The 1950s weren’t the happiest of times for Hollywood talents with leftist sentiments, since in the atmosphere of Cold War hysteria many were considered to be Communists. Many of them were blacklisted by studios and forced to take false names in order to earn their living. It took great courage for executive producer Kirk Douglas to defy the blacklist and hire a blacklisted screenwriter under his real name. It took even more courage to use his talent to make an adaptation of the novel written by radical leftist Howard Fast. And, to add insult to injury for any hysteric anti-leftists of the time, the subject of the film was the life of a man who was considered one of the great Communist martyrs and role models. It all happened in 1960 with Spartacus, the film that finally ended the era of Hollywood blacklists and thus became one of the landmark events in the history of American cinema. Unfortunately, its historical importance barely corresponded with its quality, and today it is often considered “the worst film ever directed by Stanley Kubrick”.
The novel, as well as the film, is based on events that took place in the first part of the 1st century B.C. The once‑democratic Roman Republic had become the wealthiest and most powerful nation in the world, but with wealth came corruption and the widespread use of slavery. One such slave is Spartacus (played by Kirk Douglas), a tough Thracian who was sentenced to spend the rest of his life working in Libyan mines, but even in such terrible conditions he didn’t cease to defy his captors. Slave‑trader Batiatus (played by Peter Ustinov) thinks that such fighting spirit could be useful, so he buys Spartacus for his gladiator school in Capua, Italy. Spartacus is there subjected to intense combat training and also develops feelings for a slave girl, Varinia (played by Jean Simmons). One day the school is visited by powerful Roman politician Marcus Licinius Crassus (played by Laurence Olivier), and Batiatus, in order to entertain two of his lady companions, organises four of his best gladiators fighting to the death. In one of these fights Spartacus is defeated, but his opponent Drabba (played by Woody Strode) decides to spare his life and instead sacrifices his own in a vain attempt to escape. Spartacus is deeply moved by this event, and when his beloved Varinia is sold away, his personal anger leads to a spontaneous act of rebellion that is joined by all the gladiators. Soon the gladiators overwhelm their guards, and the news of their revolt begins spreading like wildfire. Spartacus and his rebels begin plundering rich slave‑owners’ estates, and thousands of escaped and liberated slaves join his band. Spartacus uses his combat skills and experience, as well as his charisma, to organise them into a fighting force able to handle any Roman army sent after them. Spartacus begins his campaign towards the port city of Brundisium, where he hopes to find transport to take the slaves out of Italy to freedom. In the meantime, the slave revolt has important political consequences in the Roman Senate. While Crassus wants to use it as a pretext to impose his personal dictatorship, his main rival, Liberal senator Gracchus (played by Charles Laughton), wants to use the revolt as a way to foil such plans and save the Republic.
Spartacus had a lot of potential to be one of the greatest films of its era, and its big box‑office success and few Oscars prove that. Unfortunately, it failed to be anything more than a historical spectacle because the people behind the project had rather different creative visions. For screenwriter Dalton Trumbo this historical story was an excellent opportunity to comment on the social condition of 1950s America, not so subtly disguised in his vision of the 1st‑century‑BC Roman Republic. Both countries were the most powerful in the world, but their old republican institutions and democratic virtues had been corrupted by social injustice and class exploitation, and in both cases ambitious politicians were threatening to use society’s paranoia to install their own personal dictatorship. It isn’t very hard to imagine the character of Crassus being inspired by Senator Joe McCarthy.
Unfortunately, when Stanley Kubrick replaced director Anthony Mann after his quarrel with Kirk Douglas, it turned out that Kubrick’s vision was quite different. Kubrick, being a perfectionist, checked the historical data about Spartacus and concluded that Trumbo, just like many politically‑correct filmmakers of today, sacrificed historical accuracy for the sake of delivering a political message. For example, many important details of Spartacus’ campaign and his multiple attempts to lead slaves out of Italy, as well as infighting and desertions within his own ranks, remained outside the script. Furthermore, Trumbo’s idea to make a huge contrast between rich, decadent and utterly depraved Romans on one side, and their hard‑working, clean‑cut and noble slaves was definitely not in line with Kubrick’s own more pessimistic and misanthropic view of human affairs. After unsuccessful attempts to change the script, Kubrick lost interest in the film and did his job as a “hired gun”.
This becomes evident when we compare the first third of the film, which was directed by Mann, with the segments later directed by Kubrick. The segment directed by Mann is the best in the film, because it deals almost exclusively with Spartacus and the events that led to the revolt. The audience is subjected to all the harsh realities of the life of slaves and gladiators, and action dominates the words. But as soon as the plot moves away from the gladiator school and Kubrick takes over, the film loses momentum. Spartacus and his gladiators are reduced to cardboard characters, and even the charisma of Kirk Douglas can’t make him as sympathetic as in the first segment of the film. The Hollywood‑style romance between Spartacus and Varinia also doesn’t help, being injected into the plot only to give some bright overtones to the dark, yet corny finale. In this segment, the bad guys in the form of Romans are more interesting than the slave protagonists. Charles Laughton is simply grand as the shrewd, cynical, hedonistic yet kind‑hearted Roman senator. In the case of Crassus, the screenwriters obviously didn’t know how to reconcile or explain the sharp contrast between Crassus’ insistence on old Roman values on one side, and his depravity and ruthless dictatorial ambition on the other. But Laurence Olivier still shows his great talent by making this badly‑written character memorable. Finally, Peter Ustinov justly deserved his Oscar for the role of Batiatus – his character, despite being involved in one of the most deplorable professions of slave‑trade, comes out as a nice guy at the end, not because of some sudden virtue, but because of his humanity. Tony Curtis as the slave Antoninus, a singer whose songs are delivered as spoken dialogue, on the other hand, played his role very badly, and his character would be remembered simply as the dark object of Crassus’ bisexual desire.
Script and characterisation problems aside, Spartacus is a very attractive film because it doesn’t lack spectacle. In the latter part of the film, Kubrick obviously tried to compensate for the lack of the movie’s quality with quantity – there are plenty of mass scenes with many interesting details and good use of colour photography by Russell Metty. Unfortunately, the most spectacular scene – the final battle between Spartacus and the Roman legions under Crassus – is a failure. We never actually see why and how the slaves were beaten, and Kubrick’s effort to direct some 8,500 Spanish soldiers hired as extras wasn’t justified. After the last climactic battle, we are presented with its tragic aftermath, and subjected to many extra minutes of historical inaccuracy and pointless melodrama. The music by Alex North is also somewhat disappointing and explains why Kubrick in his later films relied mostly on non‑original soundtrack.
For some people three hours spent watching Spartacus might seem wasted, but despite being much overrated, this historical epic can be quite entertaining. It is especially interesting because of the insight it gives into one important and splendid era of the American motion‑picture industry, as well as into the early career of Stanley Kubrick.
RATING: 6/10 (++)
(Note: The text in its original form was posted in Usenet newsgroup rec.arts.movies.reviews on February 29th 2000)
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Critic: AA