Some people seem to think that to enjoy a picture like this you have to be a devout Christian who can be touched by its message. Poppycock! Even an atheist like me appreciates a good story well told. That is why I love the religious pictures of Cecil B. DeMille.
Indeed, watching a picture like King of Kings, you actually sometimes have to question the slant of DeMille's own faith. Like many of the more prestigious productions of the era, it contains a couple of two-strip Technicolor sequences. Now, what should be the first scene in the story of Jesus to be given the distinction of the colour treatment? The first appearance of the messiah? His baptism? A miracle? No – it is the opening scene, an apocryphal depiction of the court of Mary Magdalene, in her prostitute days. You see, it seems that DeMille could not help but depict sin as bold, glamorous and alluring, something that is consistent with the director's less-than-holy private life.
But despite the opening, this is actually one of DeMille's most tender and reverent portrayals of a religious subject. You may notice how, in comparison to a lot of mainstream pictures of the late silent era (such as Wings, Sunrise and The Crowd), King of Kings features very little camera movement. DeMille instead gives great grace and power to the still image. The acting is slow and stately – there is barely a sudden movement in the whole two-and-a-half hours. The exceptional cinematography of Peverell Marley gives a soft-focus glow to the figure of the Christ. The Messiah is associated throughout with doves, with one or two of the birds appearing in some corner of the frame at significant moments. Among the most delicate touches is DeMille's tenuous hinting at the tortures inflicted during the scourging of Jesus, which are never directly shown, but described in eerie shadows, the cruel glances of the Romans and the guilt-ridden reaction of Judas.
For the title role DeMille selected H.B. Warner, who would later become a very reliable character actor in the sound era, receiving an Oscar-nomination for Lost Horizon, and even winding up as one of the "waxworks" in Sunset Boulevard. At 52 Warner was perhaps a little too old for the part (especially if you check out the date of birth of Dorothy Cumming, who plays his ma), but he has an appropriate serenity to him, giving us a weary and melancholy Messiah who appears to know his own fate. Playing Judas (hyped-up by Jeanie MacPherson's script into an even bigger villain than he is in the bible) we have – of course! – Joseph Schildkraut. This picture cemented Schildkraut's typecasting as the archetypal sharp-featured villain. And this wasn't such a bad thing, because it at least meant that your sharp-featured villain would be an extremely good actor, and a devilishly handsome one at that. Speaking of which, we also have the fiendishly good-looking Victor Varconi as Pontius Pilate, whose brief appearance leaves a deep impression.
This being DeMille and the screenwriter being Jeanie MacPherson (please see my comments on their earlier collaborations for more on her), King of Kings does have its fair share of daftness amid the drama. The device of the blind girl being healed and seeing the light, is an excellent one, but it is spoiled by the fact the DeMille did not seem to realise that blindness does not mean having your eyelids glued together. And there are the usual MacPherson oddities among the title cards, my favourite of which is the delightfully surreal command "Harness my zebras!" Yes, DeMille's po-faced preaching often verged on self-parody (and genuine parody would follow – compare the resurrection of Lazarus to the bringing to life of the monster in 1931's Frankenstein), but his command of cinematic form was masterly. Sit back and enjoy King of Kings. This is the beautiful and dignified faithfulness of a stained-glass tableau or a choir singing Bach, quite a lovely thing to behold regardless of one's own beliefs.
Indeed, watching a picture like King of Kings, you actually sometimes have to question the slant of DeMille's own faith. Like many of the more prestigious productions of the era, it contains a couple of two-strip Technicolor sequences. Now, what should be the first scene in the story of Jesus to be given the distinction of the colour treatment? The first appearance of the messiah? His baptism? A miracle? No – it is the opening scene, an apocryphal depiction of the court of Mary Magdalene, in her prostitute days. You see, it seems that DeMille could not help but depict sin as bold, glamorous and alluring, something that is consistent with the director's less-than-holy private life.
But despite the opening, this is actually one of DeMille's most tender and reverent portrayals of a religious subject. You may notice how, in comparison to a lot of mainstream pictures of the late silent era (such as Wings, Sunrise and The Crowd), King of Kings features very little camera movement. DeMille instead gives great grace and power to the still image. The acting is slow and stately – there is barely a sudden movement in the whole two-and-a-half hours. The exceptional cinematography of Peverell Marley gives a soft-focus glow to the figure of the Christ. The Messiah is associated throughout with doves, with one or two of the birds appearing in some corner of the frame at significant moments. Among the most delicate touches is DeMille's tenuous hinting at the tortures inflicted during the scourging of Jesus, which are never directly shown, but described in eerie shadows, the cruel glances of the Romans and the guilt-ridden reaction of Judas.
For the title role DeMille selected H.B. Warner, who would later become a very reliable character actor in the sound era, receiving an Oscar-nomination for Lost Horizon, and even winding up as one of the "waxworks" in Sunset Boulevard. At 52 Warner was perhaps a little too old for the part (especially if you check out the date of birth of Dorothy Cumming, who plays his ma), but he has an appropriate serenity to him, giving us a weary and melancholy Messiah who appears to know his own fate. Playing Judas (hyped-up by Jeanie MacPherson's script into an even bigger villain than he is in the bible) we have – of course! – Joseph Schildkraut. This picture cemented Schildkraut's typecasting as the archetypal sharp-featured villain. And this wasn't such a bad thing, because it at least meant that your sharp-featured villain would be an extremely good actor, and a devilishly handsome one at that. Speaking of which, we also have the fiendishly good-looking Victor Varconi as Pontius Pilate, whose brief appearance leaves a deep impression.
This being DeMille and the screenwriter being Jeanie MacPherson (please see my comments on their earlier collaborations for more on her), King of Kings does have its fair share of daftness amid the drama. The device of the blind girl being healed and seeing the light, is an excellent one, but it is spoiled by the fact the DeMille did not seem to realise that blindness does not mean having your eyelids glued together. And there are the usual MacPherson oddities among the title cards, my favourite of which is the delightfully surreal command "Harness my zebras!" Yes, DeMille's po-faced preaching often verged on self-parody (and genuine parody would follow – compare the resurrection of Lazarus to the bringing to life of the monster in 1931's Frankenstein), but his command of cinematic form was masterly. Sit back and enjoy King of Kings. This is the beautiful and dignified faithfulness of a stained-glass tableau or a choir singing Bach, quite a lovely thing to behold regardless of one's own beliefs.