"I have a taste for poison" : Quo Vadis (1951)

      Quo Vadis. Metro Goldwyn Mayer. Produced by Sam Zimbalist; screenplay by John Lee Mahin and S.N. Behrman, Sonya Levien; directed by Mervyn LeRoy. Based on the novel by Henryk Sienkiewicz. Originally produced as a motion picture in 1951. Performers: Robert Taylor, Deborah Kerr, Leo Genn, Peter Ustinov, Patricia Laffan, Finlay Currie, Nora Swinburne, Buddy Baer, Marina Berti, Abraham Zofaer. Summary: the story of Emperor Nero’s persecution of the Christians set against the canvas of the decadence and decay of the Roman Empire.

     In a separate post I wrote, favorably, of the of the movie Pompeii. It inspired me to investigate, among other things, volcano stories. But the theme of Ancient Rome led me elsewhere, specifically to those bloated late Forties and early Fifties epic movies, for which, guilty pleasure-esque, I confess a fondness. One of my favorites is Quo Vadis.

     To be sure, there are things about QV I’m not so fond of: the slow patches, Finlay Currie’s heavy-handed monologues, the overture, the romantic subplot with the Robert Taylor and Deborah Kerr characters. But these quibbles can be overlooked in view of the pluses: the huge spectacle, costumes and sets; Strelsa Brown’s golden-voiced invocation of the gods; Peter Ustinov’s serious scenery chewing as Nero, as well as his more low keyed interactions with mentor and ‘critic’ Petronius (Leo Genn). Finally the Miklos Rosza score which set the template for historical epics.

     But for my money the best thing about QV is Patricia Laffan’s scrumptious turn as Empress Poppea. Everything about her – wardrobe, pet leopards, sideways glances, nibbling on a red tinted magnifying glass, munching grapes as she watches lions devour the Christians, and not least, her plummy, slithering enunciation – just screams glorious excess and depraved sexuality. But there’s nothing screaming or excessive about her performance, which can be described as a miraculous tightrope walk of understated nuance combined with touches of high camp.

     I’m not familiar with Miss Laffan’s theatre work but it’s no exaggeration to say she was criminally underutilized as a film actress [1]. To be sure there were a few minor roles, including nice cameos in Shoot First and 23 Steps to Baker Street. Alas she’s best remembered today as the man-hungry Nyah in the sci-fi cult classic Devil Girl From Mars. But we're the richer for her supreme cinematic moment, which occurs in a far more worthy vehicle, namely Quo Vadis, where she plays, well, a different kind of man-eater, one with greater appetites and literally much more color.

Slithering malice

     We first view her in QV, significantly, from the back, which gives us a pleasing peek at her topographic charms. Reclining resplendent in green dress and regal purple cape, leopards in tow, Poppea observes the ponderous goings on at Nero’s court. She appears to be both bored and suspiciously alert, but in any case her visage suggests she just can’t wait for all the pomp to be over so she can get back to her scheming. Miss Laffan must have enjoyed this role immensely as she chews over every line she speaks, suggestively projecting the character’s barely concealed sadism and perverse lust. In fact so serpentine is her Poppea that we have to wonder: was the historical Poppea as irredeemably evil and corrupt as the portrayals in pop culture make her out to be? Maybe so. This was Ancient Rome after all.

     In any case has an actress ever brought elegantly sinister depravity to the screen with such relish, and in such a sensually alluring package? [2] Most of all, we admire her pluck. Much as Poppea always seems to be pre-empting Nero in Quo Vadis, it’s only appropriate that Patricia Laffan, the actress who embodies Poppea, does the equally impossible: (almost) upstaging Peter Ustinov, in his signature role at that [3].

[1] Incredibly, aside from QV and the aforementioned 23 Steps, Patricia Laffan made no American films, and even these two films have dubious American bonafides, one shot in Italy with a largely British cast and the other shot in and around London. Maybe the filmmakers thought her screen persona was too Lady Macbeth-like and as a result she’d be hard to cast.

[2] For all her beauty and ability as an actress, Claudette Colbert, the Poppea from Sign of the Cross (1932), nude milk bath and all, simply can’t compare, at least in this writer’s humble opinion.

[3] Aside from Ustinov I've pretty much neglected the rest of the mostly splendid cast. Leo Genn as Petronius and Rosalie Crutchley as Acte especially shine. The one weak link is Robert Taylor, whose bland presence and Midwestern twang seems singularly out of place amongst the other cast members' savoire faire and cultivated Brit accents.  

Rita resplendent : Salome (1953)

Salome. Columbia Pictures Corporation; screen play by Harry Kleiner; produced by Buddy Adler; directed by William Dieterle. 103 minutes. Directed by William Dieterle. Performers: Rita Hayworth, Stewart Granger, Charles Laughton, Judith Anderson, Sir Cedric Hardwicke, Basil Sydney, Alan Badel. Summary: the tale of Salome, the beautiful princess, daughter of Queen Herodias and step-daughter of King Herod, set during the perilous decadent days of early Rome and the events that led to the death of John the Baptist.

style ***

substance ***

In the pantheon of late Forties and early Fifties Biblical/Roman epics, Salome is usually thought of as decidedly second-tier, if it’s mentioned at all. Certainly it has more than its share of historical inaccuracies and camp elements. Moreover, the heavy-handed script, awash in somber piety, is pretty cringeworthy even by the standards of historical epics.

And yet …  even with the lapses in taste and history, Salome has aged pretty well, mostly due to the many delicious performances, over-the-top costumes (by Jean Louis), and gaudy sets which are captured in glorious technicolor.

It’s no revelation to point out that Rita Hayworth was at least ten years too old for the title role, but her footwork is as nimble as ever as she performs the most notorious exotic dance in history. True, her interpretation is somewhat tame by today’s standards, but a delight nonetheless. When Rita slinks around with such panache, who cares? Anyway in an era when so much more was suggested than depicted it’s actually a little refreshing to view today through our more jaundiced, seen-and-heard-it-all eyes.

The cast is mostly excellent. Judith Anderson exudes delicious evil in a one-note performance as Herodias and she too benefits from some splendiferous costumes. In a relatively understated turn as King Herod, Charles Laughton is effective because he underplays rather than overplays the role, thus suggesting a repressed, lecherous debauchery that’s just about to boil over.

There are a couple of exceptions to the generally primo performances. Alan Badel simply doesn’t have the dramatic heft to project John the Baptist, and as a result his interpretation mostly descends into righteous camp. Ditto for Stewart Granger as an earnest Roman centurion who becomes sympathetic to the Christian cause. He looks great but his lines and delivery are leaden.

This version of the Salome story doesn’t supplant the Oscar Wilde play and subsequent Richard Strauss opera, or even the classic Nazimova silent film version, as the grand champion, not by a long shot. Still, it’s a fun, entertaining movie, a polished studio product typical of its era and with the attendant virtues and excesses for this type of material. On balance, then, Salome is well worth a second look and especially noteworthy as a vehicle for a charismatic Rita at her alluring best. Also commendable are the widescreen technicolor look and some delectable scenery chewing from Charles Laughton and Judith Anderson. Another plus: we get a terrific epic score, not too bombastic, by George Duning.