Quo Vadis: Metro-Goldwyn-Mayer, November 8, 1951

New York Times, November 9, 1951

'QuoVadis,' Based on Sienkiewicz Novel and Made in Rome, Opens at Two Theatres

By BOSLEY CROWTHER

It could be that M-G-M's "Quo Vadis," which was triumphantly unveiled last night at the Astor and Capitol Theatres for two-a-day and continuous runs, respectively, will be the last of a cinematic species, the super super-colossal film. If so, it should stand as the monument to its unique and perishable type, to an item of commerce rendered chancy by narrowing markets and rising costs.

For here, in this mammoth exhibition, upon which they say that M-G-M has spent close to $7,000,000 and which runs for just shy of three hours, is combined a perfection of spectacle and of hippodrome display with a luxuriance of made-to-order romance in a measure not previously seen. Here is a staggering combination of cinema brilliance and sheer banality, of visual excitement and verbal boredom, of historical pretentiousness and sex.

The fact that this Hollywood memorial was filmed, in the main, in Italy, whence came the first super-colossal—also "Quo Vadis?"—some thirty-eight years ago has been pretty thoroughly circulated. It is a fact that unquestionably accounts for much that is brilliant and exciting in this bewilderingly heterogeneous film. The opening shot of Roman legions pounding along the dusty Appian Way, marching home from conquests in Britain in a beautiful Technicolor haze, sets the tone and, indeed, the massive tempo for the motif of power that gives this film its one claim to artistic stature. And this merits thanks to Italy.

Likewise, the scenes of Roman gatherings in Nero's decadent reign to honor triumphant heroes or to watch Christians clawed to death by lions are rendered intoxicating by the magnificence of the sets and the massing of thousands of extras, which shooting in Italy has allowed Metro to afford. On the strength of its crowds and architecture, this "Quo Vadis" would tip any scales.

And for such awesome exhibitions as the historic burning of Rome or the slaughter of Christian martyrs, which was common in Nero's time, there has never been a picture that offered the equal of this. Even the previous excursion of Cecil B. DeMille in this realm in his left-handed version of "Quo Vadis?", the memorable "The Sign of the Cross," had nothing to match the horrendous and morbid spectacles of human brutality and destruction that Director Mervyn LeRoy has got in this.

But within and around these visual triumphs and rich imagistic displays is tediously twined a hackneyed romance that threatens to set your teeth on edge. And the notion that Nero was a monster and a numbskull is pounded at such length, in scenes of unending conversations, that patience is sorely tried.

To the credit of John Lee Mahin, S. N. Behrman and Sonya Levien, who wrote the script from the 1895 best-seller of Henryk Sienkiewicz, an apparent attempt to give the drama some literary quality was made, and at times the dialogue shows traces of pseudo-Shavian wit. Most competent in handling this dialogue is the Englishman, Leo Genn, who has the prize role of Petronius, the emperor's cynical goad. And because he is passably convincing, his fragile romance with a slave, played by Marina Berti, is the most touching thing in the film.

But the time that is given to Nero, whom Peter Ustinov plays in a manner to elevate Charles Laughton as a master of restraint in the role, which he portrayed in the DeMille picture, quickly runs into seeming hours. Mr. Ustinov's mouthing and screaming, if halved, might be durable. As it is, they become the most monotonous and vexing things in the film. And this includes the solemn posturing of Robert Taylor as the soldier who falls in love with the beautiful Christian hostage, played by Deborah Kerr.

Unfortunately, the tracing of this romance through the fleshpots and the prison cells of Rome is done in a way that seems intended to spell it out for the most slow-witted minds. And Mr. Taylor and Miss Kerr, in their performance, appear anything but inspired. "Oh, Marcus," cries the lady to the soldier, whom she has been resisting, when he starts to leave her life, "you know I don't hate you!" And they come together for a rigidly dignified embrace.

Also the whole presentation of the impulse of Christianity is made in terms that are not only literal but frequently trite. The apostles Paul and Peter, whom Abraham Sofaer and Finlay Currie play, are comparatively dignified persons, and the sermon the latter gives to a secret gathering of Christians is well delivered, for all its trace of Scottish burr. But the interpolation of tableaus of scenes from the life of Christ, including a picturization of the Last Supper, will cause the sensitive to cringe.

However, we have a suspicion that this picture was not made for the overly sensitive or discriminate. It was made, we suspect, for those who like grandeur and noise—and no punctuation. It will probably be a vast success.

Quo Vadis: Metro-Goldwyn-Mayer, November 8, 1951