I've never seen the point of making another biopic of Jesus Christ four years after the definitive (if highly fictionalized) cinematic version, "King of Kings." That version at least had developed characters, remarkable imagery, and a strong storyline that was greatly enhanced and deepened by clarified character relationships and a rich historical context. George Stevens did "The Greatest Story Ever Told," however, just to be seen doing it. As opposed to the more extrovert Biblical spectacles (think "The Robe," "The Ten Commandments," and "King of Kings," all great or near-great movies) this one focuses less on the pageantry and more on the human drama-- or, at least, that was the plan. But it failed for a number of reasons.
1) Movies set in the historical past (and, by the way, the future) are inherently showy because they require showy sets and costumes. In spite of Stevens' intent, it's still a bunch of ancient designs on a super-wide (too wide) screen. 2) The movie is cluttered (as you well know) with tacky cameo appearances ranging from the understandable (Roddy McDowell as an apostle, Sal Mineo as a cripple) to the absurd (Shelley Winters) and the downright obscene (show me John Wayne!) Even this would be understandable, however, if the characters had any sort of depth. The only character who is truly explored to the fullest potential is Jesus. More on this in a minute. 3) Stevens seems to lean far too strongly on his artistic homages. Using DaVinci's staging of the last supper (all on one side of the table!) is forgivable, but the slightly altered version of the Sistine chapel featured at the beginning is a bit much, and he lost me completely when two of the giant miracles (one at the beginning, one at the end) were underscored by the "Hallelujah" chorus from Handel's "Messiah," which clashes drastically with Alfred Newman's gloriously powerful (though not very ambitious) score. Newman valiantly wrote his own "Hallelujahs" to make for a less awkward transition into the Handel music, but it's still jarringly familiar.
Max von Sydow delivers one of his truly great performances as Christ-- quiet when necessary but always full of grandeur and solemnity. He outdoes Jeffrey Hunter ("King of Kings") every step of the way. And Charlton Heston makes a compelling John the Baptist-- but our connection to the character of John is that of watching and hearing a great orator deliver speeches we've all heard millions of times before. It's like, for instance, Barack Obama delivering the "I Have a Dream" speech. I'm sure it's a wonderful performance, but it doesn't offer any psychological insight into the man who originated it. It is, in fact, just one man temporarily inhabiting the persona of, never actually evoking, a rare mind. The worst of all in the film's voluminous list of disappointingly flat characterizations is David McCallum's Judas (for which I don't blame McCallum, but Stevens and his co-screenwriter James Lee Barrett). As is often the trap, Judas is given absolutely no discernible motivation for that certain deed of his. When he enacts it, we knew it was coming but we still feel completely and totally blindsided. And shallowly so. How can you feel pity for people who exist only to adhere to a millennia-old story as familiar as your own hometown?
The film as it exists today is presented in a 199-minute version with 45 seconds of overture and nearly six minutes of intermission and exit music. It was originally 225 minutes (!). "King of Kings" runs 171 minutes with 3 minutes of overture and about six minutes of intermission and exit music. They both tell the same "story" but only "King of Kings" resembles any sort of dramatically valid presentation. "Greatest Story Ever Told" fails to achieve in 199 what "King of Kings" excelled at in 171. Of course, "Greatest" is still closer to the subject matter-- but only because of its slavish script, stilted dialogue (which uncomfortably fuses Jacobean grandiloquence with contemporary Sunday school jargon) and artistic self-indulgence.
1) Movies set in the historical past (and, by the way, the future) are inherently showy because they require showy sets and costumes. In spite of Stevens' intent, it's still a bunch of ancient designs on a super-wide (too wide) screen. 2) The movie is cluttered (as you well know) with tacky cameo appearances ranging from the understandable (Roddy McDowell as an apostle, Sal Mineo as a cripple) to the absurd (Shelley Winters) and the downright obscene (show me John Wayne!) Even this would be understandable, however, if the characters had any sort of depth. The only character who is truly explored to the fullest potential is Jesus. More on this in a minute. 3) Stevens seems to lean far too strongly on his artistic homages. Using DaVinci's staging of the last supper (all on one side of the table!) is forgivable, but the slightly altered version of the Sistine chapel featured at the beginning is a bit much, and he lost me completely when two of the giant miracles (one at the beginning, one at the end) were underscored by the "Hallelujah" chorus from Handel's "Messiah," which clashes drastically with Alfred Newman's gloriously powerful (though not very ambitious) score. Newman valiantly wrote his own "Hallelujahs" to make for a less awkward transition into the Handel music, but it's still jarringly familiar.
Max von Sydow delivers one of his truly great performances as Christ-- quiet when necessary but always full of grandeur and solemnity. He outdoes Jeffrey Hunter ("King of Kings") every step of the way. And Charlton Heston makes a compelling John the Baptist-- but our connection to the character of John is that of watching and hearing a great orator deliver speeches we've all heard millions of times before. It's like, for instance, Barack Obama delivering the "I Have a Dream" speech. I'm sure it's a wonderful performance, but it doesn't offer any psychological insight into the man who originated it. It is, in fact, just one man temporarily inhabiting the persona of, never actually evoking, a rare mind. The worst of all in the film's voluminous list of disappointingly flat characterizations is David McCallum's Judas (for which I don't blame McCallum, but Stevens and his co-screenwriter James Lee Barrett). As is often the trap, Judas is given absolutely no discernible motivation for that certain deed of his. When he enacts it, we knew it was coming but we still feel completely and totally blindsided. And shallowly so. How can you feel pity for people who exist only to adhere to a millennia-old story as familiar as your own hometown?
The film as it exists today is presented in a 199-minute version with 45 seconds of overture and nearly six minutes of intermission and exit music. It was originally 225 minutes (!). "King of Kings" runs 171 minutes with 3 minutes of overture and about six minutes of intermission and exit music. They both tell the same "story" but only "King of Kings" resembles any sort of dramatically valid presentation. "Greatest Story Ever Told" fails to achieve in 199 what "King of Kings" excelled at in 171. Of course, "Greatest" is still closer to the subject matter-- but only because of its slavish script, stilted dialogue (which uncomfortably fuses Jacobean grandiloquence with contemporary Sunday school jargon) and artistic self-indulgence.