Charlton Heston: An Appreciation
by Spencer Warren
Issue 106 - April 23, 2008

Charlton Heston was fortunate to arrive in Hollywood, when he did in 1950, aged 26. For the motion picture industry was entering its last period of greatness. During the 1950s the growth of television and suburbanization were reducing the huge audiences on which the large studio “production factories” relied for their dominant position. Trying to hold onto their audiences and bring back those who had left, Hollywood turned to historical, especially Biblical and ancient, spectacles, presented in the new widescreen CinemaScope and VistaVision, which the TV screen could never match. And no producer could have dreamed up a more perfect looking star for these films than the tall, handsome, granite-boned, physically imposing Mr. Heston.

Heston was the first to concede he wasn’t the greatest of actors, but he did improve on his early efforts. He is rather wooden in his first important role, as the tough circus manager Brad Braden in Cecil B. DeMille’s 1952 Oscar-winning The Greatest Show in Earth. Two years later, even the beautiful Eleanor Parker (best known to many readers as the countess in The Sound of Music) is not able to warm up his Christopher Leiningen in The Naked Jungle (1954); Heston appears more comfortable fighting alone against nature in the film’s climax to save his South American cocoa plantation from an army of billions of ants.

As everyone knows, his biggest and, I believe, greatest role, came in 1956, as Moses in DeMille’s opus, The Ten Commandments (1956). Indeed, Heston physically bears some resemblance to Michaelangelo’s famous statue of Moses in Florence, which undoubtedly inspired DeMille and his makeup designers. Many dismiss and giggle at the arch style, flat direction and declamatory acting DeMille consciously employed for his Biblical and historical epics (e.g. The Sign of the Cross (1932), Cleopatra (1934), The Crusades (1935), Samson and Delilah (1949)), but this is not fair. DeMille’s intent was similar to the hieratic style of religious art in the Middle Ages: his aim was to represent the holiness or monumental historical, heroic essence of his subject, which an objective, or realistic, representation would undermine. (By contrast, realism is the approach of recent decades: Compare the realistic TV mini-series, “Moses the Lawgiver,” with Burt Lancaster (1974) or, at its most extreme, Martin Scorsese’s 1988 The Last Temptation of Christ.)

Heston thus was perfect for DeMille. He is the on-screen Moses of the Bible: As the mighty Prince of Egypt and “son” of Pharaoh superintending construction of Sethi I’s great treasure city, when he mercifully saves his real mother – unbeknownst to him -- Yochabel (Martha Scott) from the massive stone about to crush her; as he humbly accepts his true identity as a Hebrew; as the exile struggling through his tempering ordeal of hunger and thirst in the Wilderness; as the outnumbered man of courage, armed only with a staff, driving off the thieving Amalekite shepherds at Jethro’s well, thus saving the priest of Midian and his seven daughters. And later (with a lot more makeup and hair styling), as the appointed prophet on his knees, speaking to God before the Burning Bush; as the returning savior demanding of Rameses (Yul Brynner), “Let my people go,” casting the Ten Plagues on the arrogant Pharaoh and then presiding at his humble family table over the first Passover seder; and as God’s chosen instrument standing on a rock and raising his staff to signal the opening and closing of the Red Sea. And, finally, as the recipient of God’s Holy Law on Mount Sinai. For more than three hours, Heston’s commanding presence is unforgettable. And, as he was to demonstrate also in his subsequent historical roles, he is most effective in believably combining strength and tenderness, power and humility. (One could hardly imagine Arnold Schwarzanegger, for example, encompassing such range.)

If one read the script alone (“Based upon the Holy Scriptures and other ancient and modern writings,” the opening credits tell us), one’s eyebrows might be raised, but Heston and the rest of the wonderful cast (Edward G. Robinson, Anne Baxter, Judith Anderson, Vincent Price, Yvonne De Carlo as his wife, Sephora, John Carradine as Aaron, Nina Foch and others) become real characters from the pages of the Old Testament, whose words they speak with authority.

What also makes The Ten Commandments in my opinion one of the great films is the visual design of Albert Nozaki, Hal Pereira, Walter Tyler and the rest of Paramount’s art/set department, drawing on work of the Biblical painter Arnold Friberg and scholarly research by Henry S. Noerdlinger, which was later published as a book by the University of California Press, Moses and Egypt. DeMille was so devoted to authenticity and detail that the tablets, “written with the finger of God,” as Moses says (Exodus 31:18), embracing them as he descends Mount Sinai in the film, were carved in red granite cut from the top of the holy mountain – in the letters of Pre-Canaanite which preceded Hebrew. As George MacDonald Fraser writes in his Hollywood History of the World (1988), most impressive were:

...the Egyptian sets, the swarming brick-pits and endless construction works where the Israelites (and the film crew) were obviously serving with rigor, the enormous blocks of dressed stone moving ponderously into place, the massive pylon being erected before Pharaoh’s city – it looked as though it was really happening, and with DeMille in charge it probably was. Loyal Griggs photographed it all superbly: one remembers best . . . the beginning of the Exodus, with the great confused rabble, twelve thousand strong, setting off into the desert, carts and children and old folk and farm animals ploughing up the dust, the screen teeming with detail, and Heston striding majestically away towards the Promised Land. [DeMille rejected composer Elmer Bernstein’s initial score for this scene – a Hebraic melody -- demanding instead an up-tempo triumphal march, which Bernstein superbly delivered, and which adds so much to this spectacular, inspiring scene.] This is what historical films should be for, to set the legend in the mind’s eye.

Of course, some of what we see is special effects, often “glass shots” – paintings of images matched with live action. (Today this is done with computers, which are no match for the artistry of those unsung studio artists.) Thus, the scene where Moses the Prince of Egypt, to rebut Pharaoh’s skepticism of his building efforts, dramatically pulls back the curtain in Pharaoh’s tent to reveal the new treasure city in all its stunning VistaVision glory, is grand Hollywood movie-making at its best.

The parting of the Red Sea is arguably still the greatest special effects sequence in movie history. The surf washing up on the rock on which Moses is standing, as he and his flock look with wonder and fear upon the scene of the Lord closing the sea upon the pursuing Egyptian chariots, is another little priceless DeMille detail that makes the film so rich.

Then aged 74, DeMille, like all the great directors of the Golden Age, believed deeply in what he was creating, spiritually and artistically; even a major heart attack suffered in the heat of the Egyptian desert during filming did not stop him. This film was so personal to him that in the original theatrical release, before the film (which he also narrates) began, he appeared on screen, introducing his movie as a parable for the Cold War: “The Ten Commandments . . . are the charter and guide of human liberty,” he intoned, “for there can be no liberty without the law.” (This Judeo-Christian concept of liberty, the one our Founding Fathers believed, is the opposite of the moral liberationist, indeed, libertine, view of contemporary liberals, and repeatedly invoked by the Supreme Court.)

It took a big actor to stand out amidst DeMille’s giant production. Heston was the man, his legacy as a unique movie star already assured. That shot of him with his prophet’s beard, in his long robe, purposely striding forward, holding a child in his arms as he leads the Exodus, may be the noblest image of his career.

Fans of Ben-Hur (1959) will disagree, but I rank as Heston’s other great film El Cid (1961). Rodrigo Diaz, "El Cid" (The Man) is as noble and selfless a hero as has ever graced a movie. At every turn he places his immense courage and prowess in battle at the service of God, his people, his King (even when treated unjustly), his family, and everyone he encounters. His chivalry rests on his humility.

Thus, we are introduced to Rodrigo (Heston) defending the Cross against a band of Moslem Moors in eleventh century Spain. He spares their lives upon their pledge never again to attack, for which he earns their admiration and respect--as well as the enmity of his King's court, for he has violated the royal command that such Moslem prisoners be hanged. But such are the Cid’s gifts in battle and his inspirational leadership that the King must acquiesce in his role as defender of Spain against the Moslem occupiers and invaders from North Africa.

This tale of a warrior who is gentle and forgiving to all around him (Sophia Loren plays his wife), who loves and is loved by all, and who ultimately sacrifices everything for them, may show off Heston’s range more than any other part he played. His selfless, undaunting courage is impressive because of how he underplays his role. In a rugged scene perhaps second only to the Ben-Hur chariot race (see below) in Heston’s career, El Cid has to fight to the death against the most accomplished jouster in the land in order to restore his standing in court and win the city of Calahorra for his sovereign. Director Anthony Mann's touch is evident in the use of sound (the clash of armor and swords, the thunder of the two horses' hooves) and in the climax of the sequence: El Cid plunges his sword into the defeated opponent (with the camera on El Cid only), then raises it in triumph before his King (close-up of the blood on the sword), to the cheers of the throng.

El Cid builds up to one of Heston’s greatest scenes. Having been virtually exiled, he has now been recalled as commander of the fortress of Valencia, which is under seige by the bloodthirsty Moslem general, Ben Yussuff (Herbert Lom). The two most spectacular shots of this epic frame the climactic siege. In the first, Mann, making the most of the widescreen, directs the long line of Ben Yussuff's horde galloping along the beach toward the fortress, their torches aflame against the black night. In the second shot, El Cid, now mortally wounded but refusing to let his army know, lest they lose heart, has himself tied to his white steed so that he can inspire his forces to victory. He then leads them out of their fortress against the enemy, galloping along the beach and, poetically, passing into legend. El Cid has lost his life liberating his country and saving his religion. His King, who once had selfishly banished him, is now lying on his knees in humble repentance and thanks.

Alas, this kind of grand filmmaking (complemented by Miklos Rosza’s mighty musical score) is no more. Told on a massive canvas of spectacle by Anthony Mann, once again it required an actor with Heston’s screen presence.

Mann was one of the leading directors of film noir crime dramas in the late 1940s (e.g., Raw Deal (1948) and He Walked by Night (1948), the latter mostly directed by Mann although “signed” by another). He also directed many of the best Westerns of the 1950’s, six with James Stewart (e.g. The Naked Spur (1953) and The Far Country (1954)). El Cid gave him a much bigger canvas on which to work, and it is exciting to see his artistry really blossom. In the jousting scene above, as in all the superbly staged mayhem of his earlier films, Mann creates grim, but still suggestive, images of bloodshed—and, unlike so many contemporary films, in pursuit of a higher dramatic purpose. Indeed, Mann was one manly, muscular director. He brings a true magnificence to this film from the first scene: the "bin Laden" character, Ben Yussuff , blood virtually filling his eyes, stands against a hellish black sunset vowing holy war against the infidel Spanish Christians. Yet Mann also brilliantly manages the delicacy of El Cid’s final ride into legend – we do not have to see him die to understand what has happened. Mann’s typically stunning, taut compositions, his always spectacular use of landscape, and his rugged but subtle handling of violence applied to this epic subject on a huge screen, make El Cid unsurpassed among the epics of the late fifties and early sixties. Viewers watching these Heston films at home should remember they were made for big screens in big theaters (and I don’t mean the Multiplex); seen at home, their impact is miniaturized.

Just as The Ten Commandments cannot be discussed without the parting of the Red Sea, Heston’s career cannot be discussed without the chariot race in Ben-Hur (1959), still widely praised as the greatest action sequence in the history of movies. (The famous stunt director Yakima Canutt directed this sequence as well as the jousting battle in El Cid.) And Heston, ever the hero, actually drove his chariot with its team of four gleaming white Arabian horses in part of the sequence. Again he demonstrates his range of emotion when he turns round in his chariot to see, with some foreboding, his bitter rival and former friend, the Roman Messala (Stephen Boyd) crushed beneath the hooves of the other horses, his chariot having overturned. Heston further shows his vulnerable side in the scene shortly after the race, when he finds his mother (Martha Scott again) and sister (Cathy O’Donnell), whom he had thought dead, condemned in the lepers’ colony. Desperate to greet them outside the cave where they live, he is told they do not want him to know they are alive. He is torn apart in anguish, when suddenly Jesus appears, bearing the cross. Shocked, he recognizes the man who had offered him water years before, when he had just been arrested by the Romans and, shackled, was dying of thirst on his death march. “I know this man,” he whispers in wonder. Hearing his mother say someone must help this man, Ben-Hur follows Jesus.

Heston won his Academy Award as best actor for Ben-Hur, the first film to win eleven Academy Awards and which saved M-G-M from bankruptcy at the time. But I think the film is too long (the silent 1926 version is more compact, but with a good chariot race and a real sea battle). And the renowned director William Wyler’s feel for spectacle is a bit stiff next to Mann’s more spontaneous direction, not to mention DeMille’s personal style.

No movie star played more historical figures than Heston. He played Andrew Jackson twice, Buffalo Bill, William Clark (of Rogers and Clark fame), Jefferson, John the Baptist, General Charles G. “Chinese” Gordon, Michaelangelo, Marc Antony (twice), Cardinal Richelieu (twice), Henry VIII, Sir Thomas More, Brigham Young – and Sherlock Holmes.

In Khartoum (1966) Heston plays Gordon, the British officer who earlier had suppressed the Arab slave trade in the Sudan, and who was sent in 1884 by his government to evacuate Khartoum in the face of a regional uprising led by the bin-Laden of the day, the Mahdi (played in dark skin by the inimitable Laurence Olivier). Gordon was a Christian mystic as well as an inspiring officer, and Heston once again is cast as the sensitive hero. In the climax, Gordon, calmly standing up to his fate, knowing a better world awaits him, is killed by the invading horde as Khartoum is overrun, the Gladstone government having dithered before sending a relief army too late.

Heston’s other historical films of this period have their admirers. He helps defend the European compound besieged by the Chinese Boxers in 1900 in 55 Days at Peking(1963), paints the Sistine Chapel as Michaelangelo while fending off the meddling Pope (Rex Harrison) in The Agony and the Ecstasy (1965), and plays a Norman knight in The War Lord (1965). He also enjoyed one of his most rugged roles leading a cavalry raid into French-occupied Mexico in Sam Peckinpah’s Major Dundee (1965). Earlier, Heston’s other big Western role was as the rough and tough ranch foreman Steve Leech, jealous of Carroll Baker’s attentions to Eastern dude Gregory Peck, in The Big Country (1958), directed by William Wyler. His other good films from the late fifties are The Wreck of the Mary Deare (1959), opposite Gary Cooper, and the film noir Touch of Evil (1958), cast against type as a Mexican investigator, Vargas, trying to uncover a narcotics smuggling ring run by corrupt American cop, played by the rotund Orson Welles, who also directed.

Heston’s career in historical epics ended with the genre’s demise by the later 1960’s. His last really good film was Planet of the Apes (1968), the picture with the stunning final shot. He appeared in the new genre of elegiac Westerns as a down-and-out cowpoke defending a fatherless family in Will Penny (1968); reportedly, this was his favorite role. Still only in his late forties as the decade of the seventies opened, Heston found that the heroic, serious characters he was born to play in movies with ambitious production values were becoming extinct. Particularly after Soylent Green (1973) and The Three Musketeers (1973), in which he plays the character part of Richelieu, his movie career gradually wound down over the next three decades. He did some theater and more television; in addition to well-known political work, he was so active in charities that in 1978 his peers in the Motion Picture Academy bestowed on him the prestigious Jean Hersholt Humanitarian Award.

Charlton Heston was one of the last larger than life male stars, a heroic figure in grand, ambitious films that uplifted their audiences. (Kirk Douglas, age 91, is the last surviving male star of that period.) Like most of them, his characterizations may have been as much his personality as his acting, but he leaves an indelible legacy of roles and images that will inspire future generations. Of what stars today can that be written?

Spencer Warren is ConservativeBattleline On Line's media critic.