I watched Sign of the Cross last night with my church's Bible Study group. This was the third time I've seen this film. It's an interesting movie, if not a great one, but I think it's one of DeMille's most underrated works. There's a lot more to it than first meets the eye.
The first thing that surprised me was how long it took for this movie to get rolling. Film-makers of this period liked to let audiences get to know their characters before beginning to rev up the plot. The classic example of this is the 1933 version of King Kong, in which the big monkey doesn't even appear until the third reel.
********* WARNING - SPOILERS FOLLOW **************
The whole first half of the 125-minute "Sign of the Cross" is relatively uneventful, particularly for contemporary audiences that are used to having movies start off with a bang. DeMille uses the first hour to set up a love story between a powerful Roman Prefect named Marcus Superbus (played by Frederic March, who must have had a difficult time keeping a straight face with that name) and an innocent young Christian girl named Mercia (played by Elissa Landi).
When they first meet, March is in lust more than in love. He clearly can have any woman in Rome that he wants, including the Emperor's Wife (Claudette Colbert). When he first meets Landi he tries to seduce her. When that doesn't work, he tries to demonstrate his affection for her by convincing one of "Rome's most... er, Talented Women" to seduce her for him, leading to a lesbian dance sequence that drove the censors crazy in 1932. Meanwhile, Landi develops what can best be described as a schoolgirl crush on March. Landi claims to love March, and flirts with him, but then draws away.
The first half of the film focuses on these 2-dimensional characters, and the shallow attraction that they have for one other. But their feelings deepen during the second half. When Landi's Christian friends are marched off to the arena to die, she finds herself wanting to do nothing more than join them. March realizes that he loves her, and sacrifices his career by demanding that the emperor (Charles Laughton in his American film debut) spare her life. Laughton agrees, but only if she renounces her faith.
March goes to the Coliseum just as she's about to be sacrificed to the lions. He tells her that she can continue to practice Christianity privately if he marries her - she only has to pretend to renounce it publicly. It's a tempting offer, but she refuses.
So March, who does not believe in Christianity, and apparently knows next to nothing about it, does something astonishing. He says that *he* will convert - not because he believes in it - but because he cannot imagine living without her. The film ends with the two of them hand in hand climbing the stairs to meet the lions and their maker.
On the surface, this seems to be a satisfying ending. The largely-Christian audience for whom the film was made would have cheered an ending with March converting to Christianity and dying for his faith.
But that's not exactly what's happening here.
Suppose March had converted to Christianity before deciding to die for it (as Richard Burton would do 20 years later in "The Robe"). Then it would be easy to cheer as the two of them marched into the arena to die. But in Sign of the Cross, March agrees to sacrifice his life mostly because of his love for Landi, not Jesus. He accepts Christianity to please her, not because of of any spiritual awakening.
Sign of the Cross was marketed as a religious movie. But what DeMille delivered was something else. Landi's faith not only inevitably leads to her martyrdom, it also consumes March because he had the bad luck to fall in love with a Christian. DeMille almost seems to be suggesting that Christianity in those days demanded death from its followers, and from their loved ones, and would not be satisfied with less. This film is hardly a flattering portrait of early Christianity. (Christian readers please hold your email - I'm not espousing this point of view - I'm merely pointing out that it is there in this movie. If you feel the need to respond to these comments, please do so by praying for me, not by writing to me; I promise I'll be grateful.)
And speaking of the audience, pay attention to the way DeMille uses the camera during the infamous arena sequences. He's not the least bit squeamish about putting the horror, blood and guts of the Coliseum on the screen, given the limits of his budget and 1930's special effects. But he continually returns his camera to the arena audience. Their reaction to the spectacle ranges from boredom to excitement to sexual arousal.
It's a powerful indictment of both audiences - the ones who are watching from the brightly lit benches of the Roman Coliseum, and those of us who are watching from more comfortable seats in the dark.
The first thing that surprised me was how long it took for this movie to get rolling. Film-makers of this period liked to let audiences get to know their characters before beginning to rev up the plot. The classic example of this is the 1933 version of King Kong, in which the big monkey doesn't even appear until the third reel.
********* WARNING - SPOILERS FOLLOW **************
The whole first half of the 125-minute "Sign of the Cross" is relatively uneventful, particularly for contemporary audiences that are used to having movies start off with a bang. DeMille uses the first hour to set up a love story between a powerful Roman Prefect named Marcus Superbus (played by Frederic March, who must have had a difficult time keeping a straight face with that name) and an innocent young Christian girl named Mercia (played by Elissa Landi).
When they first meet, March is in lust more than in love. He clearly can have any woman in Rome that he wants, including the Emperor's Wife (Claudette Colbert). When he first meets Landi he tries to seduce her. When that doesn't work, he tries to demonstrate his affection for her by convincing one of "Rome's most... er, Talented Women" to seduce her for him, leading to a lesbian dance sequence that drove the censors crazy in 1932. Meanwhile, Landi develops what can best be described as a schoolgirl crush on March. Landi claims to love March, and flirts with him, but then draws away.
The first half of the film focuses on these 2-dimensional characters, and the shallow attraction that they have for one other. But their feelings deepen during the second half. When Landi's Christian friends are marched off to the arena to die, she finds herself wanting to do nothing more than join them. March realizes that he loves her, and sacrifices his career by demanding that the emperor (Charles Laughton in his American film debut) spare her life. Laughton agrees, but only if she renounces her faith.
March goes to the Coliseum just as she's about to be sacrificed to the lions. He tells her that she can continue to practice Christianity privately if he marries her - she only has to pretend to renounce it publicly. It's a tempting offer, but she refuses.
So March, who does not believe in Christianity, and apparently knows next to nothing about it, does something astonishing. He says that *he* will convert - not because he believes in it - but because he cannot imagine living without her. The film ends with the two of them hand in hand climbing the stairs to meet the lions and their maker.
On the surface, this seems to be a satisfying ending. The largely-Christian audience for whom the film was made would have cheered an ending with March converting to Christianity and dying for his faith.
But that's not exactly what's happening here.
Suppose March had converted to Christianity before deciding to die for it (as Richard Burton would do 20 years later in "The Robe"). Then it would be easy to cheer as the two of them marched into the arena to die. But in Sign of the Cross, March agrees to sacrifice his life mostly because of his love for Landi, not Jesus. He accepts Christianity to please her, not because of of any spiritual awakening.
Sign of the Cross was marketed as a religious movie. But what DeMille delivered was something else. Landi's faith not only inevitably leads to her martyrdom, it also consumes March because he had the bad luck to fall in love with a Christian. DeMille almost seems to be suggesting that Christianity in those days demanded death from its followers, and from their loved ones, and would not be satisfied with less. This film is hardly a flattering portrait of early Christianity. (Christian readers please hold your email - I'm not espousing this point of view - I'm merely pointing out that it is there in this movie. If you feel the need to respond to these comments, please do so by praying for me, not by writing to me; I promise I'll be grateful.)
And speaking of the audience, pay attention to the way DeMille uses the camera during the infamous arena sequences. He's not the least bit squeamish about putting the horror, blood and guts of the Coliseum on the screen, given the limits of his budget and 1930's special effects. But he continually returns his camera to the arena audience. Their reaction to the spectacle ranges from boredom to excitement to sexual arousal.
It's a powerful indictment of both audiences - the ones who are watching from the brightly lit benches of the Roman Coliseum, and those of us who are watching from more comfortable seats in the dark.