A Train Wreck Revisited

With the world in the horrifying state it's in at the moment, I shall devote this week's blogging energy to a story about a movie-- and they're ain't a thing anybody can do about it.

First of all, a word of acknowledgment to my 10th-grade history teacher. His long, curriculum-preventing tangential discussions in our class rekindled an old flame of mine: hideously boring epic movies of the 50s and 60s. It is with that in mind that I now write about 1963's Cleopatra.

One of the most costly movies of all time, Cleopatra is frequently regarded (even to this day, when it is considered a kind of classic) as a huge mistake, a monumental punchline, and the beast responsible for the obnoxious, adulterous affair between Elizabeth Taylor and Richard Burton. Our question then is this: is it worth giving four hours of your life?

I have always answered that question as a yes. Overall, the film never sinks below a 7 or low-8 out of 10 in quality (at least, not for more than one scene at a time), and it tells an intriguing story rather well. You can take comfort in the fact that its enormous cost ensured a higher degree of realism in sets and special effects than was possible in most films of its day.

All that aside, there is a degree of truth in people's criticisms of the film, especially in Elizabeth Taylor's performance as Queen Cleopatra, which is always horrid. If it were only her, the movie would be, quite possibly, as bad as James Cameron's Titanic. Luckily, Rex Harrison (Julius Caesar here before Professor 'Enry 'Iggins of My Fair Lady) carries the first 110 minutes of the film, with some truly great dialogue, most of which is criticizing either Cleopatra (he asks if the "young lady" has "broken out of" her nursery "to irritate the adults") or someone else. But then he dies. I know that's a bit of a spoiler, but if you don't know Julius Caesar was assassinated, you probably aren't the sort of person who'd watch a movie like this anyway. Fess up.

After Caesar's stabbing (ironically a high point in the film's quality), Richard Burton takes over the romantic story with Cleopatra, and when the intermission is over, the movie never re-attains its former quality. There are some great monologues by Burton and some first-rate villainy from a surreally young, blazingly blond Roddy McDowall (for those only familiar with his work in the 80s or Planet of the Apes, his scalp may well blind you). And the climax in which the Queen of the Nile makes a colossal asp of herself (I had to) redeems the previous two hours in their entirety.

All in all, it's worth a look on a rainy day. If you're not as big a movie fanatic as I am, it'll have to be a torrential downpour when you never want to leave your house again, but it's still enjoyable.

So why am I writing about a movie? 1) I can. 2) It's what I know best. 3) What else would I blog about this week? David Carradine's death? Octomom's reality show? How much bin Laden hates America?

Saving the world, one movie at a time.