Caligula: On-This-Day Thursday
Written by Andreas Babiolakis
Every Thursday, an older film released on this opening weekend years ago will be reviewed. They can be classics, or simply popular films that happened to be released to the world on the same date.
For August 15th, we are going to have a look at Caligula.
Oh, the joys of New Hollywood. Towards the end of this definitive era, you can find works that tried just a little too hard. Their efforts have typically resulted in the positive-aging effect of becoming cult classics, so either you are a part of these audiences or you aren’t. I personally love Heaven’s Gate, despite its obvious flaws, bloating, and lack of self awareness. I even placed it on my list of the top films of the ‘80s (albeit a low-enough 95). Naturally, there will be these kinds of cult films that don’t resonate well with me. Such is the case with the excessive, self-indulgent sprawling of Caligula: a purely exploitational attempt at an artistic epic that becomes a chore that never ends. To understand why this film is the way that it is — and hence as terrible as it is — you must know why it exists.
Not only was New Hollywood many years into its existence at this point, but so was the Golden Age of pornographical films: the kinds you could find at adult theatres with higher production values that were meant to mean something a little bit more than a few minutes of pleasure (see Behind the Green Door as a key example). I already don’t care for this era or industry, so this appeal means absolutely nothing to me. However, the context is key. Porn was becoming more of an art form, and obviously companies were trying to find ways to cash in on this success. Enter Penthouse, who wanted to create an epic film with unsimulated hardcore fornication within the picture. The priority was sex, and the target was Gore Vidal’s screenplay based on the rise and fall of Emperor Caligula. With this in mind, it’s no secret as to why Vidal wanted his name removed from the final series of credits. His writing was bastardized by avant-garde director Tinto Brass, producer Bob Guccione (of Penthouse fame), and rising star Malcolm McDowell, who injected more sex and many garnishes of extreme violence into the picture. Now, Caligula went from being a potential heartbreaking, emotional opus of the late ‘70s, to becoming an exercise in pushing boundaries. As much as I love challenging films, lines can be crossed. Caligula doesn’t offend me, outside of how much it just isn’t a coherent, worthwhile film. I can stomach the sex, the gore, and the length, but it’s the lack of nuance that kills me.
Caligula is beyond boring, despite how much it tries to shock or swoon audiences.
Alongside McDowell are other huge Hollywood names that one can’t imagine would ever star in such a mind-numbing erotic arthouse mess. These include Sir John Gielgud, Sir Peter O’Toole, and Dame Helen Mirren (the latter had yet to break through, but the two former actors were beyond established by this point). So, I’d call this film a biopic of Emperor Caligula, except it really kind of isn’t. It’s an excuse to see real orgies, bright-red bloodbaths, and more sex scenes. The only thing I can admire here is that Caligula is obviously tongue-in-cheek with its satire on political systems and hierarchies, but I can’t even enjoy what it’s trying to say, because it tries too damn hard at everything else. Whenever you feel like you’re getting somewhere, there’s bodily fluids of some sort being spilled somewhere. It becomes very apparent that the narrative is just the breathing room in between all of the fornication and the violence (but mostly the fornication), and that’s just not something I have any interest in for nearly three hours.
Roger Ebert famously walked out of this film (one of the very few he has), but I don’t know if I feel accomplished for having finished this mess. I honestly feel more stupid for trying to finish this picture, like it just wasn’t worth the time. For me, the only reason to watch Caligula (outside of its ambitious sets and costumes) is because you can say you’ve seen Caligula: this monstrosity of cinema. There’s literally no other reason. You can say you saw a Penthouse funded behemoth of swords-and-sandals filmmaking with real hardcore pornography in it, with iconic performers to boot. These bragging rights just aren’t as rewarding as you may think. It seems hilarious or intriguing on paper, but there is a small — and I mean puny — audience that actually likes this film for non-perverse reasons. Don’t try to find out if you’re one of them.
Andreas Babiolakis has a Masters degree in Film and Photography Preservation and Collections Management from Ryerson University, as well as a Bachelors degree in Cinema Studies from York University. His favourite times of year are the Criterion Collection flash sales and the annual Toronto International Film Festival.