There are some details at the end of these rambling reviews. 55 Days at Peking and Circus World also have decent 2.35:1 transfers. No extras as such, despite plenty existing (Hell, I even know which lab holds the materials!):
The first of Anthony Man and Samuel Bronston’s ambitious and intelligent epics, El Cid has to boast the most gorgeous use of the widescreen ever – the Cid and Chimene’s first meeting makes the most of every inch of the screen, while Robert Krasker’s gliding camera is remarkably sympathetic to screen format, architecture and exteriors alike. Indeed, the whole film displays Mann’s typically intelligent use of location, here in interiors (often his weak spot) as well – during their bleak wedding feast, he keeps Chimene and the Cid at a distance, the staircase where he killed her father (never a great start to any marriage) prominent between them; and while the good king’s court is filled with color, light and people, once the weak Alfonso assumes power it is a dark, empty hall. Despite some occasional overemphatic Christian imagery - when he’s not standing in front of a cross, he’s literally carrying one - this spectacular account of Spain’s greatest hero uniting Christians and Moors alike against a common enemy, making friends of enemies and teaching his weak king the path to greatness by example manages to put a surprisingly human face on the myth of the perfect knight: the Cid’s quest to do the honorable and right thing brings him little joy and much sorrow and even his resolve is nearly broken by his burden. Charlton Heston when he was still an icon instead of an *beep* is one of the few actors who could carry off such a part, and he does it very well despite his curious conviction that Mann’s superb direction was below par. The pomp and splendor never swamps the drama, and the setpiece duel or Calahora still stands out as one of the most remarkable and remarkably vicious screen swordfights of all time. A great score from Miklos Rozsa and good support from John Fraser and Douglas Wilmer too, although Andrew Cruickshank’s portly King’s champion implies that there was something amiss in the kingdom long before the warring infantas succeeded to the throne.
Sadly, the German DVD, while superior to the astonishingly shoddy 1.85:1 UK DVD, is taken from Miramax’s botched 35mm ‘restoration’ that flattened much of the imagery, darkened the print and lost some detail in crowd scenes: however, it’s still the best DVD available at this time.
If anything, The Fall of the Roman Empire is even more impressive despite being remembered, if at all, for two things – being one of the biggest flops in history and for being the film that was shamelessly plagiarized by the much inferior Gladiator. Which is a great pity, because not only does the film have much to recommend it but also in many ways it’s the summit of Mann’s filmmaking, putting everything he ever learned to perfect use to create a magnificently realised portrait of a very different screen Rome. Whereas mad emperors are the staple of the genre, he dispenses with the standard image of Rome as a force of evil to be resisted and replaces it with a Rome that is an idea and an ideal to be fought for: there is no triumph when this empire begins to destroy itself, only disgust at a missed opportunity for true greatness. In many ways, like El Cid, it’s an extension of Mann’s favorite Western theme of a corrupted man dragged to his own redemption against his wishes, kicking and screaming all the way – only this time, redemption is steadfastly resisted.
In many ways it reworks elements of El Cid – rival siblings bickering over the throne, the assassination of a ruler, even the final fight owes much to the duel for Calahorra. But unlike the Cid, Stephen Boyd’s Livius is unable to truly inspire (his own army is bought off at the gates of Rome) and he leaves the Empire to its decline in chaos out of disgust: the complete antithesis of Mann’s great description of the appeal of the enduring appeal of the Western – “a man says he’s going to do something, and he does it.” Here, the hero walks away and the audience stayed at home in droves.
It’s not the only chance Mann takes – Alec Guinness’ Marcus Aurelius tries to avert his impending death by bargaining with an invisible Ferryman, who speaks with his voice, while almost the entire first half of the film takes place on Rome’s northern borders, bringing the empire to the emperor. His handling of the many setpieces is astonishing, from the funeral that Martin Scorsese rightly described as an epic eulogy for an entire style of epic filmmaking, to the astonishing coronation triumph where he gradually reveals the massive Forum Romanum set in a succession of increasingly impressive shots that show how much has been lost now that real sets and extras have been replaced by CGI. Equal kudos here to Colosanti and Moore’s stunning design that creates a screen Rome unlike any before or since, not of whitewashed marble but of stone and wood and gold leaf and color, built for real in massive three-dimensional sets – the Forum was actually built full scale on the plains of Las Matas and filled with thousands of extras. But the spectacle isn’t just gratuitous: you get a real sense of the sheer scale of the empire, and more importantly a sense of a world outside these characters that depends upon their actions. Throw in Dimitri Tiomkin’s finest score, a world away from the standard Roman Empire ‘sound,’ and some impressive supporting performances (Guinness and James Mason’s warm double-act a standout) that offset some of the weaker performances(step forward Sophia Loren in Yul Brynner-Westworld autopilot mode), and it adds up to a film well worth seeking out
Thankfully the German DVD is in 2.35 and almost uncut – the ‘trilemma’ scene is still missing, as are the play-ins, overture and entr’acte and the original stereo soundtrack, but the usual omissions have been restored and the print is for the most part excellent.
"Gentlemen, is this a great moment or a small one? I'm afraid I don't know."
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