Dimpled Greek king leads his men to death and glory, while Persian tyrant fumes and stamps his feet.
First, let's get one thing straight: Historical accuracy is virtually non-existent in this movie, beyond adherence to the broadest narrative outline from Herodotus. The council in Corinth is particularly risible. (I'm fairly certain, for starters, that Greeks of the 5th century BC didn't wear togas.) And if I am hearing it correctly, the movie tells us that the second pass was defended by Thespians rather than Phocians. The contingent of Thespians actually volunteered to stand and fight with the Spartans.
The obligatory sappy romance is entirely forgettable, and of all the wooden dialog delivered in this movie, none is worse than that between the lovers Phylon and Ellas. Those scenes are like a high-school play that's gone off the rails. Even too much of the dialog given to the capable actors rolls off the tongue with all the grace and presence of a block of wood. One other thing that bothered me is that the name "Leonidas" was pronounced in just about every different way possible. Lay-OWN-i-dahs, LEE-oh-NYE-deez, Lee-OWN-i-dass, Lay-OWN-i-deez, and so on.
Nevertheless, this movie does have its moments. A nearly unrecognizable Ralph Richardson, his usual amiability well-hidden behind a bushy gray beard, delivers a fine performance, even if the role and dialog he's given to work with are fairly silly. But the man was a consummate professional, and that professionalism allowed him to breathe as much life and passion into his character as possible.
Richard Egan is more uneven. He was always more dimple than actor, but I have to admit that there were times when he rose above the absurd, contrived scenes and made his character believable. That infamous remark about fighting in the shade, for instance (one that came from Herodotus)--it came off well.
Finally, there is David Farrar as Xerxes, my favorite in the film. His performance is a curious and perfectly-balanced blend of passionate acting and ludicrous hamming. I can never be sure if he's playing it entirely straight, or if he's looking for a laugh. I don't take this as a mark of incompetence; I think the man knew exactly what he was doing. There's a scene where he's seducing a laughing Queen Aretemisia, to the accompaniment of harem dancers, and then he throws up his right arm from the couch and imperiously waves them away. That gesture, sublime and ridiculous, sums up his performance perfectly. (The Queen is played by Anne Wakefield, in perhaps the dullest and most wooden of all the performances in the film.) One wonders idly what kind of fun might have resulted by putting the leading characters from this movie into an episode of "Hollywood Squares." There can be no question that Farrar would have gotten the central square.
The battle scenes are the usual late-1950's Hollywood stuff. (Yes I know the movie was released in 1962, but it's a 50's movie if ever there was one.) When armies meet, they just sort of push against each other, like an overgrown rugby match. Then the camera cuts to tight shots of men swinging swords and stabbing lustily. Then back to a wide shot, and more rugby-pushing. I'm not necessarily saying that the hyper-realistic violence of movies like "Gladiator" is always necessary, but the scenes here are far from convincing. And whatever happened to that wall the Spartans were so furiously building? A lot of stress is put on it before the battle, but once the fighting starts, there is no wall to be seen anywhere.
I do have to give credit for some of the Persian deaths. I've seen them all, you know. The Germans in World War II movies, flapping their forearms like little stubby T-Rex arms as they're riddled with machine guns; the gritted-teeth grin of heroic death in the sword-and-sandals epics; the teary-eyed translations to heaven of young GIs pressing letters for the folks into their buddies' hands; the sneering, hollow laughter of the gangster when he gets what's coming to him from a G-man. But there are some top-notch kills here too. One of the Immortals in particular gets a spear through the gut, with his back to us, then spins around and tumbles forward with his arms flailed out in front of him, as if he's hailing a cab to the underworld. Really, really funny stuff.
In summary, this movie is not much more than a footnote of a forgotten Hollywood age of sword-and-sandal epics. Though mercifully free of the overbearing Christian themes of most such movies (one recalls, with particularly vivid horror, "Barabbas"), it nevertheless fails to strike any chord resolutely, and can offer only the limited pleasures of a few fine actors rising above this otherwise-mediocre production.
First, let's get one thing straight: Historical accuracy is virtually non-existent in this movie, beyond adherence to the broadest narrative outline from Herodotus. The council in Corinth is particularly risible. (I'm fairly certain, for starters, that Greeks of the 5th century BC didn't wear togas.) And if I am hearing it correctly, the movie tells us that the second pass was defended by Thespians rather than Phocians. The contingent of Thespians actually volunteered to stand and fight with the Spartans.
The obligatory sappy romance is entirely forgettable, and of all the wooden dialog delivered in this movie, none is worse than that between the lovers Phylon and Ellas. Those scenes are like a high-school play that's gone off the rails. Even too much of the dialog given to the capable actors rolls off the tongue with all the grace and presence of a block of wood. One other thing that bothered me is that the name "Leonidas" was pronounced in just about every different way possible. Lay-OWN-i-dahs, LEE-oh-NYE-deez, Lee-OWN-i-dass, Lay-OWN-i-deez, and so on.
Nevertheless, this movie does have its moments. A nearly unrecognizable Ralph Richardson, his usual amiability well-hidden behind a bushy gray beard, delivers a fine performance, even if the role and dialog he's given to work with are fairly silly. But the man was a consummate professional, and that professionalism allowed him to breathe as much life and passion into his character as possible.
Richard Egan is more uneven. He was always more dimple than actor, but I have to admit that there were times when he rose above the absurd, contrived scenes and made his character believable. That infamous remark about fighting in the shade, for instance (one that came from Herodotus)--it came off well.
Finally, there is David Farrar as Xerxes, my favorite in the film. His performance is a curious and perfectly-balanced blend of passionate acting and ludicrous hamming. I can never be sure if he's playing it entirely straight, or if he's looking for a laugh. I don't take this as a mark of incompetence; I think the man knew exactly what he was doing. There's a scene where he's seducing a laughing Queen Aretemisia, to the accompaniment of harem dancers, and then he throws up his right arm from the couch and imperiously waves them away. That gesture, sublime and ridiculous, sums up his performance perfectly. (The Queen is played by Anne Wakefield, in perhaps the dullest and most wooden of all the performances in the film.) One wonders idly what kind of fun might have resulted by putting the leading characters from this movie into an episode of "Hollywood Squares." There can be no question that Farrar would have gotten the central square.
The battle scenes are the usual late-1950's Hollywood stuff. (Yes I know the movie was released in 1962, but it's a 50's movie if ever there was one.) When armies meet, they just sort of push against each other, like an overgrown rugby match. Then the camera cuts to tight shots of men swinging swords and stabbing lustily. Then back to a wide shot, and more rugby-pushing. I'm not necessarily saying that the hyper-realistic violence of movies like "Gladiator" is always necessary, but the scenes here are far from convincing. And whatever happened to that wall the Spartans were so furiously building? A lot of stress is put on it before the battle, but once the fighting starts, there is no wall to be seen anywhere.
I do have to give credit for some of the Persian deaths. I've seen them all, you know. The Germans in World War II movies, flapping their forearms like little stubby T-Rex arms as they're riddled with machine guns; the gritted-teeth grin of heroic death in the sword-and-sandals epics; the teary-eyed translations to heaven of young GIs pressing letters for the folks into their buddies' hands; the sneering, hollow laughter of the gangster when he gets what's coming to him from a G-man. But there are some top-notch kills here too. One of the Immortals in particular gets a spear through the gut, with his back to us, then spins around and tumbles forward with his arms flailed out in front of him, as if he's hailing a cab to the underworld. Really, really funny stuff.
In summary, this movie is not much more than a footnote of a forgotten Hollywood age of sword-and-sandal epics. Though mercifully free of the overbearing Christian themes of most such movies (one recalls, with particularly vivid horror, "Barabbas"), it nevertheless fails to strike any chord resolutely, and can offer only the limited pleasures of a few fine actors rising above this otherwise-mediocre production.