A clue as to the tone MGM were striving for with their first major ancient world epic of the 1950s lies in the opening titles. The costumes and hairstyles are not credited merely as "by
" but "recreated by
" Quo Vadis is not like the thought-provoking but modestly-budgeted efforts of 20th Century Fox, or the slightly lurid and action-orientated offerings from Warner Brothers. And although it is similar in magnitude and production values it is not like the grandiose behemoths Cecil B. DeMille was making at Paramount, the messages of which were somewhat self-defeating in their splendorous portrayal of despotic empires. Instead, the aim here seems to have been to provide a sense of scale and lavishness that is believable rather than awe-inspiring – a no-expenses-spared attempt to rebuild an entire bygone culture as a backdrop for a story.
Quo Vadis was made just before the arrival of widescreen formats, and it was the burgeoning scope of pictures like this which was to prompt the development of the new technology. However Quo Vadis itself makes up for its lack of width by working wonders in the field of depth. Use of depth was something of a speciality of director Mervyn LeRoy. He shows off the might of a marching column by having them advance upon a retreating camera. In the triumphal parade scene he often keeps the camera far back, looking out over the crowd, showing the size of the space that way. Even in the more intimate dramatic scenes, LeRoy creates layers of action, sometimes having the main focal point further back in the shot behind some foreground business, or creating a distant vanishing point far beyond the action. In this manner he helps maintain the illusion of a full and functioning world.
And into this world comes a cast of considerable prestige and propriety. The principle players are mostly British, for that stately touch. Of course, having all the Romans speak with RADA accents is no more authentic then having them sound like hillbillies, but this is about expectations of tone rather than actual historicity. Still, you have to have an All-American hero for the male lead, and stepping into the sandals is Robert Taylor, verging on middle age but still in possession of his dashing demeanour and handsome honesty. Taylor is not a particularly interesting actor, but he fills the role nicely. Opposite him we have the sensitive and professional Deborah Kerr. This part doesn't demand much of her considerable capabilities, but she brings a great deal of sincerity where it is needed, especially in the scene where she argues with Taylor over her acceptance of Christ.
But there is another duo here next to whom Taylor and Kerr make pale candles – the delightful, irresistible pairing of Peter Ustinov and Leo Genn as Emperor Nero and his adviser Petronius. Ustinov, in his breakthrough role, is outstanding, displaying with every facet of his performance the frankly undignified manner of someone who has never been told "No". He is wildly exaggerated, but his hamminess is acceptable because, after all, Nero is an exceptionally colourful character. Genn on the other hand is a model of knowing serenity, whose precise delivery makes a comedy of his manipulative counselling to the emperor. Between them these two get all the best lines, and to be honest this picture would be no worse if it were three hours of Nero and Petronius's witty interplay.
And that is in itself very telling about Quo Vadis. It is the periphery of the picture that appeals – not the heart. When watching Quo Vadis we get to bask in the glorious cinematography of Robert Surtees and William Skall, full of natural yellows, greens and oranges. We can take in the powerful score of Miklos Rozsa, who contrasts blaring Roman fanfares with haunting chants of faith. And all this, to overlay a rather hackneyed and uninspiring tale of heathen-turned-Christian in ancient Rome, which in any case has been done better elsewhere. Yes, this is a classic example of style over substance. But what's wrong with style when it is this wondrous? Indulge yourself.
