Julius Caesar (1970)

 "This was the noblest Romam of them all."

Obviously, I know this play. I also know the 1953 film with Marlon Brando, and with John Gielgud in a less exalted, but more electrifying part. I mean, is the superlative Sir John Gielgud... phoning it in? I do believe he is.

Not that this film is crap. It's just not the 1953 film, probably. I mean, I saw it probably twenty-five years ago, long before this blog. Memory is an imperfect intrument. But it- and Brando, especially- made a deep impression on me. Any subsequent Mark Antony has big boots to fill. And those big soliloquys must be approached with trepidation. An actor lives or dies by them.

So how does this compare? Well, the standard British characters actors are very RSC. Robert Vaughn impresses with Casca, giving a daring yet pleaasingly arch performance. Diana Rigg shines during her one big scene.

But what of Charlton Heston? Well, this was brave of him. He's no Brando, not even close, but he's good enough. His "Pardon me, thou bleeding piece of Earth" is so so, but his funerary speech for Caesar is fascinating. Not as passionate as many, but great facial acting and restraint, which really, really works.

The entire production is fascinating. We begin with a bird of prey, circling. The battle is visceral, as is the bloody murder. There is no honour in war here, only bloodshed. Shades of Vietnam, and Oh, What a Lovely War?, the 1970 zeitgeist. This is not the best version, being quite flat. But hey, it's Shakespeare.

The Three Musketeers (1973)

“You cannot go to the Queen with dirty legs...”

I hadn’t seen this before, amazingly, so I certainly raised an eyebrow when the opening credits revealed this film to have been scripted by George MacDonald Fraser. This gives certain expectations and, true to form, the film turns out to be a highly entertaining and rather bawdy comedy that has a lot of fun with the culture of realpolitik and duelling that prevailed in the France of Louis XIII. This is a rather straight adaptation of the novel, albeit one in which Faye Dunaway as Milady gets oddly little screen time, but one that adds a splendidly comical gloss to what was hardly the most serious novel to begin with.

This is a decadent France reigned, but not ruled over by the feckless Louis XIII, not half the man his father was or, indeed, his son will be, leaving a vacuum to be filled by the ambitious Cardinal Richelieu, a competent but oddly miscast Charlton Heston, with the far more suitable Christopher Lee in a lesser role. Perhaps they just needed a big Hollywood name, but why hardly use Faye Dunaway?

Regardless, the whole thing looks gorgeous, odd though the Hong Kong martial arts opening may be, and the cast is quite magnificent. Michael York is the perfect bumbling D’Artagnan for this film,  Raquel Welch is the perfect sultry Constance, and Christopher Lee mystifies is all A’s to why he isn’t playing the Cardinal. The film is pretty much stolen by the splendid comic acting of Spike Milligan though, who shoes us what a bloody comic genius he is.

I don’t think I’ve seen a finer version yet than this.