I, Clavdivs: A Touch of Murder

"It never was what it was..."

It's 20th September 1976. I am as yet a very small collection of cells in my mother's womb, a bizarre thought, and on BBC One there begins the first feature length episode of I, Clavdivs, the BBC's new prestige drama adapting Robert Graves' novels I Claudius and Claudius the God, both of which I recommend heartily, or at any rate at least those parts of the novels that don't require any location filming.

Because that's the thing; there are no locations, no handheld camerawork. Instead there are small sets where you can tell the sets dressing extends no further than is visible on screen. It's theatre with a camera pointed at it, with only lip service made to realism. It relies only vaguely on spectacle; it's entirely about the acting and the script. And, my God, it's magnificent. I would never want them to take away today's location filming and handheld cameras, but we shall never again see the likes of I, Clavdivs.

We begin, after a title sequence that I'd quite forgotten would later inspire the titles of Black Adder II, in the present day in, I think, the 50s AD, with that young Derek Jacobi aged up as the elderly Emperor Claudius as he prepares a framing device, Greek chorus to his own autobiography with the added Greek touch of a riddle from the Sibyl. Then we are in flashback, the seventh anniversary of Mark Antony's defeat at Actium so 24BC, where there is dancing with boobies and our dramatis personae- the splendid Brian Blessed as Augustus in a large yet subtle and nuanced performance that is the highlight of his career, and rivals Herod Agrippa, the old warhorse, and young favourite Marcellus. We also have Augustus's sister Octavia mother to Marcellus, and his wife (and Caesar's only child) Julia- keep up at the back. And at the centre of the web we have Livia.

So we're all set for a long game of- well, definitely not thrones, that's for sure, because Rome doesn't do kings. Oh no. Definitely not. Because Augustus can't wait to lay down his temporary burdens and the republic will be back again like it was in the recent past, right? But before this we get an extraordinary fourth wall-breaking moment as a Greek orator and an actor playing an actor have their faces foregrounded over the main characters and lament how the theatre is not what it was, and never was  in th first place. We are deliberately reminded of the artificiality of all this, that Suetonius may well have been writing out of his arse, and even (by Augustus) that history is not being told as it was but with poetic licence. All this is quite wonderful.

We see the early power games between Agrippa and Marcellus, until first the latter and then the former are fatally poisoned by Livia, whose choice of words is exquisite as she "helps" her sick victims, in order to maneouvre her glum and awkward son Tiberius to the top spot. We see the contrast between Tiberius' weakness and deep depression versus his heroic and cheery brother Drusus, who hopes for a republic but, alas, has a mother who hates him and happens to be Livia.

Augustus is the consummate psychopathic politician, a mafia don, whose every act is politically calculated and whose calculated bonhomie covers a terrifying ruthlessness. And Rome is a goldfish bowl where marriages, divorces, sex and happiness are but political tools. Power pervades every action. Tiberius' self-loathing is quite understandable.

We end with Drusus' suspicious death, with deeper darkness engulfing both Tiberius and the widowed Antonia, a crying baby, and Claudius in the present day with his food taster, suspicious that his wife and stepson are trying to kill him, because such is Rome. It's a richly written, superbly acted bit of telly history and I don't care about the very 1976 hair of young Gaius and Lucius, Livia's next victims. I'm loving this already.

The Sorcerers (1967)

"Intoxication with no hangover. Ecstasy with no consequence..."

I've been wanting to see this hard-to-find film ever since I first saw Michael Reeves' Witchfinder General. And it didn't disappoint. Thank you, Keith Richards and BBC4.

Boris Karloff, in a rare British film appearance towards the end of his life, is Professor Marcus Montserrat who, with his equally elderly and bitter wife Estelle, seeks to use his invention to take control of someone young and feel their experiences, vicariously but literally, in what looks awfully like a metaphor for hard drugs and how they can harm others and not just the user. Ian Ogilvy's bored Mike is an ignorant but willing victim, casually submitting to Montserrat's very psychedelic machine and all of its terrible consequences.

And terrible those consequences are; Mike suffers the destruction of his relationship, his friendships and his life in indulging the increasingly Grand Guignol-like excesses of Estelle, whose deliciously evil nature emerges from the facade of a nice old lady. The film is both enormous fun and very much of its time- the Sixties of Alfie rather than rock 'n' roll, of ordinary '60s youths who are not particularly cool and listen to, ahem, Cliff Richard. Highly recommended, if you can find the damn thing.

Waterloo (1970)

"My God, Sir! I've lost my leg!"

"My God, Sir! So you have!"

There are three striking things about this superb film: Rod Steiger's electrifying, extraordinarily charismatic and career-defining performance as Napoleon, the incredible scope and accuracy of the battle scenes, and the fact that it was made in Brezhnev's Soviet Union with an international cast. That just seems bizarre.

Still, it's an extraordinary piece of cinema and one of the most accurate historical films ever made; even the dialogue is mostly documented from real life and I recognised a few of Wellington's. The only inaccuracies I could spot were the constant references to "Belgium" (not a country until 1830) and the slight musical reference to the modern German national anthem as Blucher's Prussians arrive to save the day. This is anachronistic; the tune existed at the time but it's lyrics were a paean to Emperor Franz of Austria, hardly a friend of Prussia. The Habsburgs were hardly friends of pan-German nationalism, which in any case wouldn't really become a thing until after the revolutions of 1848. Anyway, the film...

 Steiger steals the show as Napoleon, a charismatic genius refusing to give in to the failing health of his body, but Christopher Plummer also deserves high praise for his unflappable and blunt Wellington, refusing permission to have Napoleon assassinated ahead of the battle as such things are Simply Not Done. The opening scenes are extraordinary, though: Napoleon rants and raves like Hitler in Downfall before finally abdicating, only to escape from Elba with but 1,000 troops and suede power again through sheer magnetic charisma. It's eyebrow-raising here to see a somewhat corpulent Orson Welles in a cameo as Louis XVIII.

This is a true epic in scope, both thematically and visually. If you haven't seen it.. sorry for the spoiler, but Napoleon loses. Sorry.

Witchfinder General (1968)

"They swim! The mark of Satan is upon them! They must hang!"

It's clear why this film by Michael Reeves, who sadly died so very young, has achieved cult status: it's so incredibly violent, even sadistic, with one very memorable scene showing a poor young lady being lowered into the fire and slowly burned. It's an unashamedly sensational take on Matthew Hopkins which deals with the legend, not historical accuracy (the real Hopkins was only about 27 when he died of natural causes) and is anchored by a splendidly evil and charismatic performance by the one and only Vincent Price.

The film, shot largely on location, looks gorgeous and convinces as the Suffolk of the late Civil War. The ubiquitous Ian Ogilvy is splendid as our hero, Richard. The plot is functional but exciting as we gaze somewhat titillatingly on to the cruelties perpetuated by Hopkins and his dimmer yet more evil sidekick, Stearns. There is, I think, something more than a little creepy in the film's voyeuristic glee at the torture and execution of comely young women, that can't be denied. But Price's sheer charisma draws you in as you watch agog at one of the most evil characters in cinema.

A violent and, at times, extremely disturbing and misogynistic film that it is impossible not to be riveted by. Dark, edgy, uncomfortable in its sadistic use of the male gaze, but no one can accuse this of failing to be compelling viewing.