(MUSIC: "ALSO SPRACH ZARATHUSTRA" by RICHARD STRAUSS)
(MANIC LAUGHTER)
I sentence you to death, Claudius...
in the most beautiful possible way!
I sentence you to death, Claudius... in the most beautiful possible way!
I...
Claudius...
will tell you how to frame your laws.
Profiteering and bribery will stop.
This Senate will function only in the name of Roman justice
and all of you who have acquired office dishonestly
will be replaced by men who love Rome...
b-better than their purses.
126. Take six.
He claims a full moon will see my death.
If he's wrong, I'll have him killed. If he's right, I'll take him with me.
I can use a clever old vulture like that, even in death.
68. Take eight.
My first act as god shall be one of clemency.
I sent for you because I wish to put an end to your career as an historian.
You might write something I didn't like.
But we shall postpone your death until tomorrow.
Charles Laughton, Flora Robson, Emlyn Williams
in a film that was made 28 years ago.
This is the first time it's ever been shown.
Since 1937, it's been lying in tins, collecting dust in the film vaults - forgotten.
It was the first time that anybody had tried to turn Robert Graves' book into a film,
but it was abandoned after only a few weeks' shooting.
It was such a sensation at the time and the mystery surrounding it was so intriguing
that we thought you might like to know the inside story.
Getting the inside story hasn't been easy.
All the records have been destroyed or lost,
so getting the facts has involved a lot of detective work.
Tracking down people who worked on it - those of them who are still alive -
to find out what really happened.
The story begins, in more ways than one, with Robert Graves in New York.
The whole story starts with the appearance in my life of the Emperor Claudius.
That was in about October 1929,
before I emigrated to Majorca, where I've been living ever since.
I noted in my diary -
I used to keep a commonplace book, but I no longer do - that...
I'd been reading about Claudius in Suetonius and Tacitus
and I knew there was a mistake somewhere
and that one day I'd write the real story, if I ever needed the money.
I actually said it in those words.
Then I went to Majorca and after about five years, money started running out
and I got caught in a very big land deal.
I found that I had to make £8,000... I had to make £4,000.
I regard this as a very personal affair between me and Claudius.
So the book came out and I made £8,000,
so I was able to take the mortgage off my house
and able to think about things again.
One person who read the book shortly after it came out was someone I later got to know -
the late Sir Alexander Korda.
Korda, at this time - the early 1930s - realised, like everyone else did,
that there was no hope for British films while Hollywood dominated the world market.
Production companies had long ago given up the unequal struggle
and turned out inferior pictures quickly and cheaply to meet the government quota.
Hence the rather disparaging label - "quota quickies".
Against all odds, Korda decided to fight a lone battle
and make a prestige picture that would challenge the best of Hollywood.
He decided to concentrate on historical subjects
on a budget which even then was absurdly small.
He produced and directed The Private Life of Henry VIII with Charles Laughton.
It was a fantastic success and made a fortune.
Even more amazing, it caused a sensation in America.
He followed it up with productions like Catherine The Great, The Scarlet Pimpernel,
Fire Over England - with Laurence Olivier and Flora Robson -
Rembrandt - with Charles Laughton and Gertrude Lawrence.
Then he looked around for something more ambitious -
something that would really shake the cinema world, an epic to dwarf all epics.
I, Claudius seemed the perfect subject. He still had Laughton under contract
Here was a story of murder, lust and intrigue on the grand scale.
A violent struggle for power with Ancient Rome as its spectacular setting.
He cabled Robert Graves.
Well, I thought that was over,
then I got this cable from Korda that he wanted to buy the rights. Fine.
Korda was a remarkably good chap. He was cynical, but he was real.
His only failing, if I may call it so,
was making himself a centre of expatriate Hungarians,
and really filling up the studios
with Hungarians who were not altogether qualified for the jobs that he gave them,
especially in the English department.
Turning the book into a film script was going to be a difficult task.
In one's innocence, one might think the best man to do it was Graves himself.
I was eventually shown a bit of... a bit of some sort of script,
in which Caligula comes in and says, "My armies are revolting."
Which seemed rather an odd use of English.
There was a lot revolting in the script. I don't know who wrote it.
A character called Biro was somehow concerned - another Hungarian.
I was allowed, even given money, to write a script, which I did,
but, of course, that was filed somewhere.
Another surprising thing was that Korda, for various reasons,
had no intention of directing the epic himself.
Instead, he turned to a friend of his from Hollywood -
a man who was already something of a legend, the great Josef von Sternberg.
The man who discovered Marlene Dietrich and directed the film that made her famous -
The Blue Angel.
Today, Sternberg lectures in the Department of Theatre Arts
in the University of California, Los Angeles.
30 years is... Almost 30 years is a long time to remember,
but I recall very definitely that I had an engagement with...
I was in a nursing home and I had an engagement with...
Louise Atwell and Mrs Wallis Simpson.
And that er...
It was the afternoon when she had to leave England and Alex Korda came instead
and told me that the appointment was off...
and brought to me two books by Robert Graves.
And told me that he wanted me to direct Laughton in Claudius.
I asked him why and he told me that he was no longer able to direct Laughton
and that I should take over the direction of this work,
which I read in the two books by Robert Graves.
And I thought they were magnificent material.
The next day...
Laughton himself came and brought me some grapes and asked me to direct him.
Laughton and Oberon had been cast by Korda
and I had no control over that.
And...er...I...
went to work and designed the costumes...
and chose the other members of the cast, who were Flora Robson and Emlyn Williams.
A very bright young man.
And, er, Ralph Richardson and Robert Newton.
And er...
some other distinguished members of the acting fraternity.
So now the cast included Merle Oberon, Flora Robson and Emlyn Williams.
Robert Newton, alas, is no longer alive
and when we asked Ralph Richardson what he remembered,
he said, "Nothing. I wasn't in the cast."
But at the same time that Sternberg was talking to us,
Merle Oberon was at her home in Beverly Hills.
She has her own version of how and why Korda wanted to make I, Claudius.
I was Alex's only star at the time - under contract to him, I mean.
I had done not very much - I was very young - but they'd all been very successful.
Henry VIII, The Scarlet Pimpernel, Don Juan,
and then The Dark Angel with Sam Goldwyn in America, which was a very big success.
And I think Alex wanted to really make me the big star.
So he bought I, Claudius and cast Charles Laughton as Claudius,
and Messalina for me.
And the Alex decided that he would get von Sternberg to direct me
because von Sternberg was a "woman's director".
He just wanted to give me everything he could to make me shine.
(BOGARDE) She was to be a beautiful 15-year-old virgin,
forced to marry her 50-year-old cousin Claudius -
this stumbling, stuttering object of ridicule.
Messalina. Who then degenerates into a depraved libertine
whose name is a byword for immorality.
A difficult part which any leading actress would have given their eye teeth to play.
Claudius' nephew was one of the most vicious,
dissolute and perverted tyrants of all time.
A psychopath who made himself Emperor by slaughtering all his Imperial relatives
and anyone else who happened to get in the way.
A wonderful part for Emlyn Williams.
Yes, it was indeed a marvellous part. I've just been refreshing my memory.
As a matter of fact, I had worked for Korda already,
oddly enough, with Merle too and Robert Donat -
it was Merle's second picture and mine, and Robert's first -
in a film called Men Of Tomorrow, about five years before this.
And for the year or two before I, Claudius,
I'd been in my own play, Night Must Fall, in London.
And during it, Korda asked me to supper with him, which was very flattering, in his flat.
We talked and he asked for any ideas I had on films I wanted to do.
We talked at length about a film about Nijinksy, which I'd always wanted to do.
That I should write it and play it.
And also I was very interested in the idea of a film about the Rattenbury murder case...
for Merle and for Laurence Olivier.
But things, as so often happens, changed and I went to America with my play,
and all that sort of came apart.
I came back. I was rung up by my agent to play Caligula.
And I suppose as I had been spending the last two years
lugging a hat box around with in it a woman's head,
I suppose I was considered not bad casting for this little part.
Flora Robson who in her younger days seemed condemned to play older parts
was to play her oldest one yet, the 80-year-old Livia -
widow of Augustus and grandmother of Claudius.
When we called on von Sternberg and Merle Oberon,
Dame Flora Robson was also nearby in Hollywood,
working on a John Ford picture for MGM.
She was staying with her friend, the actor John Abbott.
I was then under contract to Sir Alexander Korda,
and a little disturbed because I got so many very difficult character parts to play.
I had just played Queen Elizabeth I of England
in which my clothes were tremendously heavy.
One dress weighed 200 pounds,
and walking up and down those long corridors, I finished panting for breath.
I also had a false nose and heavy crowns on my head which made my head ache.
In this one I played the old Empress Livia Augustus, who was over 80.
And I had the most difficult make-up.
I had cotton wool pads put here to make my eyes very baggy.
They used to pour collodion - kind of new skin - over this to make it stick on,
and this was very hot. My whole face was covered with liquid rubber.
The clothes weren't too heavy, I don't think,
but in order to get to this age - I was in my early 30s -
I developed a sort of palsy.
I used to twitch with my mouth to make myself seem much older than I was.
I was Alex Korda's special script girl for continuity for years.
As such, I was in charge of the continuity on I, Claudius.
You may wonder what I'm doing sitting in this derelict old room.
Actually, I'm in one of the rooms of what was the mansion of Denham Fisheries.
Year ago, when we made this film - 28 years ago, I think it was -
when the filming was taking place in the studios at the other end of the bound,
this old house was the production headquarters.
Alex's office was actually the one above the room that I'm sitting in.
It's very sad and rather nostalgic to go up there now
and see the broken glass and plaster peeling off the walls.
In those days, when it was all beautifully furnished,
Alex used to sit at his desk up there,
and it was from that desk, looking out onto the beautiful scene of the trees and the water,
it was there that Alex planned this film which was to be the best film he'd ever made -
I, Claudius.
I was 16 at the time and a student at Chelsea Polytechnic studying Scenic Design,
which was how I started out.
Already people were talking about the fantastic sets at Denham.
I was fortunate enough to go down myself and see them.
They were fantastic.
Korda's brother Vincent designed the sets,
and in the huge new studios, which had been specially built,
an army of craftsmen were recreating the palaces, the Senate House
and the temples of Rome in all their splendour.
So the cast was lined up, the script finished
and von Sternberg was almost ready to start shooting.
The lighting cameraman was the late Georges Perinal.
one of the world's greatest photographers.
On February 15th 1937, von Sternberg walked onto the set
and began to shoot the epic that he called his biggest, most lavish picture.
We're going to see the rushes exactly as they were shot, now shown for the first time.
The Imperial family arrives for the ceremony deifying the late Emperor Augustus,
who had reigned for 45 years, and now was to be made a god.
The voice shouting instructions is von Sternberg's .
Flora Robson as the ancient Empress Livia, widow of Augustus, arrives first.
Right. Go ahead, take your positions. Come on.
All right. Cut!
Next to arrive is the villainous nephew of Claudius - Emlyn Williams as Caligula.
Right. Cheer!
(CROWD CHEERS LOUDLY)
I don't remember having a make-up test for the part, which was odd,
which meant I only met the director on my first day of shooting.
It was a Roman orgy starting at 6.30 in the morning
on a January or February day, and ending at 6.30 at night.
I was introduced to him and he took me aside - he was extremely polite -
and said, "This part, you know, he is a very cruel and degenerate man."
I said, "Yes, I see that."
He said, "Perhaps degenerate, perhaps a little bit sissy, not too much."
I was glad of that because I had had my fittings for the costumes,
which looked, to me, a little bit like...
I think, two hostess gowns I was going to wear and a couple of short cocktail numbers,
and a false fringe. So I had to say to myself, "Watch out."
(LIVIA) He's the vilest, most despicable little reptile that the gods ever created.
- He's unscrupulous, dishonest... - Vain, lecherous and cruel. You flatter me.
Enough. Be silent!
(VON STERNBERG) Say that last thing again and turn your face.
(LIVIA) He's unscrupulous, dishonest...
- Can I have it again? - He's unscrupulous, dishonest...
Vain, spiteful, lecherous and cruel. You flatter me.
Enough. Be silent!
Cut!
Usually, the one person who never appears on camera is the director.
On one rare occasion, at the end of a scene, just before the camera's switched off,
Sternberg comes into shot.
- When is the full moon, Thrasyllus? - Tonight, Lady Livia.
Cut! Print that.
That's fine. Emlyn...
(ROBSON) I remember being quite excited to see a great director from Hollywood.
He always alarmed me a little bit. He was a bearded man.
I think he was the last of the film directors who dressed up for the part.
He used to wear, sometimes, riding breeches with laced-up boots,
and a big shooting jacket with very large pockets, and a silk turban round his head.
Other days he'd come in in a silk dressing gown.
It was those high boots I was first very surprised about,
but something different every day.
Despite the difficulties I had with some of the actors -
Mr Laughton in particular...
he was magnificent in several of the scenes.
And he more than made up
for the scenes which were not very good, but which would pass.
And, particularly, I remember one scene
where he walks down, after arriving in a litter,
and was very satisfactory in everything he did.
Action!
Uncle Claudius!
Uncle Clau-Clau-Clau-Clau Claudius!
(WHOOPING AND JEERING)
What'll the pigs do without you, Uncle?
(LAUGHTER)
What about the girls when you get back home?
(HE BAAS)
Don't forget the goat! Baa!
I...er...
don't think I had any trouble with anyone...
with the exception of Laughton,
who had some difficulty in getting into his part.
I had worked with Charles...
Well, I didn't work with him because I did my little bit in Henry VIII...
two days before... No, after he'd finished the picture.
But he was always so nice to me.
As a matter of fact, the first day shooting,
when we were all in our costumes and taking publicity stills,
and I though the other girls looked so pretty with their natural curly hair
and here was I with my very straight Anne Boleyn hair and headdress.
I mumbled something about making my hair curly,
and Charles said to me, "You dare and I'll kill you!"
And really rather a sad experience
because I knew and respected Charles as a great actor.
And suddenly something very odd happened to him.
He would come on the set every day...
get made up and get dressed...
and then say he couldn't find his character.
And break down.
Many times, he'd come into my dressing room, where I'd be made up ready to go,
put his head in my lap and cry.
I felt so sorry for him because I knew he wasn't doing it on purpose.
But this went on and on and on.
It seemed like forever. I don't know how long it did go on.
But we were delivered by a most unfortunate thing for me - an accident.
I had a motor car accident and er...
so they cancelled the picture.
Lloyds had to pay out a great deal of money.
Asiaticus, stand up.
- Not only are you a stuffed and puffed-up... - "Not only are you a profiteer."
Not only are you a profiteer, but you are a stuffed and puffed-up glutton.
You'd sell your s-soul for the tail end of an anchovy.
Since no one else seems eager to show his eloquence...
I will inform you of the conditions upon which I will accept your support.
I'm sorry. I've gone.
Since no one else seems eager to show his eloquence...
I used the wrong word. What?
(INDISTINCT)
My lord Sentius, I did not know you could also st-tutter.
I thought your t-talents were confined to neighing like a horse.
Is there anyone else who wishes to call attention to my misfortunes?
That's the broadest East End Cockney I've ever heard in my life.
In fact, day after day, he used to arrive at the studio and say,
"I can't find the man, Jo. I can't get the man."
He thought that if he started on a different sequence he could work himself into the film.
So, at that time, as we were the only film company filming at Denham,
we built stage after stage on each of the many...
Set after set on each of the many stages in the studios.
Each day we'd start on a different sequence and hope that Charles would find the man.
One day he arrived breathless and rather late on the set, very excited,
and said, "Jo, I've got the man. I've found him.
"Don't you realise it's Edward VIII?"
He'd got hold of a record of Edward VIII's abdication speech to the nation
and thereafter he would never film unless he'd first retired to his dressing room,
which was a caravan on the set, and played through Edward's last speech as King.
After he'd heard it through, Charles would come and try and play his part of Claudius.
The public, thank heavens,
never knows the private agonies that actors sometimes have to go through.
Sternberg had a wonderful visual sense.
He liked huge sets and working on a grand scale,
and Claudius gave him enormous scope.
He was never a man to do things by halves,
but sometimes matters were inclined to get a bit out of hand.
And other people found they had problems too -
like John Armstrong, Korda's costume designer.
One morning, he asked me, "Have we any Vestal Virgins?"
I said, "Yes." He said, "How many?"
I said, "Six," which was the authentic number.
He said, "How are they dressed?"
I got my drawings, which I took from a statue in Naples.
They were well covered with clothing, with a kind of tiara on their heads.
Allure was not allowed.
In fact, they were buried alive if they broke their vows of chastity.
He looked at the drawing and said,
"This won't do for me. I want 60 and I want them naked."
He defined "naked" as bra and pants under a veil.
"And", he said, "I want them on the set tomorrow morning."
There was no arguing.
I went off to London to hold a parade of extras to choose the girls,
while the wardrobe set out to cut 60 circles of five foot radius out of scenic gauze.
Next morning, the Vestal Virgins duly appeared on the set,
diaphanous, holding tapers,
and arranged up a magnificent flight of steps in the temple scene.
It looked lovely, but it had nothing to do with the Roman religion.
Every director requires different things from his script girl because they work differently.
von Sternberg was a first-class cutter.
He always knew which section he was going to use and where he was going to cut it.
I really first discovered what a brilliant cutter von Sternberg was,
and how he edited the film in his mind before he ever started to shoot,
when on the first two Sundays during production,
three of us worked in the cutting rooms with von Sternberg as his assistants,
while he started to edit the film we'd already taken.
You can still see those old cutting rooms.
They were, in fact, the stables of this very house,
but, like this old house, they're now in just the same terrible state of dilapidation.
We had a look at them this afternoon.
I shall never forget those Sundays winding and unwinding thousands of feet of film,
while we tried to keep pace with von Sternberg,
who cut the material at a most prodigious rate.
Caligula!
(CHEERING)
Uncle Claudius!
Uncle Clau-Clau-Clau-Clau Claudius!
(WHOOPING)
What will the pigs do without you, Uncle?
The pigs will be glad when you get back home!
And don't forget the goats! Baa!
(HE BAAS)
How wonderful to see you, dear Uncle Claudius. I thought you were on your farm.
- I was or-or... - You were or-ordered to attend.
- I hear you're teaching your pigs to read. - My pigs? Why?
So as to have readers for all the Roman histories you write.
(LAUGHTER)
Stop that rabble laugh.
Grandmother, you remember Uncle Claudius who prefers the society of pigs to the court?
I have asked Claudius to be present here and to be my guest at dinner tonight.
But, Grandmother, think of his table manners.
Be silent, you impudent puppy! You take your uncle for a fool, but he's not.
I sometimes think he pretends to be one so as to make fools of us.
Far from being a fool, he's the last decent man left in Rome.
One can rely on him. If he makes a promise, he keeps it,
and when he swears to the truth, it is the truth. Am I right, Claudius?
Don't let him start talking. He might have a stroke.
And you, Claudius, you think your nephew a harmless buffoon, but I know better.
He's the vilest, most despicable little reptile the gods ever created.
He's unscrupulous, dishonest...
Vain, spiteful, lecherous and cruel. You flatter me.
Enough! Be silent!
I shall remember, Uncle, that you are not so stupid as you would like me to believe.
An unpleasant youth.
Be careful of him, Claudius. He's the next Emperor of Rome.
That old charlatan has read the stars.
He also predicts - that's why I sent for you, Claudius - that I haven't much longer to live.
When is the full moon, Thrasyllus?
- Tonight, Lady Livia. - He claims a full moon will see my death.
If he's wrong, I'll have him killed. If he's right, I'll take him with me.
I can use a clever old vulture like that, even in death.
The quality and the splendour of that still survives after nearly 30 years.
This, indeed, was an epic in the making.
Here's another scene, this time in the Senate,
in which Caligula, who's just made himself Emperor,
is indulging in an orgy of megalomania.
Right. Action!
After a great deal of deliberation,
I have been commissioned by my colleagues to ask the Senate
to vote 50 gold pieces to every soldier in our glorious army.
- The same to be distributed at once. - The treasury is empty.
Unless the Senator has the amount required concealed on his...generous person...
(LAUGHTER)
...the army must serve for patriotic reasons.
Enough of this oratory! Fill the treasury. Invent new taxes!
- I want the army paid. - Impossible, Caesar.
The Roman people are taxed beyond endurance.
Are the married people taxed? No! Tax them. Tax the single.
Tax those that have children and those that have not.
Tax those who ride and those who don't .
Tax those that have doors and windows and tax those that haven't any.
I don't think it will be necessary to take extreme measures.
I propose that we double the existing taxes.
The people will happily pay for the privilege of being ruled
by so profound a thinker as the illustrious Caligula.
I could not have expressed such lofty sentiments better myself.
I knew the Senate would find a way out of this difficulty,
so I have therefore prepared to reward it.
(HOOVES CLOP)
(HORSE NEIGHS)
(LOUD WHINNYING)
I now honour this noble house by appointing Incitatus,
the greatest racehorse in the Empire, a member of the Senate.
Why does nobody greet him? Who is the oldest senator? Welcome him.
That's better.
I've always felt very sorry for that horse,
because there's never been an entrance in any film, for man or beast,
as much built up to as this one - as you've just seen.
You hear the horses hooves off. The horse was there.
And because of an accident...
the scene was never completed, and that poor horse is still waiting to come on.
I do remember that day vividly because it was my last day, though I didn't know it.
I was standing around, as you've just seen, and waiting to go on,
and one of the stage hands was standing next to the horse, who was dying to go on,
and the director was standing not very far away in his costume.
This member of the crew turned to me and said,
"If you put old Joe on that nag, you might win the Grand National next month."
That was the last day.
Now Laughton again.
Claudius found life less nerve-wracking and certainly a good deal safer
well away from the plotting and throat-slitting going on in Rome.
So he lived quietly on his farm in Capua.
And then one day, he sent for his doctor.
(HENS CLUCK)
- We've been waiting for hours, Doctor. - Is your master ill?
He cares little for his own health. Don't be angry with him. He wants you to cure a pig.
I could never be angry with Claudius. What's wrong with the pig?
- Surely he has pigs enough? - It's the runt of the litter.
It's weak and stunted and almost blind. There's one like that in every litter.
And that's the one your master loves, eh, Narcissus?
Let me see the little patient.
Claudius, bad news. That's why I'm late.
Rome's a madhouse. Tiberius had been dead for a week and no one knew.
- Who is Emperor? - Caligula.
They say he choked Tiberius with a pillow and tore the ring from his finger.
Caligula.
Emperor.
His soldiers tear people out of their homes in the night.
It's fortunate we live in the country. Who knows Caligula's blacklist.
How long have you been my slave, Narcissus?
- Nine years, master. - You're free now.
I don't want to leave you, master.
Are you on Caligula's blacklist?
There's still time to flee. It'll be months before it's your turn. You can leave.
My speech and my foot would betray me anywhere.
Besides, why shouldn't Rome's m-misfortunes be m-mine?
My Lord Claudius, you're to proceed directly to the Hall of Justice.
Shortly.
- What do you want with him? - I'm only here to arrest him.
- I'm his doctor. He's ill. - My orders are to bring Claudius or his body.
- What are you going to do? - I'm more f-frightened than I thought I'd be.
Should we not see each other again, look after my home, and the little runt.
I'm a bad friend. I can do more for that little pig than I can for you.
Come on.
Have I b-been here long?
Seven days. Since the Emperor became ill.
He must be feeling better now that he's asking for you.
Uncle Claudius, go in at once. He's asking for you. Be careful. He's in a dreadful state.
- Who's in there? - Musa, his doctor.
There's no fresh air. It's impossible to breathe.
What does he want?
I don't know, but humour him or he'll kill you.
He thinks he's become a god.
He's mad. He always was, but now he's worse than mad, he's possessed.
Ah, my Lord Claudius, I hope you're well.
Is that old quack Xenophon still treating you?
He's my best friend.
I think I could cure that stutter of yours. Do you still limp?
I l-limp with my t-tongue and st-tutter with my leg.
Nature never quite finished me.
I could cure your limp too.
I've a way of breaking bones in several places and resetting them.
I've become rich and famous and I don't need clients,
but for a thousand gold pieces, I could cure all your ills.
Thank you, Doctor.
I was born on a battlefield of disease.
I nearly died three times before I was two years old.
Besides the usual rash and measles, which made my left ear slightly deaf,
I had malaria, erysipelas and colitis.
I also acquired with ap-p-parent ease, infantile paralysis,
which shortened my left leg.
In the last few years after eating, I have ap-palling pains in my stomach,
but I should be pleased to remain as I am...
if I get out of that room alive.
Down on your knees.
How dare you remain standing in my presence.
A soldier cannot kneel and guard his Emperor at the same time.
You insolent fool! Down on your knees!
Now get out.
It's good to see you're better, Caesar.
I haven't been ill. I'm undergoing a change.
It's the most momentous transformation that any human being has ever achieved.
A prophecy is about to be fulfilled.
I am being reborn!
I hope your condition is not t-too painful.
It is painful to be one's own mother. Well, idiot?! Can't you see any change in me?
I was blind not to see it instantly. You are no longer human.
May I be the first to worship you as a g-g-god?
It took you a long time to perceive that I am no longer human.
I know...
Have mercy. I was overcome.
I've only been used to the pigs.
My first act as god shall be one of clemency.
I sent for you because I wish to put an end to your career as an historian.
You might write something I didn't like.
But we shall postpone your death until tomorrow.
Cut. Print that. That's very good.
I don't know how much Edward VIII had to do with that,
and, alas, we can't ask Laughton.
But I think that in that sequence, although Williams has the dominant part and position,
it's Laughton you watch because of his extraordinary sense of humility and shame,
underlying which is his wonderful sense of humanity and humour.
And strength too.
Perhaps these were the qualities Laughton found in Edward VIII. One doesn't know.
In the next scene, we find out why Caligula postponed the death sentence on Claudius.
It takes place in Caligula's palace,
just after Messalina's performed a dance specially arranged by Caligula himself.
Isn't she fantastically beautiful?
Fantastically beautiful.
Just as you, my dear Uncle, are fantastically ugly.
Look, Messalina, he's more dead than alive.
He's waiting for me to kill him.
But does he fear death? No. He squats there trembling at your beauty.
- Isn't that so, Claudius? - How can one conceal anything from gods?
Claudius...I've decided.
You shall die an exquisite death.
How, my god and my master?
Messalina, how would you like to marry Claudius?
- My family have other plans. - What plans?
- I'm promised in marriage to another. - Who?
Valens.
Valens?
He's no one important, Caesar. A captain of your bodyguard.
So you don't wish to marry Claudius, Messalina?
No, Caesar.
Get up.
Claudius, I condemn you to die through the hands of a beautiful woman.
To kill an ugly old man with a young wife. That's my decision.
This union should be an event for all Rome, eh, Senator?
And for the medical profession, Doctor. An old idiot and a young dancer.
A remote descendant of Julius Caesar married to a remote descendant of Augustus.
- What do you think the result will be? - A pair of crutches.
You see, Caesonia, how stupid your jealousies are?
Come, you two, embrace. Give a sample of your affection.
Behold! I am generous as only a god could be.
I sentence you to death, Claudius, in the most beautiful possible way.
Cut!
When, eventually, his mad nephew Caligula killed off practically everyone remaining,
and was himself murdered by one of his captains,
the soldiers found Claudius hiding behind a curtain and they recognised him...
He was their old boozing chum, you see.
He was a good guy. He was a good scout.
And so instead of having anyone else forced on them by the Senate,
they said, "He's our Emperor."
"My two captors pushed their way through the crowd dragging me behind them.
"Gratus called out, 'Hey, Sergeant! Look whom we have here!
"'A bit of luck. It's old Claudius. What's wrong with old Claudius for Emperor?
"'T he best man for the job in Rome, though he do limp and stammer a bit.'"
161. Take six.
Right.
The suggestion that we approve the election of a halfwit
is an insult to this distinguished assembly.
Before we adjourn for dinner, may I be permitted to point out
that the proposed Emperor has one leg shorter than the other?
(LAUGHTER)
And may I also draw your attention to the fact that this leg being shorter
is probably responsible for the other leg being longer.
(LAUGHTER)
Senators! The cause of the Roman Empire could find no better champion than Claudius!
I am ready to stand at his side.
Whether the Senate endorses our choice or not, it will be compelled to accept it.
Are you out of your senses?
You freed us from the tyranny of a madman only to deliver us to a stuttering idiot?
We'd become the laughing stock of the world if we accept this dummy as Emperor!
My lords...
I respect the constitutional rights of this noble house...
and would only accept the acclamation of the army
if this noble house elects me E-E...
(SENATOR) E-E-Emperor!
(LAUGHTER)
My Lord Sentius.
I did not know you could also stutter.
I thought your talents were confined to n-neighing like a horse.
Is there anyone else who wishes to call attention to my misfortunes?
Or shall I call attention to yours?
Sentius. Get up!
Not only are you a pompous ass and a hypocrite,
but you've acquired your position through bribery.
Asiaticus.
Stand up!
Not only are you a profiteer but, since we're dealing in personalities,
you're a stuffed and puffed-up glutton.
You'd sell your soul for the tail end of an anchovy.
Silius, get up.
You're rarely heard and your name is never mentioned, but you control this Senate
with gold made by providing worthless grain to the people and faulty supplies to the army.
Since no one else seems eager to show his eloquence...
I will inform you of the conditions upon which I will accept your support.
I, Cl-Cl...
Claudius,...
will tell you how to frame your laws.
Profiteering and bribery will stop.
The Senate will function only in the name of Roman justice.
And all of you who have acquired position dishonestly
will be replaced by men who love Rome b-better than their purses.
I will break everything rotten in this Senate...
like an old dry twig!
On that basis only will I become your Emperor.
Now let me hear your objections.
Now I will give the army the terms on which I will accept.
Caligula was murdered.
He ruled by force...
but a state such as I hope to establish
cannot condone murder.
For violence is an enemy to justice.
And in the name of justice, I call upon the murderers of Caligula to step forward.
We killed a tyrant, Caesar.
But you broke your solemn oaths as Roman soldiers to protect your Emperor.
You didn't strike for your country.
You killed in the name of your own private grudges.
I was with you, Cassius, when the tyrant kicked you,
but you were not content with one single murder.
You caused the death of Caligula's wife and of hundreds at the palace.
What fate do you consider you deserve?
Death, Claudius?
For that answer, I will take your families under my protection.
But for the crime of murder...
I must sentence you, Cassius, and you, Lupus, to...
death.
I will call upon the army to have that sentence executed.
I think, personally, that this is one of the most moving, beautiful and powerful speeches
I've ever seen on screen.
It ranks in greatness and splendour, to my mind,
with Olivier's Crispin Day speech in Henry V
and, on another plane, it has the humour, the honesty and the pain
of Judy Garland's dressing room scene in A Star Is Born.
Laughton here proves that he was kissed with genius.
I'm not in the least surprised that he went through such agony and despair
in bringing Claudius alive to the screen,
because to me, in that scene, Claudius is alive,
and resurrection is never easy.
He's one of the people you could really apply the word "genius" too.
It's a very difficult word to live up to,
but Charles at his best was something that you...
Well, everybody knows that. No other actor can quite do it the way he does it.
And, of course, he was difficult. Anybody like that is difficult.
He was a child. He was a brilliantly gifted child...
who had this instinct for acting. He had a complex about his appearance.
He was a brilliantly natural, instinctive actor,
but he wanted to rationalise his performances.
He wanted to feel that he was really governing them with his intelligence.
And an actor's intelligence is not the same as any other person's.
An intelligent actor is a fine actor.
He should have left that alone and just acted, but he wanted reassuring.
And, in this case, I know that he went to see Mr Sternberg...
I beg his pardon - Mr von Sternberg - in hospital, and gave him grapes.
But it looks to me that when they got onto the studio floor,
Mr von Sternberg didn't give Charles very much.
What Charles needed was sun, sun, sun, and all he got, it seems to me, was frost.
And destiny - perhaps fortunately for our peace of mind - is unpredictable.
Almost exactly a month after shooting began on this picture, the blow fell.
I was going for a fitting, I remember now, and I had this rather wild chauffeur,
and every time we were going to make a street crossing,
I'd wonder if we were going to make it. Well, this time we didn't .
And um...
And the next thing I knew, I was sort of coming to on a pavement...
surrounded by people. I didn't know where I was.
I could hear people saying, "It's Merle Oberon."
And then I'd go out again and keep coming back and going.
And the next thing I knew, I was in the emergency ward being sewn up.
And one of the surgeons said to me, "What's your name?"
Having heard it on the street, I said, "Merle Oberon."
And he said, "Oh, come off it!"
It's rather sweet because he came up to me a few days later and said,
"I do apologise. People come into Emergency and imagine they're all kinds of people."
We waited for a little while and then decided to shelve the project.
They used to tease me after and say that if I had a cold, the bell rang at Lloyd's .
Actually,...
it was quite a disappointment to me
because I thought that Claudius would have made a very fine film.
And er...
in considering the events that lead up to the close of Claudius...
I was rather er...
sorry that actors had truncated my film.
There was no way of replacing Merle Oberon.
"Actors had truncated my film."
That sounds as if an actor had come in deliberately and wilfully
and destroyed this product.
But, actually, the person who really was nearly truncated was poor Merle,
being thrown through that windscreen, which was the accident that finished the thing.
Merle could not be replaced.
I know that if the film was going wonderfully and was going to be a great success
for everybody concerned with it at that moment,
and I had gone through the windscreen - even though I'd shot all this stuff -
I know that they would have replaced me.
The accident was...an accident, but it was a godsend.
It was obvious that Charles was terribly unhappy.
Sternberg was unhappy. Korda was unhappy.
Merle wasn't unhappy. Well, she was unhappy - she was in hospital.
And it really was a very lucky chance, once one was sure that Merle was all right.
Last year I met Merle in New York and we were discussing this, oddly enough.
I said that it was such a godsend in a way.
"Are you sure it wasn't Alex dressed up as a chauffeur?"
She said, "You're wicked!"
And, of course, it couldn't be because there she was in hospital.
But I'm sure that once they realised that beautiful face of Merle's -
which was cut - was not going to be permanently damaged,
I think they all sent her flowers, heaved a sigh of relief, and said, "Cut".
The rushes were terrific. They said it would have been von Sternberg's greatest film.
Certainly, what I saw of Laughton and Robson and Merle Oberon was terrific.
But a beautiful dream has ended because Claudius just didn't want it.
He keeps his dignity. He doesn't want his Imperial face to be shown.
He doesn't mind books, but he didn't want to be portrayed, even by Charles Laughton.
Nothing came of it and nothing, perhaps, ever will come of it,
but Claudius is having a quiet smile somewhere about it.
I wonder if that 's really going to be the end of I, Claudius,
or if someone else will make another attempt at it.
Robert Graves is so sure that Claudius doesn't want to be portrayed, but is he right?
I'm only wondering because of something Claudius says at the beginning of the book.
"It is addressed to posterity,
Yet my hope is that you,
my eventual readers of a hundred generations ahead or more,
will feel yourselves spoken to, as if by a contemporary:
as often Herodotus and Thucydides, long dead,
seem to speak to me."
(MUSIC: ALSO SPRACH ZARATHUSTRA, RICHARD STRAUSS)
(CALIGULA LAUGHS)