Welcome to Pre-Code Decode, a recurring column where we go back and look at pre-Hays Code Hollywood to see how they handled the issues of their day!

by Roxy Snavely, Contributor

Cecil B. DeMille is widely recognized as having some of the most dramatic taste in Classical Hollywood. Known for The Ten Commandments (1956), his work often revolved around the classical stories that most are familiar with, often set in Biblical times. In the 1920s, DeMille produced two silent epics that fit within these themes; 1923’s The Ten Commandments, a film which is not a shot-for-shot predecessor of the one produced in 1956, rather it compares the story of Moses and the Pharaoh with a modern tale of two brothers with opposing religious views. The other was 1927’s The King of Kings, a film that documented the life of Jesus Christ. While both these films are technical marvels, I’m more interested in his epics done in the early 1930s, otherwise known as the pre-code era.

Though censorship in film existed before 1934, it was only here when Catholic organizations began to protest the immorality of the Hollywood film. Thus, the Hays Code became widely implemented to calm the peace. Going into effect in June of 1934, the new code forbade things like vulgar language and sexual content. Films created and distributed before this time are referred to as pre-codes, which generally feature darker subject matters and are well known (and quite beloved) for their emphasis on sexuality. Demille, in addition to being recognized for his love of the grandiose, is often cited as having films with immense carnal overtones. Considering this, I was eager to view DeMille’s epics from this era partly to see how his main principles interact with each other but also to fill in two of my blindspots from the pre-code cannon.

In 1932, DeMille completed his biblical trilogy with Sign of the Cross, based on the 1895 play by Wilson Barett, the film tells of persecution amongst Christians in the Roman Empire under Emperor Nero (Charles Laughton) after he blames them for the great Roman fires circa 64 AD. Despite this, Marcus Superbus (Fredric March), Nero’s head guard, has fallen in love with Mercia, a local Christian girl played by Elissa Landi. Besides the active hunt for Christians going on, another obstacle for the pair is Empress Popaea (a semi-iconic role assumed by Claudette Colbert), Nero’s wife who is in love with Marcus and will do anything to see that Mercia stays away from him. But the film concludes in a rather shocking way with the last act of the movie being entirely dedicated to watching Christians get slaughtered by an array of exotic animals in the Roman Colosseum. It is here, where our star-crossed lovers die as martyrs.

Two years later, DeMille directed Cleopatra, a film based upon the life of the famous last Egyptian pharaoh (once again played by Claudette Colbert) Our story opens with the title character, trapped in the desert at the hands of the Egyptian prime minister, who wants her gone so he can solely dictate relations with the Julius Caesar, played by Warren William. Somehow, she escapes and greets Caesar in the palace by rolling out of a rug. (A highlight of the film) While Ceaser may be disinterested in helping Egypt at first, Cleopatra seduces him with prospects of gold in India and of course, sex. As we know, Caesar is assassinated by senators due to his aspirations of becoming king, foiling the planned marriage of our lovers. Mark Antony, one of Caesar’s successors, goes to Rome in an attempt to capture Cleopatra. However, he too is seduced by her charms and begins to fight for Egypt as Augustus Caesar, the other successor, plans an invasion. Yet, Antony’s fight is in vain as Rome succeeds in the Empire’s conquest, Anthony dies as Cleopatra kills herself via snake bite as the Roman army bursts through the castle doors, proving to be a very contested version of the history books.

While certainly not new favorites by any means, these films are likable in a particular way that I find myself struggling to describe. Many of these films are actually somewhat boring, as a lot of them consist of poorly written political talk or sappy romance. Some lines hit, but they’re few and far between. The best elements of these movies may be those done by the below-the-line crew. Though the characters may be doing nothing but talk, the sets they talk in are gorgeous and really do come across as ancient palaces. Likewise, the costume design is simply stunning. Claudette Colbert’s wardrobes, in particular, often have a heavy emphasis on the chest area, dresses that would certainly not be approved just months later. This is perhaps the area where the epic and the pre-Code intersect best, as the aesthetics of each are truly realized and wonderfully captured.

While the costume designs may be timeless, the films themselves are not, as the sword and sandals genre has been largely dead in America for the past sixty years. (These are some of the earliest entries in that canon.) Though a dead genre doesn’t necessarily date a film, it's that combined with other aspects that make these films such relics of the past. The acting in particular. Fredric March, an actor who I’m quite fond of, delivers such a strange performance in Sign of the Cross; simultaneously quite wooden yet completely over the top. Considering his motivation is entirely based on lust, this makes him come across as willfully unaware of the struggles of the Christians, even as he is about to die for their cause. The two leads in Cleopatra, Warren William and Henry Wilcoxon have similar issues, but perhaps to a greater extent. Though they may look like great emperors, their dense exteriors cancel all attempts at presumed sexiness. Leaving Colbert seemingly acting to not one, but two brick walls. They are a special type of bad performance that could only exist in the 1930s. I may describe these performances in negative ways, but I think all have highlights which partly make up for their mediocrity, whether it be March’s dumb pretty boy persona or William’s underwhelming reaction to getting murdered.

A saving grace of both films, one which really marks them as prime pre-Code are two wonderful performances by the legendary Claudette Colbert. Though an incredible, uniquely versatile actress, one may mistake her for being too plain to handle a Garboesque role. Yet I found her to be an absolute pleasure to watch due to the sheer camp she brings to both Cleopatra and Empress Popaea. Colbert particularly bleeds personality compared to the cast of ragdolls, playing the sexy vamp archetype perhaps better than Theda Bara herself. She steals every scene she’s in with her signature smirk and a clear feeling of superiority to those around her. It would be silly not to mention the iconic bath scene in Sign of the Cross, where she invites a female slave to bathe with her, the audience barely missing frontal nudity. But my favorite Colbert moments come from Cleopatra, perhaps where her lascivious nature plays best–alluring Caesar with prospects of gold in India, narrowly poisoning Mark Antony only to slap it out of his hand and make out with him moments later. She brings not only mystique but charm and a great sense of fun to such dull productions.

Of course, the general appeal of the pre-Code lies around the fact that you get to see old movies with an edge to them. Movies that were more sexually explicit and had no moral guidelines to adhere to. In this regard, I feel as though these two films fit perfectly into the traditional ideas of what pre-Code represents. Cleopatra was released several months after the code went into effect, yet was okayed by many religious organizations due to its historical context. In this way, the film can be read as a last hurrah for this era of filmmaking. One part that definitely shines as prime pre-Code is a dance sequence about halfway through the film. This section includes a fishing net being cast onto a boat, the contents of which are about ten scantily clad women who offer Mark Antony clams filled with pearls. The absurdity continues when only moments later, other dancers are shown jumping through hoops of fire while dressed in leopard print. This is, of course, all a ploy to seduce Antony into Cleopatra’s arms. This is not only a spectacle, but a rather fun one at that. The parade for attention is marvelous to watch and it's no wonder why Antony fell for her, yet it’s some of the only pageantry we’re given in the movie. The queen of Egypt never interacts with the city, only with those who serve her. It’s clear that she cares about her people but it’s an odd disconnect that hinders her motivations. It’s hard not to feel slightly let down, as one staple of the epic genre is the part where we get to explore the setting, yet the only sights we see in Cleopatra are purely fantastical.

Often sighted as one of the most proactive pre-Codes, Sign of the Cross is even more flamboyant in its presentation, besides the aforementioned bath scene, another standout is the part where the pure Christian girl is taken to an orgy. Here, a party guest attempts to seduce Mercia by performing a sensual dance, while outside, Christians sing as they march to their demise. The contrast between the beautiful palace and the pained hymns being sung outside is just wicked, and the fact that the music at the party is just never loud enough to drown it out only makes the elite of society’s crimes more apparent. Being the first epic talking film, this moment uses sound very sophisticatedly and shows the true power that this element of filmmaking has. Another standout is a scene where the Roman army attacks a meeting held by the Christians, shooting them with arrows. Though the violence is not bloody, it’s still much more graphic than one would think. This kind of scene is great because it illustrates the larger cultural battle that was being fought here, one that the audience may not fully grasp until the infamous set piece ending filled with elongated scenes of grotesque torture. The scope of the film is perhaps its greatest attribute; Sign of the Cross utilizes the crowd size to portray the magnitude of these historical events, to show how small and alienated this community is from their own city, as it actively attempts to destroy them. This sense of a city is something that was sadly missing from Cleopatra.

Despite the success of showing the true grandeur of a story like this, I must admit I found it somewhat offensive on a personal level. Despite the power the last act holds, it is not a display of good filmmaking, it feels offensive and rather self-indulgent. It feels more like an exploitation film in its presentation, from its sexual content to the last third in the Colosseum. While I acknowledge that the torture segments are necessary for the story, one because this did actually happen, and we do need to witness the cruelty of the Romans to understand the appeal of Christian philosophy, it often feels gross in the way it’s presented. I honestly think it’s due to the length, as the persecution segment is far too long. The first few minutes are quite distressing, as we’re shown an array of gladiators fighting to the death and Christians being thrown to actual animals for food, and it just keeps going, making sure to show every way one could possibly die under these circumstances. After the shock wears off, it gets really old, really quick. To be perfectly clear, Sign of the Cross is nothing more than Christian propaganda, obviously designed to get the audience to sympathize with the tortured Christians, but I don’t like that kind of filmmaking.

Even though these movies don’t have quite the intended effect as they did back in the day, I find myself liking them the more I think of them. Cleopatra in particular is just too campy not to have a good time. Plus, there are quite a few things I didn’t even mention that make these movies a good time. (Some of the lines in these things had me rolling on the floor laughing!) Even considering the disturbing content in Sign of the Cross, it still makes for a good study of both pre-Code and the epic. Of course, DeMille will always be renowned for his Biblical epics, and he has several other pre-Codes that I’ve yet to see. But these two are truly special films, as they represent a truly unique intersection in classical Hollywood genres, as these Biblical epics were a new thing at the time. If you’re up for it, these films are truly something else, encapsulating the best of the pre-Code aesthetics and the spectacle of the epic. These are two movies that have no equivalent, they are as stunning as they are silly. If you don’t get anything else out of these movies, at the very least, I promise you they are unforgettable.