I don't think anyone watches Caligula because they actually want to watch Caligula. If you want to watch an epic about Rome featuring noted British thespians, you'll watch I, Claudius. If you want to watch porn, you'll download it off the Internet. Caligula promises the least of both worlds.
Even its reputation as a cult film has little to offer. Plan 9 From Outer Space has been re-appropriated as a comedy. Cannibal Holocaust is test of endurance. Caligula, however, is best known for being just plain bad.
Roger Ebert's review of it is one of his zero star classics and is itself a case study in why we watch bad cinema. "The human being is a most curious animal." he writes, "often ready to indulge himself in his base Inclinations, but frequently reluctant to trust his better Instincts. Surely people know, going in, that 'Caligula' is worthless. Surely they know there are other movies in town that are infinitely better. Yet here they are at 'Caligula.' It is very sad." Of course, these words merely add to the film's legend. The first time I read this review, I must have been in middle school. My father had an old copy of an Ebert movie guide in his office, and I'd read the reviews when I had nothing better to do. This, kids, is what budding cinephiles did in the days before widespread Internet access. I didn't know at the time that a decade later, I'd have seen movies at the Davis Theater, the exact same one that Ebert saw Caligula in. I've spent the bulk of my life watching movies in shiny new suburban gigaplexes. It's comforting, in a sense, to know that I've walked through the same lobby where a patron called Caligula "the worst piece of shit I have ever seen."
Netflix has added quite the stable of films to their "watch instantly" section lately, including a sizeable chunk of the Criterion Collection. These are films that Ebert gave the highest of accolades to in that old book of reviews. I can't remember them. But I remember Caligula. And when it's presented via Netflix as a sunk cost, it's too enticing to pass up.
Plainly speaking, Caligula shows the title character's ascent to Emperor of Rome, and his subsequent downfall and assassination. What draws viewers in is the mix of epic historical drama mixed with wall-to-wall nudity and, depending on which version you see, explicit pornography (Caligula is the Blade Runner of trash cinema; a comparatively tame version clocks in at around 102 minutes, the uncensored version is an hour longer, and multiple edits exist in between). Both the screenwriter and director disowned it. The producer was Penthouse founder Bob Guccione. Production problems were endemic. How could anyone not want to watch this?
And yet, despite both aesthetic and carnal appeal, Caligula is, pun oh-so intended, flaccid. With precious few exceptions, the film fails on every level imaginable.
- The plot is impossible to follow, which could be explained by the fact that...
- The editor seemingly took a hatchet to the footage. Partially excusable because I assume he had to chop away huge swaths of sexually explicit scenes that were laced together with the plot.
- This means, of course, that the nudity is completely devoid of any eroticism, sensuality, or even good old smuttiness. In turn, I doubt the sex scenes were any good to begin with.
- The violence is similarly danced around. The film could at least have the common courtesy of grossing me out.
- Speaking of violence, the filmmakers expect me to believe that Romans actually executed people by running them over with a multi-story high lawn mower. I'm not making that up.
- The sets are lavish and impressive, but cavernous. Outdoor scenes excluded, Caligula always feels like it was shot on a soundstage.
- The only actor of note not wasted in his role is Malcolm McDowell, if only because he overacts like hell, God bless him.
- The only actress of note is Helen Mirren. She's as smoking hot as her role is thankless.
- The direction is melodramatic at best.
But, you counter, surely the film meant to present how unappealing Rome's decadence was. Unfortunately, it's not unappealing due to the depravity on display, it's unappealing because it's not interesting and it's staged with only a patina of competence. Caligula almost transcends itself in its final scene. Caligula's inner circle, realizing that he's gone irreparably mad, gruesomely murder him and his family. They immediately pronounce his uncle Emperor, and peons wash the blood off the marble staircase. The editing neuters its full impact but these few minutes have more magnetism than the rest of the film combined. It's brutally poetic. One imagines a work that could truly capture the spirit of an ancient civilization, where the depravity wasn't sanitized softcore porn or laughable camp but an honest look at how a mighty empire destroyed itself from within. That film will never be made.
Caligula is unquestionably a bad movie. But I'll remember it more vividly than I'll remember, say, Sherlock Holmes. And there will always be the intrigue of that unedited version, tempting me to watch it even though I know it can't possibly be worthwhile. Great art is hard to find, but the bottom of the barrel never fails to provide the thrill of the chase.
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