“…[The] word epic refers not to the cost or the elaborate production, but to the size of the ideas and vision.” – Roger Ebert Within the first couple decades of the realization by inventors like Thomas Edison and the Lumiére Brothers that movies can be forms of mass entertainment, filmmakers were conceiving of and crafting movies with a massive scale and scope so as to differentiate themselves from the three-to-fifteen-minute flicks that were common back then. In this sense, the “epic” is arguably one of the earliest film genres and one of the first styles of moviemaking that showed the world the immense potential that cinema had to capture peoples’ imagination unlike any other storytelling medium.
Having seen many of the well-known epics of cinematic history over the past year-and-a-half, it seems clear to me that one of the preferrable avenues that a filmmaker can go down is setting these larger-than-life tales in wartime. The typical scale, complex politics, and sheer spectacle nature of military conflicts lends credence to this particular version of the epic. Of course, war epics have been around since the earliest years of cinema (D.W. Griffith’s The Birth of a Nation and Victor Fleming’s Gone with the Wind being two notorious examples). Even epic movies that aren’t specifically classified as war movies, like Stanley Kubrick’s Barry Lyndon and Kevin Costner’s Dances with Wolves, rely on elements of warfare for their spectacle. In an effort to better understand the epic film in all its glory, I will dissect four war epics to figure out what about these types of movies is both appealing and timeless. I have chosen films spanning decades from very different filmmakers in an effort to have a crop of diverse movies to pick apart. So, without further ado…LET’S GET STARTED!! [NOTE: This blog contains spoilers for several movies. You have been warned.] Spartacus (1960) After losing a bid for the lead in William Wyler’s 1959 epic film Ben-Hur to Charlton Heston, Kirk Douglas (Champion, Paths of Glory) was encouraged by the vice president of his film company, Bryna Productions, to read Howard Fast’s 1951 historical novel “Spartacus.” Douglas was impressed by the book, and was inspired to purchase the film rights from Fast with his own studio’s financing (ultimately, Universal Studios agreed to finance the movie). However, Douglas and Universal were forced to enter a bidding war because Russian-American actor Yul Brynner (The King and I, The Ten Commandments) and United Artists were already in the development stage of their own adaptation of “Spartacus.” Since the screenwriter that Douglas had chosen to adapt the novel, Dalton Trumbo (Roman Holiday, Papillon), finished his script first, Douglas had his way and Universal won the rights to adapting the novel. Trumbo’s involvement (at Douglas’s insistence) became significant in ending the “blacklisting” that had scarred Hollywood during the “Red Scare” of the late 1940s and 1950s. Initially, Laurence Olivier (Rebecca, Hamlet, A Bridge Too Far) was attached to direct the movie after being convinced by Douglas to join the production (which coincidentally helped to convince Universal to financially back the project). This changed during pre-production, as British filmmaker David Lean (The Bridge on the River Kwai, Lawrence of Arabia, Doctor Zhivago) which then led San Diego native Anthony Mann (Winchester ’73, The Naked Spur) to be hired. However, after one week of principal photography in which he filmed the opening scene of the movie, Douglas fired Mann as he perceived him to be overwhelmed and intimidated by the scope of the project. Mann was replaced by then-30-year-old relative newcomer to Hollywood Stanley Kubrick (Dr. Strangelove, 2001: A Space Odyssey, Full Metal Jacket) who had only directed four feature films before being hired to direct Spartacus. Compared to the under-one-million-dollar budget of his previous film, Paths of Glory (which Douglas also starred in), this project had a production budget of twelve million dollars (approximately 109 million dollars when adjusted for inflation) and involved tens of thousands of cast and crew. That being said, Kubrick was quickly establishing himself as an uncompromising creative tour-de-force on his sets. For example, he scuffled with the president of Universal Studios Edward Muhl over filming the movie in Italy versus exclusively in Hollywood (they ended up compromising, with Kubrick being permitted to shoot the battle sequences in Spain). Furthermore, the film’s cinematographer Russell Metty, who had established himself through his work with acclaimed directors like Howard Hawks (Bringing Up Baby) and Orson Welles (The Stranger, Touch of Evil), frequently complained about Kubrick’s meticulous directions for the camera movement. At one point, Metty threatened to quit in front of Muhl, to which Kubrick replied: “You can do your job by sitting in your chair and shutting up. I’ll be the director of photography.” All of this, however, did not change the fact that Spartacus is the movie that discouraged Kubrick from ever working in Hollywood again. This was the result of lacking complete creative control over the film (which he retained for all of his future projects, from Lolita to Eyes Wide Shut), from Trumbo’s screenplay (Kubrick disliked the fact that the film’s protagonist lacked any faults or quirks, in his opinion) to the final cut. Released in October of 1960 (initially in major cities such as Los Angeles and New York), Spartacus ended up grossing 60 million dollars after playing in less than 200 North American theaters for over a year (becoming the highest-grossing film in the U.S. that year). Needless to say, the film was a financial hit as it was also Universal’s most profitable film for a decade (surpassed in 1970 by George Seaton’s Airport). The film was also mostly praised by critics, with particular admiration for the performances of Olivier and Peter Ustinov (Quo Vadis, Topkapi), Kubrick’s direction, and the production value such as the set design and battle sequences. The film won four of the six Academy Awards that it was nominated for, including Best Supporting Actor for Ustinov, Best Art Direction, Best Cinematography, and Best Costume Design (the latter three specific to color films). Upon winning the Oscar, cinematographer Russell Metty ceased complaining about Kubrick’s hands-on oversight of his work. 😊 Admittedly, I am not the biggest fan of Kubrick’s work but there are a handful of his films that I really like (Paths of Glory being one of my favorite movies of all time). His 1960 Hollywood epic Spartacus happens to be one of those handful. Not only is it an older movie that actually holds up today (largely thanks to the political subtext evident in Trumbo’s script), but it also (in my humble opinion) represents some of the best that the epic and war genres of film has to offer. To begin with the latter, I firmly believe that some of the best war movies center their story on a protagonist who is personable and sympathetic and whose journey represents the larger actual and/or thematic struggle (i.e. Matthew Broderick in Glory, Tom Hanks in Saving Private Ryan). Kirk Douglas delivers a stunning performance that carries the film even in its quieter, less action-oriented parts. Knowing Douglas’s acting chops from Paths of Glory, my belief in his ability to carry this kind of story was happily reinforced in this movie. Of course, any good war movie needs compelling action to justify its quieter moments. And while Spartacus is not my favorite war film, I greatly respect the extent to which it achieves its ambitions of being a mid-20th-century war epic that offers an incredibly satisfying massive battle in its third act. Unfortunately, both films of its era (from Lawrence of Arabia to Sergei Bondarchuk’s War and Peace) and more recent additions to the genre (like Braveheart and Saving Private Ryan) upstage the battle scene of Spartacus. But, given its place in Kubrick’s filmography I think it largely holds up in spite of its relative lackluster nature to those other movies. Regarding its place in the epic genre, the human-driven drama and poignant, relevant themes of Spartacus make it still relevant in cinematic history despite its aged nature in other aspects. As the eponymous prideful slave who goes on to lead a revolt against the corrupt Roman government only for him to die a symbol of what happens when such rebellions fail, Douglas offers us a very personal yet powerful examination of the morality of war, the nature of corruption, and the necessity to stand up against oppression despite the risks. Unsurprisingly, Kubrick oversees a top-notch film production in terms of its attention to creating a vibe and atmosphere in Spartacus that is glamorous and glorious without causing my suspension of disbelief to dissipate. For me, historical epics like this (especially ones set in ancient times) are very susceptible to Hollywood sensibilities. However, I think Spartacus avoids those pitfalls and pulls off a distinct style for putting Rome and its many inhabitants on the silver screen. Simply put, Spartacus is by no means by favorite war epic that I’m writing about today. However, it certainly deserves recognition as both a highlight of Kubrick’s career and a shining example of this awe-inspiring genre of movies. Lawrence of Arabia (1962) There were efforts to make a film about the story of British archaeologist and army officer T.E. Lawrence as early as the 1940s when Laurence Oliver was lined up to play the role and be directed by Hungarian-British filmmaker Alexander Korda (The Thief of Baghdad, The Third Man). In 1952, David Lean was approached for the first time to make a T.E. Lawrence movie but this initial project fell through. After completing his first major war epic, the 1957 Alec Guinness-starring The Bridge on the River Kwai, Lean revisited his interest in telling Lawrence’s story for the silver screen and began collaborating with Austro-Hungarian-born producer Sam Spiegel (The African Queen, On the Waterfront). After rigorous negotiations with Lawrence’s younger brother and literary executor, Columbia Pictures won the film rights to Lawrence’s 1926 autobiography “Seven Pillars of Wisdom” and development was officially underway. The first draft of the screenplay for the project was written by Michael Wilson (A Place in the Sun, Planet of the Apes), but Lean was disappointed with Wilson’s work which he felt was too politically hefty. Thus, the second draft was written by Robert Bolt (Doctor Zhivago, A Man for All Seasons), who crafted much of the dialogue that made it into the finished screenplay. Even though Wilson’s overall story remained in the final draft, he was not officially given credit as a writer on the film until over thirty years after its release. Principal photography spanned from May of 1961 to September of 1962. Prior to filming, Lean studied John Ford’s critically-acclaimed 1965 Western The Searchers in an effort to develop an aesthetic for the project. The production also received much government assistance from King Hussein of Jordan, from assisting with location scouting to providing extras, however he required that an imam be present for the scene where Henry Oscar (The Man Who Knew Too Much, Oscar Wilde), who played a servant to King Faisal (Alec Guinness) in the film, recited verses from the Qur’an. Despite receiving assistance from the Jordanian government during production, the film ended up being banned from the country (Egypt ended up being the only Arab nation where it was widely released). While many of the desert scenes were filmed in Jordan and Morocco, production eventually shifted to Spain to keep down on costs and in response to an outbreak of illness among the cast and crew. Shooting was frequently delayed due to the script not being finished before principal photography had officially begun. During production, Bolt was arrested for participating in an anti-nuclear weapons demonstration and Spiegel convinced him to sign a recognizance of good behavior in order to be freed from jail and finish the film’s script. Produced on a budget of fifteen million dollars, Lawrence of Arabia premiered in December of 1962 with a seismic runtime of three hours and 47 minutes. The film ended up grossing 70 million dollars (becoming the second-highest-grossing domestic release that year, behind The Longest Day). It was universally acclaimed by critics and audiences for its cinematography, musical score, screenplay, and central performance from Peter O’ Toole (The Lion in Winter, Ratatouille) as Lawrence. It won seven of its ten Oscar nominations (including Best Picture and Best Director), and is said to have inspired the filmmaking sensibilities of several directors from George Lucas and Steven Spielberg to Martin Scorsese and Brian de Palma. The film has cemented its legacy in cinematic history. Not only has Lawrence of Arabia been consistently listed as one of the best British films of all time, but it was selected for preservation by the Library of Congress less than thirty years after its initial theatrical run. I truly did not believe that I would like Lawrence of Arabia. For how old it is and at nearly four hours long, I went in assuming I would turn it off halfway through without it making any real mark on me. Thankfully, I was gravely mistaken. This movie truly fits the definition of a war epic for so many reasons. First and foremost, I LOVE the way that it handles the historical setting. Not only is the cinematography capturing the deserts of the Middle East top-notch, but David Lean’s handling of the powerful contrast between old and new styles of warfare. I will always demand more great films about World War I, and while my general preference of modern movies causes me to like War Horse and 1917 more, I greatly admire what Lawrence of Arabia accomplishes in this regard. As an epic given the time that it was made, Lawrence of Arabia is very hard to beat. Similar Kirk Douglas in Spartacus, Peter O’Toole excels at bringing the grandiose nature of T.E. Lawrence’s larger-than-life story down to Earth in a way that allows the audience to ingratiate ourselves to him without ever forgetting whose story it is. By contrasting Lawrence’s journey as a hero of the British Empire with his personal confrontation of his morally ambiguous legacy as an aid to Britain’s imperialism was so refreshing for me to see. I tend to find many of these big-budget Hollywood epics of the mid-20th-century to lack such engrossing and relevant political and social commentary due to their preference for glorifying and romanticizing history. As such, I greatly appreciate Lawrence of Arabia going against the grain in this respect. Overall, I remain somewhat stunned by how much I really like Lawrence of Arabia in spite of its age. While it is long and can at times feel tedious, the journey is more than worth the investment of time and energy—especially for a film that is nearly sixty years old. Ran (1985) By the 1970s, Japanese filmmaker Akira Kurosawa (Rashomon, Seven Samurai) was struggling to secure funding for his films as he was considered too “old-fashioned.” Between 1943 and 1963, he directed over twenty feature films. However, by the mid-1960s his work became more sporadic: between 1965 and 1990, Kurosawa directed only six movies spread five years apart between each other. The late 1960s and early 1970s were a difficult time for Kurosawa both personally and professionally. In 1968, Kurosawa was fired by 20th Century Fox from working on the World War II epic Tora! Tora! Tora! because of what the studio perceived as a nearly-insane perfectionism on the director’s part. His next feature film released two years later, Dodes’ka-den, was his first feature film since 1965’s Red Beard and was both a critical and commercial failure. As a result of Dodes’ka-den bankrupting his production company, many of his younger contemporaries were saying that Kurosawa’s career was finished. In 1971, Kurosawa’s physical and mental health deteriorated eventually culminating in him attempting suicide. In the mid-1970s, around the time of production starting on Dersu Uzala, his co-production with the Soviet Union, Kurosawa came across a parable about Mōri Motonari, a famous “daimyo” (warlord) from the 16th century who had three loyal sons. As Kurosawa began to wonder about how history could have been different if Motonari’s sons were bad people, the seeds for his final epic film were planted in his mind. He began writing the script for this project shortly after filming on Dersu Uzala was completed, but it would be another ten years before the film was made. Kurosawa spent the intermittent time storyboarding every single shot for the movie by painting them, and making the 1980 historical epic Kagemusha, which he would later refer to as a “dress rehearsal” for this film. It was the success of Kagemusha that convinced French producer Serge Silberman (Gibraltar, Diva) to fund Kurosawa’s next movie. While the project’s story became heavily inspired by William Shakespeare’s “King Lear,” Kurosawa only became aware of the play later in the pre-production process (evident by the several notable changes in Kurosawa’s reimagining in the film). Notably, the roles of characters such as the Fool, Kyoami (Shinnosuke Ikehata), an expanded role in the story and giving many of the characters a past (Kurosawa felt that the characters in “King Lear” lacked a history worth exploring). Filming took place over the course of two years, beginning in 1983, and was largely shot in the mountains and on the plains of Mount Aso, the largest active volcano in all of Japan. Kurosawa was also given permission by the national government to shoot at the ancient castles of Kumamoto and Himeji, two of the country’s most famous historic landmark. Two of the other castles in the film, were custom-built by Kurosawa and his production crew on and near Mount Fuji. There were 1,400 extras employed for the movie, and Kurosawa designed the uniforms and suits of armor worn by all of them with the help of costume designer Emi Wada (Hero, Mongol). By the end of post-production, with a budget of 11 million dollars, the film was the most expensive film of Kurosawa’s career and the costliest Japanese production at that time. Many of the battle sequences in the movie were heavily influenced by Kurosawa’s political ideology (specifically around nuclear war). Specifically, Kurosawa viewed the film as an extended metaphor for the anxiety of the post-Hiroshima age induced by the fact that 20th-century technological advancements had only made it easier for people to kill each other. A specific tool of this metaphor of apocalyptic-style destruction is the introduction of the arquebus, a matchlock firearm introduced to Japan in the 1500s, that Kurosawa had previously shown as a device of mass destruction in his movie Kagemusha. Tragedy struck the production more than once. Not only did Kurosawa’s recording engineer Fumio Yanoguchi (Ikiru, The Hidden Fortress) pass away, but one month later Yōko Yaguchi, his wife of nearly forty years, died in February of 1985. Kurosawa suspended production for one day to mourn before resuming work. Released domestically in Japan on May 31, 1985, Ran was critically and commercially successful earning approximately nineteen million dollars at the global box office. It was nearly universally praised by critics, and won an Oscar for Best Costume Design. Infamously, Kurosawa skipped the film’s premiere in Tokyo which angered the Japanese film industry to the point that the movie was not chosen as Japan’s entry for the Best Foreign Language Film category at the Academy Awards. However, due to the efforts of a campaign organized by Sidney Lumet, Kurosawa received his only Oscar nomination for Best Director in his career. Ran is now considered by many cinephiles and film historians to be one of the greatest movies ever made. Akin to my feelings about Kubrick’s filmography, I am by no means a fan of many of the movies of Akira Kurosawa. Rather, I respect and appreciate his place in cinema history, from Rashomon and Ikiru to Seven Samurai—with one notable exception. In my humble opinion, Ran is not only Kurosawa’s best film but a prime example of the war epic done right. First off, Ran excels as a war movie. Not only do the battle sequences stand up with some of the best large-scale battles ever shot for the silver screen—both before and after—but they excel better than most movies do at capturing the utter chaos that war brings to everything it touches. Without question, the most poignant example of this in the movie is when Hidetora (Tatsuya Nakadai) is allowed to leave the Third Castle alone after it has burned to the ground. Looking at everything from the look on his ash-covered face to the burning buildings in the background, it is clear that the war that has ensued between his three sons has nearly destroyed all of the land that was once his. One cannot understate how majestic and breathtaking Kurosawa’s cinematography is in this movie. Being the first color film of his that I saw, it really struck me about halfway through Ran how much Kurosawa’s very picturesque style of shooting comes out with nature’s color scheme as his backdrop. While it may not be my favorite war epic that I’m writing about today, it certainly might be the prettiest. In terms of being an epic movie, Ran balances excessive violence and well-staged, large-scale combat with political intrigue and compelling family drama surprisingly well. Nakadai’s heartbreaking performance grounds Hidetora so as to be relatable. At the same time, however, the story of this arrogant but caring elderly father whose trust in his three toxic, dangerous offspring leads to the downfall of both his family and his legacy is a suitable and fitting tale to be made on this scale and scope for the silver screen. While all of the actors for the three sons played their parts well, I found the most interesting supporting performance to be Lady Kaede (Mieko Harade) whose role as a vengeful spouse makes the non-Hidetora-centric scenes just as engaging. Ultimately, my research of the making of Ran has greatly increased my appreciation for it. While it exceeded expectations as a war epic later in Kurosawa’s career, thinking about the film as a meta-approach to Kurosawa’s introspection on low points in his life makes the strong parallels between him and Hidetora all the more emotional. Indeed, Ran is by no means by favorite war film or epic movie. But, for those who want to see a very well-done movie of this kind, I cannot recommend it enough. Braveheart (1995) In an effort to reconnect with his Scottish roots, screenwriter and Tennessee native Randall Wallace (We Were Soldiers, Secretariat) took a trip to Scotland and there was first exposed to the legend of famed Scottish warrior William Wallace (no relation). Wallace’s screenplay came to the attention of producer Alan Ladd, Jr. (The Brady Bunch Movie, Gone Baby Gone), who took it with him upon departing MGM in 1993. After initially coming across the script, Mel Gibson (Gallipoli, Lethal Weapon, Dragged Across Concrete) liked it but passed on it. Eventually, he came around to directing the project (although he did not want to star). For a number of years, the project faced difficulties getting funding. After turning down an offer from Warner Brothers due to his refusal to agree to another Lethal Weapon sequel, Gibson managed to oversee a deal in which Paramount Pictures and 20th Century Fox would co-fund the project in exchange for North American and international distribution rights, respectively. While Gibson initially conceived of the starring role being played by Brad Pitt (Fight Club, Inglorious Basterds, Moneyball), he ended up reluctantly agreeing to star in the film as well as direct. Principal photography took place in Scotland and Ireland from June to October of 1994. The major battle sequences in the movie were shot with up to 1,600 members of the Irish Army Reserves as extras (who were given permission to grow beards for the film). Due to threats of receiving an NC-17 rating from the Motion Picture Association of America (MPAA), Gibson toned down the violence in the battle scenes in order to secure an R rating. Premiering in the United States on May 24, 1995, Braveheart earned over 213 million dollars on a budget of less than 70 million and earned praise from most critics who applauded Gibson’s direction and performance, the ensemble cast, production values, action sequences, and musical score by James Horner. Some critics, however, noted the extensive historical inaccuracies that practically make the movie a piece of historical fiction. Nevertheless, the film earned ten nominations at the Academy Awards and won five (including Best Picture and Best Director for Gibson). In the immediate years after the film’s release, there was a significant spike in Scotland’s tourism industry due to the film generating increased interest in Scottish history both abroad and in Scotland itself. For example, in 1996 Scotland earned anywhere from seven to fifteen million pounds due to tourism as a result of what was described as the “Braveheart effect.” I loved Braveheart the first time that I saw it, and on a rewatch much of my love for it originally held up in terms of what it does as a modern epic war film. As an epic, director and star Mel Gibson expertly grounds the grandiose surrounding protagonist William Wallace in human attachments (namely, his secret romance and marriage to Catherine McCormack’s character Murron). By initially basing Wallace’s rise to power as a rebel against the English crown in a primal thirst for vengeance, the audience can empathize with him as a husband and lover first before siding with his political cause for Scotland’s freedom. As a heroic protagonist, Gibson’s Wallace encapsulates much of the archetype necessary for a likeable hero. His ideals of courage, loyalty, and faith in humanity bring him the success he wants while also eventually leading to his downfall at the hands of England’s punitive criminal justice system. The approximately two-and-a-half hours we spend with Wallace struggling to achieve what many around him believe is impossible only to suffer being hanged, drawn, and quartered before a taunting (but ultimately sympathetic) crowd of English peasants brings out the tragedy of his story while also uplifting all he contributes within the story to Scotland’s ultimate victory under the leadership of Scottish nobleman Robert the Bruce (Angus Macfayden). As a war movie, Braveheart arguably does better than all the other films that I have written about today in terms of capturing the gritty, bloody, and intimately horrifying nature of warfare. Specifically, the movie’s setting of medieval Europe makes for a thoroughly entertaining environment for showing the brutal aspects of up-close-and-personal combat. Additionally, one of the more underappreciated elements of the story is equally important to the film’s epic nature: the political intrigue. On this rewatch, I found myself enjoying the internal conflict between Wallace’s rebellion, Robert’s desire to maintain order, and the treachery of many of the Scottish nobles more than on my initial viewing. So, are epic war movies just about big battles and politicking? To an extent. However, films like Lawrence of Arabia and Ran that explore universal themes of imperialism and greed (to name a few) through the personal journeys of characters like T.E. Lawrence and Hidetora within a broader context that truly fits my understanding of “epic.” Of course, there are other takes on the epic film (the epic romance/disaster like Titanic and the epic superhero films Infinity War and Endgame, to name a few). Could I explore these in the future? Perhaps. 😊 What are your thoughts about epic war movies? Do you think the “epic” is a dead genre, evolving for changing times, or something else entirely? What opinions of mine do you find absolutely ridiculous? Let me know in the comments below. Until next time, this has been… Yours Truly, Amateur Analyst
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Austin McManusI have no academic or professional background in film production or criticism; I simply love watching and talking about movies. Archives
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