Lost History – The cursed film of I, Claudius
Last Monday was the 2031st birthday of the Roman Emperor, Claudius. Made famous in modern times by Robert Graves’ critically acclaimed novels, I, Claudius and Claudius the God, the stuttering monarch’s legacy was further cemented by the success of the 1980s BBC series based on Graves’ work. However, that lauded programme was not the first go at bringing Graves’ vision of the crippled emperor to the big screen.
In 1937, production on an ambitious classical drama began. It was the Anglo-Hungarian filmmaker Sir Alexander Korda’s latest attempt at matching the prolific output of Hollywood, a plan he conceived of in the early ’30s to make the British film industry a viable contender against the American monopoly on the international market. Despite wrangling an extraordinary troop of talented actors and contracting the directorial management of the celebrated auteur, Joseph von Sternberg, this first endeavour at adapting Robert Grave’s historical novel was an ill-fated effort.
Filming came to an abrupt end after only a few weeks and for 28 years the half-hour of tape they recorded lay neglected in the vaults of Korda Studios. Plagued by peculiar accidents, tensions between performers and a lack of artistic morale, the limited footage that has survived reveals a magnificent set worthy of the wealth and opulence of imperial Rome. The few scenes that survive are widely deemed master classes in acting and design, prompting the tantalising question – what would have been if the film was finished? Many respected dramatists, critics and actors have argued that Korda’s 1937 production had the necessary qualities to ensure the execution of one of the best films ever made. Alas, it was not to be.
Korda had accomplished several major financial successes with the assistance of actors like Charles Laughton and Merle Oberon. The Private Life of Henry VIII, with Laughton starring in the titular role, and The Scarlet Pimpernel, with Oberon playing the formidable Lady Blakeney, gained Korda the respect and attention he craved and confirmed his capacity to rival Hollywood with his British casts and creative designs. In order to continue his winning streak of period dramas, Korda commissioned the creation of I, Claudius – a venture he believed would be his best. It was to be an epic unlike any other, surpassing previous blockbusters with its theatrical appeal. Laughton, who had proven his prodigious abilities in several Korda productions was selected to play the lead and Oberon was to play Claudius’ debauched teenage bride, Messalina.
The work started well. Von Sternberg was enthusiastic about the source material and Korda had two of the highest rising stars of the time in lead roles. The trouble began when Laughton, famed for his dedication to realising the inner authenticity of his personas, started to complain that he could not “find the character of Claudius”. He refused to go on set, wept on the laps of his colleagues and feuded with the indifferent Von Sternberg. Laughton was an early exponent of the method school of acting and, as a result, became notorious as an impossible person to work with. As Laughton’s agony over not being able to discover the elusive attributes of Claudius increased, frustration mounted among the massive cast and crew. One day, he rushed onto the set and announced some much needed good news; “I’ve got it!” he declared, “I’ve found the man!”. When asked how by one of the scriptwriters, Laughton presented a vinyl recording of Edward VIII’s abdication speech. From that lachrymose resignation of sovereign duties, Laughton was able to extrapolate the consummate character of Claudius. The scenes he filmed after that revelation are astounding.
Even when afforded fewer lines and less screen time than other characters in a sequence, Laughton’s humane, vulnerable and intelligent rendition of Graves’ Claudius efficiently retains the viewer’s attention. One scene, in particular, makes the grand claims regarding the potential greatness of this production feasible. After the assassination of the sadistic Caligulia (played by Emyln Williams), Claudius is chosen by the praetorian guard as the next emperor. Due to his discernible deformities (he walks with an unwavering limp) and persistent stutter, the prospect of Claudius becoming emperor reduces many to laughter. As he is presented to the senate as Caligulia’s successor, the quiet and introspective Claudius is met with a barrage of insults, unflattering impersonations and obnoxious jeers. His risible demeanour suddenly transforms when he authoritatively addresses the master legislatures of Rome. Dirk Bogarde, who presented a documentary on the making of this film, ranked Laughton’s senate performance alongside Olivier’s iconic St Crispin’s Day speech and Judy Garland’s celebrated dressing room scene from A Star is Born. By evolving Claudius from a clown to a king in this short oration via a practised sincerity and seriousness, Laughton showcased his undeniable genius for dramatisation.
Unfortunately, even Laughton’s masterly realisation of Claudius was unable to save the film. Not long after the completion of these incredible scenes, his co-lead, Merle Oberon, was involved in a car crash and suffered a minor facial injury. Korda who had become displeased with the difficulties that mired the making of the movie decided to end the production immediately. Rumours soon abounded that disagreements between Von Sternberg and Laughton were the real reason for the film’s cancellation, but to some, more sinister forces were behind its abandonment. Graves himself claimed, half-jokingly, that the spirit of Claudius did not wish to be depicted on screen and so intervened, causing as much strife and discord as possible. Others believed that the crash had been orchestrated by Korda himself, so as to provide a good excuse for deserting this seemingly cursed project.
Regardless of the real root of I, Claudius’ sudden termination, the sparse collection of brief clips bequeathed to us discloses the extraordinary potential of this fascinating failure. Though the ghost of Claudius appears to have blessed the BBC adaptation of Graves’ book, he is yet to condone the creation of a feature film. It will be hard for an actor to equal, let alone excel, Laughton’s astonishing performance. I, for one, would love to see somebody try.