(1960)
Kubrick as gun-for-hire, and unfortunately his lack of
control over the script shows. This was Kirk Douglas’ baby, and he brought in
Stanley after firing Anthony Mann a week into the shoot (apparently the salt
mine sequence is the only section of the film where Mann called the shots).
Douglas was displeased that he didn’t get win the lead in Ben Hur (an all-round
better film than this, even if it is filled with the same kind of simplistic
moralising that Kubrick so disliked here) and originated Spartacus as an “I’ll
show you” response.
It seems that there were tensions in every corner of the
production; Douglas wanted a strong subtext paralleling Spartacus' tribulations
to those of the Jewish people, whereas screenwriter Dalton Trumbo (who was blacklisted
at the time) favoured a commentary on East-West politics. On top of that you
have Kubrick clashing with Douglas, who said he would not work with the
director again (“a talented shit”). I
expect the feeling was mutual; their previous collaboration, Paths of Glory, is
a terrific film and vastly superior to this. And Kubrick also clashed with his
cinematographer Russell Metty (resulting in Metty walking out and Kubrick handling
the majority of the photography himself; ironically Metty won an Oscar for the
work he didn’t do). Apparently both David Lean and Laurence Olivier declined
offers to direct the film; I can’t help think that Lean would have been a
better fit than Kubrick, although he would likely have been as uncomfortable
with all the power being in the hands of his star.
It’s ironic, then, that the least interesting aspects of the
film concern the titular character. There’s just not a lot to Spartacus, and
Douglas – all shaved chest and immaculate coiffeur – brings little to the part
to really make him stand out. He glowers a lot, clenches his jaw and behaves
stoically in the face of adversity. But his motivations are strictly one-note,
his romance utterly clichéd and there’s little to really suggest how and why he
came to lead such a successful rebellion. We cut from his revolt at the
gladiator school (the whole sequence at the school being one of the film’s high
spots; certainly the characterisation goes downhill after this) to his uprising
in full swing, but there’s never a sense of how he became such a charismatic
and powerful force, He just does it, and it’s the same with his battlefield
tactics.
The result is a lack of substance at the film’s centre.
Scenes showing him interacting with new recruits and being a generally good sort
fall flat because you sense they’re inserted to portray a tick-all-the-boxes
hero rather than a realistic and no doubt brutal leader. So Kirk gets egg on
his face when Tony Curtis does a magic trick, and because he’s so magnanimous
and well-rounded has a good laugh about it. And he supports (old) women’s
rights when one puts him in his place regarding their value as fighters. And he
has a good laugh about it. I suspect that John Cleese’s Robin Hood in Time
Bandits (“Jolly good!") was taking the piss out of the scene here where Spartacus asks recruits where they’re from
and why they want to fight.
The romance with Jean Simmons actually begins promisingly,
with Spartacus instructed to copulate with Virinia while Ustinov and cronies
look on. After that it becomes as tedious as the travelogue scenes of Spartacus
and his army (which seem interminable). Tellingly, the spark only returns to
the character of Virinia once she has been procured by Olivier’s Crassus.
Whether or not the Romans enthused Kubrick more than his hero,
the onscreen results suggest this. Indeed, every time we move away
from Spartacus to the machinations within the Senate, or whatever Ustinov’s
Batiatus is up to, the film comes alive.
Ustinov deservedly won a Best Supporting Actor Oscar for his
performance as the slippery owner of the gladiatorial training school (the only
actor on a Kubrick film to receive a gong), and he steals every scene he’s in,
with the exception of those with the masterful Charles Laughton. Ustinov’s
natural comic timing and immaculate delivery see him gaining the upper hand to
the starchier Olivier in their early scenes together; his bit where he hides a
bust of Gracchus (Laughton’s character) and it is then discovered by Olivier is
wonderfully played and brings a free-flowing ease to the proceedings. Elsewhere
the film plays all-too formally and self-consciously epic. This is
unfortunately pervasive, from Alex North’s score down.
Kubrick doesn’t seem particularly inspired by these
classical “epic” requirements; only the final battle really has much energy to
it (not least in the spectacle of the fiery rollers mowing down stuntmen, and
the reinserted shot of Douglas hacking off the fake arm of an amputee –
complete with a Python-esque geyser of blood spurting forth). Even then, the
cut away to the aftermath, a tableau of battlefield strewn with bodies, seems
to suggest Kubrick was much more interested in getting to that shot than in the
big fight itself. In contrast, the early scenes at the gladiator school crackle
with kineticism. There is immediacy to the personal stakes there, absent from
the later grand scale. Charles McGraw’s vindictive trainer Marcellus is just the
kind of antagonist that works well set against the brawn of Spartacus, and the
film misses him when he’s offed (in a superb sequence of drowning by soup).
Woody Strode also stands out in this passage of the film; Draba is a superior
fighter to Spartacus, and bests him in combat. The preceding scene, where they
wait in a cage until they are called to fight, highlights Draba’s collected
quietude and so pulls the focus from Douglas’ concerned energy.
I’ve never been the greatest fan of Olivier; he’s usually an
effective screen presence, but I rarely find his performances compelling. There
are moments in this where he absolutely holds the screen, though. Mostly these
are ones where we see more personal chinks in Crassus power and authority. His knifing
of Draba, when the latter attempts to climb into the viewing balcony, is the
act of a man who would stab you in the back sooner than have a fair fight. Then
there’s the famous, reinserted, “oysters and snails” episode with Tony Curtis
(with Anthony Hopkins voicing Oliver). It’s a scene, beyond the dripping
innuendo, that is heavy with the impending threat of violation of Curtis (who,
as a slave, would presumably yield to his master). And the moment where Virinia
calls out her would-be partner is gripping. He professes to want her to give
herself willingly to him, but resorts to threatening her son as cachet.
Unsurprisingly, we are immediately on the side of Laughton’s
playful Senator Gracchus in his power struggle with Crassus. Laughton’s a
delight to watch, in one of his final screen roles. Apparently Ustinov rewrote
some of their scenes together at Laughton’s behest, and their chemistry
together is one of the film’s highlights (“You and I have a tendency towards
corpulence”). It’s a testament to his skills that his final scene, where he
sends Virinia and Ustinov away to safety, bears considerably greater emotional
wallop than Spartacus’ subsequent crucifixion.
Talking of which, I’m completely with Batiatus’ fretting while
Virinia’s mopes at the foot of Spartacus’ cross. What does she think she’s
doing, drawing attention to herself and putting her baby in danger? It’s pleasing that Batiatus escapes; as a less than noble character he might have
been disposed of. It may have been a sop for the demise of the titular character.
The “I’m Spartacus” scene is the most famous aspect of the
movie but, while it provides a snappy summation of what a great guy Spartacus, it’s
also a moment that doesn’t really feel earned. We haven’t witnessed exactly what
steely-eyed dimple chin has done to provoke such unfettered loyalty from his
followers. We’re told he’s a great leader so he must be.
There is some extremely random casting in this film. I can
only assume Tony Curtis’
Antoninus was added so there’d be someone who looked
more out-of-place in 73 BC than Douglas. Even less convincing is John Dall’s
Glabrus (a crony and political tool of Crassus) who should have a big sign over
him saying “This is why Hollywood shouldn’t attempt historical spectacle”. And
I can see a certain originality in portraying Julius Caesar as a bit of a thug
who is kicked around by his brighter peers like a senate football, but John
Gavin lacks the presence to make such a take on the character work. He seems
like blatant miscasting (he was far better used by Hitchcock in the same year’s
Psycho, where all he needed to do was provide the muscle). On a brighter note,
Herbert Lom’s Trevantus – like Ustinov –
is a scene-hogger.
So this is something of an anomaly for Kubrick; his
preceding films (The Killing, Paths of Glory) show a distinct, unified, vision,
and subsequently his grip on his material is vice-like. But here he only seems
to connect with the story sporadically. Even the effectiveness of his direction
is inconsistent; cutting from locations to studio sets-as-locations was
commonplace at the time, as were the joins being very obvious with such an
approach. But it comes as a surprise that such a stickler for precision as
Kubrick was content with this (perhaps he wasn’t). That said, Kubrick was only
32 when the film was released and this was a formative experience in terms of
his later output; he had no say over the script, cast, had no final cut and was
not a producer. None of which would recur in his career.
