that the world is “built on force, not charity,” and that “power is all that counts.” When he finally tracks down Demetrius, who has the robe in his possession, he attempts to burn it. As the robe slips down and touches him, he experiences an epiphany that releases him from his inner turmoil, fear, and guilt. Ultimately, Marcellus joins Demetrius and his friend Peter, one of Jesus’s disciples, as part of the growing ranks of Christ’s followers, who will spread news of the gospel to other lands.
Back in Rome, Tiberius has died, and Caligula becomes emperor. He learns of Marcellus’s commitment to this new religious sect. He demands to know if Diana has any information concerning Marcellus’s activities. She does not. He escorts her to the dungeons, where Demetrius, the slave whom Caligula lost in a bidding war with Marcellus, has been captured and is being questioned under torture about Marcellus’s whereabouts. Diana leaves the palace in tears only to be led to Marcellus by one of the Gallio family servants. Marcellus tells Diana of his conversion, even as he gathers a group to stage a raid on the palace to free Demetrius, who is near death. Brought back to the Gallio residence, Demetrius is visited by Peter, who places the robe upon his comrade’s body, healing him in the presence of both Marcellus and Diana.
Outraged that Demetrius has been rescued by the “Roman traitor,” Caligula is hellbent on capturing the tribune. Attempting to flee the city, Marcellus secures Demetrius’s freedom and allows himself to be captured. He is put on trial before the Senators and nobles of Rome.
In a dramatic final confrontation, Caligula finds Marcellus guilty of treason, but Diana stands by the side of the man she loves and the new faith she has found, denouncing the cruel and merciless emperor. Condemned to be executed at the palace archery field, Marcellus and Diana leave the court in shared love and as martyrs to the cause.
Watching this dramatic story as a 7-year-old child, the film blew me away, unlike anything I’d seen in church. I was overwhelmed not only by the color visuals and powerful performances, but also by the haunting score.
In 1953, even before The Robe was released, Fox began filming its sequel, Demetrius and the Gladiators, which picks up where its predecessor left off. I saw this rousing sword-and-sandal sequel on TV not too long after I’d seen The Robe, though it would be years before I viewed that film in its entirety, because it was often butchered on commercial television.
Undoubtedly, the most colorful character in both films is Caligula. If the character provides evidence of being certifiably insane in The Robe, the sequel seals the diagnosis. Monica Cyrino observes correctly: “There is simply no better imperial cape-sweeper in the entire epic genre than Robinson’s Caligula.” [3]*
Perhaps there was something about the stylish, wild eccentricity of the character that fascinated me. Perhaps I was taken in by the flamboyance of Robinson’s performance. I wasn’t a flamboyant kid — not that there’s anything wrong with that. But I’m sure that I was at least implicitly aware of those gay impulses that were percolating within me as far back as I can remember. I had memorized the entire dialogue of the climactic trial scene and could act them out to the delight of friends and family. I can still hear Robinson’s every inflection as he addressed the court: “Senators! Romans! As you know, there exists today in our empire and even in Rome itself, a secret party of seditionists who call themselves Christians!” So captivated was I by Robinson’s over-the-top performance that I dressed up as Caligula at least twice for Halloween — once as a child, once as an adult.
Here’s Robinson in that climactic scene:
And here I am in 1968, at the age of 8, outside my grandmother’s house in the Gravesend section of Brooklyn:
Not The Robe I Remember!
The Robe is noteworthy for being the first CinemaScope film. When it was finally released on DVD in October 2001, it was presented in its full widescreen CinemaScope aspect ratio. Prior to this DVD release, I had recorded The Robe on a VHS cassette tape when it was shown on AMC, part of their commercial-free lineup of “American Movie Classics”, hosted by the likes of Nick Clooney and Bob Dorian. So, I could not wait to purchase the new disc, which would undoubtedly have sharper images and clearer sound.
Almost from the moment I hit “play” on the DVD unit, I noticed differences. From the opening credits, something was very wrong. At their conclusion, a red curtain rises to reveal an outtake from an arena scene that appeared in Demetrius and the Gladiators. I was flabbergasted.
A scene-by-scene comparison of my VHS tape and that DVD revealed that virtually every scene was not quite the same and it wasn’t just the camera angles. Even the inflections of the actors reciting the same dialogue I had committed to memory were dramatically different. I was both annoyed and mystified. I immediately sat down and wrote a scathing letter to Twentieth Century Fox. Eventually, I received a reply from their marketing department telling me that if I was noticing differences, I had probably seen a ‘pan-and-scan’ version on television, while the DVD offered an aspect ratio that was fully consistent with the original CinemaScope release.
No, I protested! Virtually every line spoken had a different inflection by nearly every actor. What I saw growing up was not the same film that I saw on that DVD. And I had the VHS tape to prove it!
It took years to get to the bottom of this mystery. The IMDb site explains:
Production of [The Robe] had already started when 20th Century-Fox chief Darryl F. Zanuck decided that this was to be the first film shot in CinemaScope (2.55:1 aspect ratio). Thereafter, shooting continued in both the new format and “Academy ratio” (1.37:1, non-wide-screen) for use in theaters not yet using wide-screen projection. Each time a shot was completed for the scope version, the actors had to do another take for the “flat” version. The most noticeable differences are the performances of Richard Burton (Marcellus) and Jay Robinson (Caligula) that are quite different in the ‘Flat’ version. Some people even think the ‘flat’ version has the better performances. … For many years, the “standard” screen version was the one usually shown on TV …
In other words, the Fox marketing department was clueless. Indeed, it was not just my familiarity with the flat version that so distressed me. The performances of the actors in the flat version are so infinitely superior to the CinemaScope version that there is, quite simply, no comparison whatsoever. In 2009, when a meticulously restored Blu-Ray of The Robe was released, there was a feature that allowed the viewer to compare and contrast the differently filmed scenes of the two versions, where the flat version could be seen as a box-within-a-box. Sadly, Fox did not include a separate disc with the restored flat version on that Blu-Ray release. It remains unavailable to the public. (And you can bet your bottom dollar that I’ve already transferred my VHS recording of the flat version to several DVD discs for safekeeping!)
Other Jesus Films
“Of all the cinematic depictions of antiquity,” Cyrino writes, “the image of ancient Rome on the big screen has long been the most popular and ubiquitous, as well as the most impressive and meaningful.” [4] More meaningful to me have been those films that have depicted the conflict between Rome and the early Christians. It matters not how historically or liturgically accurate any of these depictions are. What inspired me was the strength of a small, marginalized minority of individuals who stood up for their convictions against the relentless persecution and brutal oppression of an empire. Even from childhood, the libertarian lurking within was nourished by such tales of courage and commitment. As I grew older and embraced a more secular outlook on the world, I was able to appreciate these liberatory themes as far more universal than the religious context in which they were depicted.
It cannot be denied, however, that the sense of hopefulness conveyed by these Biblical epics carried with it the supreme message to “keep the faith” against all odds. That message uplifted me as I struggled against a medical problem that was slowly extinguishing my life. On so many levels, these films encouraged me to fight on.
Partially because of the impact of The Robe and its sequel, I searched out other Biblically themed movies — from D. W. Griffith’s monumental 1916 silent classic, Intolerance and DeMille’s 1927 touching silent version of The King of Kings to Martin Scorsese’s thought-provoking 1988 flick, The Last Temptation of Christ and Mel Gibson’s graphic depiction of The Passion of the Christ. I really like horror movies, but the violence in Gibson’s 2004 film was a bit gratuitous for my tastes. Not as explicit as Passion, Quo Vadis, the 1951 adaptation of the Henryk Sienkiewicz novel, starring Robert Taylor, Deborah Kerr, and the Oscar-nominated Peter Ustinov as the unhinged Emperor Nero, has its moments of gladiatorial excess, complete with Christians being fed to the lions and burned alive on crosses. But its spectacular sets and robust Miklos Rozsa score remain among its highlights.
Of the countless television movies and miniseries that have aired, the most outstanding, for me, is Franco Zeffirelli’s Jesus of Nazareth, a four-episode, 6+ hour 1977 production with an all-star cast giving all-star performances. Robert Powell is extraordinary in the title role.
Clearly, my reactions to many of these productions have been mixed. Among the many “Life of Jesus” films, the 1961 Nicholas Ray-directed King of Kings, which starred a very handsome Jeffrey Hunter as Jesus, remains a personal favorite. Hunter’s striking blue eyes and youthful looks led some to dismiss the film as “I Was a Teenage Jesus.” I could certainly sympathize with Oprah Winfrey, who later recalled that when she saw the film as a kid, she thought she’d have to go to confession because she found herself lusting after the Son of God.
I first saw the film when it was a Holy Week staple on WABC-TV starting in 1973. At 13 years of age, I had already witnessed a decade of news broadcasts showing the brutality of the Jim Crow South unleashing its police, with their batons, hoses, and snarling dogs, on civil rights demonstrators. Thousands of boys were being brought home in body bags from the war raging in Vietnam, while antidraft and antiwar protestors were marching in opposition to that war. Cities were aflame with riots and the country seemed to be unraveling. On top of this, from 1963 to 1973, I was fed a steady television diet of brutal political assassinations: John F. Kennedy, Malcolm X, Martin Luther King, Jr., and Robert F. Kennedy shot dead — the tragedies broadcast directly into our living room.
It was in this context that I first viewed King of Kings. To me, there was a distinct contrast between Barrabas and Jesus, representations of the zealot’s violent struggle against occupiers and the nonviolent quest for a larger, universal spiritual liberation, respectively. Barabbas thinks that he and Jesus both seek the same freedom, “only our methods differ.” But in preparing to take siege on Jerusalem as Jesus enters the city, Barabbas declares that Jesus “speaks only of peace! I am fire! He is water! How can we ever meet? … All dreamers are fools.” This resembled the clash between those who fought for civil rights “by any means necessary,” as Malcolm X had advocated, versus the strategies of nonviolent resistance forged by Martin Luther King, Jr.
Nicholas Ray certainly didn’t have a crystal ball in 1961 when the film was released, but once you see that production through the prism of the 1960s and early 1970s, you can’t unsee it. The film is elevated by its sweeping visuals, Ray Bradbury-penned narration delivered by Orson Welles, and spectacular Miklos Rozsa score. (Though, if you want to see the full unedited version of the film, get the DVD or Blu-Ray; for some unknown reason, in recent years, when TCM has aired King of Kings, it always edits out the “Overture”, “Entr’acte”, and “Exit Music”, which showcase Rozsa’s themes brilliantly.)
Other “Life of Jesus” films retain moments of solemnity, but some are undermined by distractions that I have never been able to overlook. I’m thinking specifically of The Greatest Story Ever Told, directed by George Stevens, featuring countless all-star cameos, a powerful Alfred Newman score, and a reverent performance by Max von Sydow as Jesus. I can’t help but think that Sydow himself must have died twice on the cross once he’d heard John Wayne’s Centurion delivery of the post-mortem line: “Truly this man was the Son of Gawd!” [YouTube link]
There is an apocryphal backstory to this. Stevens allegedly told Wayne that he needed to deliver his line with more “awe.” In the next take, Wayne delivered the line: “Aw, truly this man was the Son of Gawd.”
Ironically, a still of that scene adorns the cover of Adele Reinhartz’s wonderful 2007 study, Jesus of Hollywood, and yet, the author never mentions the delivery of that line in a way that only John Wayne could!
Fortunately, there is another “Tale of the Christ” that focuses less directly on the life of Jesus and more profoundly on the impact that life has on the characters at the center of its dramatic story. That film is the subject of my next installment, which I’ll post next week!
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* All notes, sources, and references will appear in Part IV, the final installment of the series.
