For a few years in the early '60s, Samuel Bronston ran a private moviemaking empire in Spain, spending the GDP of a small nation to produce big historical epics: King of Kings (1961), El Cid (1961), 55 Days at Peking (1963). His extravagance finally caught up with him on The Fall of the Roman Empire (1964), a massive flop that (along with Cleopatra) killed the sword-and-sandal genre for a generation. The film isn't as bad as all that, but it's hard to recommend to anyone who isn't a confirmed fan of epics. In 185 AD, the Roman Empire stands at its apex under wise Emperor Marcus Auerlius (Alec Guinness). Aurelius arrives on the frontiers of Empire, instructing his general Livius (Stephen Boyd) to negotiate with the German barbarians rather than slaughter them. He also notifies Livius that he plans to name him Emperor over his own son, the debauched Commodus (Christopher Plummer). Nonetheless, when Aurelius dies (poisoned by a cabal of servants) Livius defers to Commodus, to the distress of Commodus's sister Lucilla (Sophia Loren). It isn't long before Commodus proves his father's distrust correct: he establishes a dictatorship that betrays Rome's allies, provokes wars on its frontiers and declares himself a god, forcing Livius to march on Rome in hopes of restoring sanity to the Empire.
The appeal of The Fall of the Roman Empire (besides inspiring Ridley Scott's Gladiator, which is practically a shot-for-shot remake at times) is self-evident. Bronston, with his usual flare for extravagance, stages a massive recreation of the Roman forum in Madrid, thousands of extras cavorting riotously as Commodus emerges from a giant statue, having been freshly proclaimed a god. The movie has its share of big-scale battle scenes (managed by Yakima Canut) and a brace of excellent actors who work to enliven the script. It's possible to enjoy Fall on this level, if none other; the elaborate costumes, massive sets and cast of thousands: there's an appeal to this that no modern CGI spectacle, however expansive, can hope to match.
Unfortunately, Fall is pedestrian on every other level. Director Anthony Mann, whose El Cid is the best of Bronston's super-epics, seems to be directing traffic; there's little trace of his style beyond a brutal torture scene involving Aurelius's meek adviser Timonides (James Mason). Auteurists could parallel Livius and Commodus's dynastic rivalry with Mann's Westerns like The Man from Laramie, but that seems a fool's errand when he's clearly a director for hire; even the action scenes likely can't be credited to him. Thematically, the movie more resembles Bronston's earlier 55 Days at Peking in depicting a conquering empire as a noble United Nations alliance of disparate peoples coming together to vanquish barbarians, who prefer sovereignty to enlightened slavery. Of course, this time around the goofball Commodus is here to wreck everything, exposing the rotten core of empire-building.
The best historical epics (Lawrence of Arabia, Spartacus, Ben-Hur in its stronger passages) transcend the genre's limitations through script and character work, adding heft to the obligatory spectacle. Philip Yordan's by-the-numbers screenplay sketches its themes and conflicts in lazy fashion: Livius and Commodus's soured friendship is hastily sketched, culminating in a goofy chariot race that reminds viewers of Ben-Hur more than it advances the plot. Marcus Aurelius's big scenes appear disconnected from the narrative, not least a strange sequence where he engages in a Socratic dialog with himself. Livius's romance with Lucilla is a dud and his motivations never seem clear: he's a complete pushover who repeatedly refuses to confront Commodus, playing politics by carefully scripted rules when the mad Emperor's completely thrown away the board. In this, at least, the film's political content remains fresh and recognizable.
Fall's trump card, like many epics, is a classy cast who do their best to elevate the material. Stephen Boyd (replacing Ben-Hur costar Charlton Heston) is stiff, though to be fair the world's most dynamic actor couldn't have done much with Livius as written. Sophia Loren is pretty, spirited and there: she's there to remind viewers of El Cid and goose the romance angle as best she can. Christopher Plummer, in his first major film role, more than compensates with a wild performance dripping in spirited, lip-turning madness. Whatever Fall's shortcomings, it's hard to fault Plummer's commitment to the role, asking Livius if he can hear the gods laughing before doubling over in self-amused laughter. He makes Commodus such a fun tyrant that we wonder why we'd ever cheer for a loser like Livius.
Alec Guinness is beautifully cast as Marcus Aurelius, instilling the character with his proper gravitas and wisdom before bowing out early. One sees early echoes of Obi-Wan Kenobi in this performance with his epigrammic musings about Death, Freedom and Humanity. James Mason, unfortunately, is saddled with a weak role as a goofus who begs a torture-minded barbarian (John Ireland) to consider his actions "logically." Omar Sharif, Mel Ferrer and Anthony Quayle receive one-note cameos, while Eric Porter, Finlay Currie and other class actors deliver windy speeches in the Senate to no effect.
The best that can be said about The Fall of the Roman Empire is that, for all its weak points, it isn't a total disaster. The cast is classy, the battle scenes are exciting, the sets are pretty and Dimitri Tiomkin's score suitably rousing. On the other hand, it's easier to see the film as reflecting Sam Bronston's own hubris: within a few years his own empire collapsed in a combination of failed films, bad investments and lawsuits by swindled business partners. In Hollywood, even more than Ancient Rome, all glory is fleeting.
