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Kirk Douglas leads the campaign for freedom in Spartacus |
In the last decades of the Roman Republic, Spartacus (Kirk
Douglas) is a young man born a slave, purchased by gladiator trainer Batiatus
(Peter Ustinov) to learn how to thrill the crowds and kill his opponents. There
he falls in love with slave-girl Varinia (Jean Simmons) and clashes with the regime
of the training school. Revolt however stirs when rich nobleman Crassus
(Laurence Olivier) arrives at the school and demands a fight to the death of
his entertainment – as well as purchasing Varinia. In the aftermath, Spartacus
leads a revolt – which grows into a huge army that soons puts all of Rome at
risk. But a risk is also an opportunity: certainly it is for Crassus, who sees
this as his chance to bring the Republic under his control.
Spartacus is a grand piece of film-making, shot on a
huge scale, a labour of love for Kirk Douglas as producer. Upset at being
denied the lead role in Ben-Hur, Douglas decided to make his own Roman
epic – and to make something even grander than that Oscar-winning epic. Everything
was thrown at the screen: grand locations, huge sets, star actors and a
sweeping epic score. Alex North’s classically tinged score – with it’s
distinctive employment of Roman instruments and echoing of both the
intimidating splendour of Rome and the bucolic happiness of the liberated
slaves – is proper old-school Hollywood score-making, that helps set the scene
for the film’s epic sweep.
And Spartacus is epic – and epic entertainment. While
it’s possibly a little too long, it knows when to spice up events with a
battle, love scene or bit of political skulduggery. There are multiple story
lines going on in this film, and interestingly they don’t all intersect. It’s
easy to see Spartacus – and his struggle for freedom – as the real story of the
film. But for most of the Roman characters, this is an embarrassment or
sub-plot. There is a whole other story happening around the struggle to
preserve Roman Republicanism – with Crassus as the face of oppression and his
opponent Gracchus the slightly soiled but still vaguely democratic face of the
old system. Both plots only rarely come together, and while that of Spartacus
captures the heart strings, a lot of the film’s narrative drive is in the Roman
conspiracies.
Perhaps this is because in the entire rebellion only Spartacus and Varinia qualify as really having personalities. And those personalities are basically flawless. Spartacus is almost saint-like in his nobility, a guy who never does anything wrong and whose only mistake is trusting others in a shifting world. Douglas does a great job of performing a character who is practically a living legend – and he completely convinces as the sort of leader his people would follow to the end. His relationship with Jean Simmons is also touchingly sweet and innocent – the film is very good at capturing the sense of how stunted the emotional lives of slaves have been, and the powerful joy they can find in the freedom of simple intimacies so many of us take for granted.
But the slaves themselves are frequently (whisper it) rather
dull. Many of them might as well be sitting around the camp fires singing Kumbaya.
Bar a brief moment at the start, no suggestion of taking vengeance raises its
head. The liberated slaves sing, clap hands and gaze with joy. Children play
and people frolic in the fields. Tony Curtis – good value as Crassus’ ex-bodyman,
a learned man and entertainer of children – stages a magic show, with patter
that could have come straight out of a Brooklyn street. Other than him, none of
the slaves register as personalities. A tint of darkness, or moments of fury or
even dangerous rage against their oppressors would have made a world of
difference. But this is a simple film, where the slaves are building a utopia.
That’s probably why the film is more interested in the politics
of the Romans. It’s certainly where the big name actors end up. Olivier is at
his prowling, imperialist best – a heartless slice of ambition determined to
bend events to his will. Against him, Charles Laughton with an impish cheek, a
slightly corrupted air, as the man-of-the-people. These two conduct their own
political battle of cut-and-thrust that Spartacus barely realises is happening.
This manoeuvring is the real dramatic heart of the film, powered by these
actors strengths (John Gavin and John Dall as their lieutenants look and sound
very plodding against the playful archness of Olivier and Laughton).
That’s partly the point of Dalton Trumbo’s script (Douglas
famously broke the Hollywood Blacklist by crediting Trumbo for his work on the
film). While Rome plays politics, real people are fighting and dying for
liberty – and will eventually find themselves crucified with nothing left but
their pride and sense of freedom. It’s that feeling that probably lies behind
the enduring love for this film.
It is perhaps Kubrick’s most universally beloved film.
Interestingly though, it’s also the one Kubrick was least proud of. It’s true
the film lacks much of his personal touch. While directed with flair and skill,
parts of it could really have been made by any number of directors (not
something you could say, for example, about The Shining or Barry Lyndon). Kubrick often quietly, albeit gently, disowned the film (he said
he never knew what to say when people asked him about it). It’s the only
Kubrick film where he was a “gun for hire”, subservient to the vision of the
producer. His interest you feel is in the smaller moments - moments such as Woody Strode's excellent cameo as a Gladiator (many of the strongest moments with the slaves in the tyranny of the Gladiator school, where life is meaningless and cheap). Really, it’s Douglas’ film – it’s similarities to The Vikings
for example is striking – and while a poor advert for auteurism, it’s still a
great advert for entertainment.
Kubrick’s greater interest in human failings and shades of grey perhaps explains why the Romans emerge as the more interesting characters. Spartacus’ lack of flaws were an intense frustration to him. Perhaps that’s why Peter Ustinov (who won an Oscar) is the films stand-out character. As gladiator owner Batiatus, Ustinov is devious, playful, amoral, ambitious, without principle, dryly witty but somehow still has touches of decency. The most colourful character in the piece is also the one most coated with shades of grey.
It’s an advert for what makes Spartacus lastingly
engaging and interesting whenever you watch it – even if the cry of “I’m
Spartacus!” and the decency and honour of the slaves is always going to be what
stirs the emotions and tugs the heartstrings. Douglas set out to make one of
the greatest “sword and sandal” epics. He succeeded.
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