Paramount Publix Corporation. Produced and directed by Cecil B. DeMille. Screenplay by Waldemar Young and Sidney Buchman, from the play by Wilson Barrett (additional, uncredited writing by Nick Barrows). Art director: Mitchell Leisen. Music: Rudolph Kopp (also Milan Roder, Paul Marquardt, and Jay Chernis [uncredited]). Assistant director: James Dugan. Photography: Karl Struss. Film editor: Anne Bauchens
Picture started: July 25, 1932. Picture finished: September 29,1932. Length: I 1,262 feet (14 reels). Cost: $694,064.67. Released: November30, 1932 (New York premiere). Gross: $2,738,993.35. Net profit: $627,207.38(gross and profit figures to 1937)
Cast: Fredric March (Marcus Superbus), Elissa Landi (Mercia), Claudette Colbert (Poppaea), Charles Laughton (Nero), Ian Keith (Tigellinus), Vivian Tobin (Dacia), Harry Beresford (Favius), Ferdinand Gottschalk (Glabrio), Arthur Hohl (Titus), Joyzelle Joyner (Ancaria), Tommy Conlon (Stephanus), Nat Pendleton (Strabo), Clarence Burton (Servilius), William V. Mong (Licinius), Harold Healy (Tibal), Richard Alexander (Viturius), Robert Manning (Philodemus), Joe Bonomo (the mute giant), and Charles Middleton (Tyras)
At the lowest point in his film career DeMille turned to Wilson Barrett’s The Sign of the Cross, a popular play of 1895, as the source for his next film. He saw the project as the third part of a religious trilogy that began with The Ten Commandments and The King of Kings. During his extended vacation DeMille arranged for attorney Neil McCarthy to secure the rights. A film version had been made by the Famous Players Film Company in 1914, but in the intervening years the property had been acquired by Mary Pickford, who was now on the verge of retirement and had no plans to produce it.
With nearly all doors in Hollywood closed, DeMille and Neil McCarthy swallowed hard and approached Jesse Lasky and West Coast production head B.P. Schulberg at Paramount with what amounted to a deal for a co-production. Paramount would provide studio services and half the budget; Cecil B. DeMille Productions, Inc., was to provide the other half of the money. The Sign of the Cross, an epic spectacle, would be produced for a mere $650,000. DeMille was to receive a salary of nearly $24,000, but only $14,322 would be paid in cash, with the rest being deferred. The salary would be paid out of a $50,000 advance against future royalties that would not be charged to the negative cost. The deal was inked over the reservations of Adolph Zukor, with Paramount insisting that DeMille keep his personal staff to a minimum. He was not allowed to employ Jeanie Macpherson in writing the film, nor would he be allowed to use Anne Bauchens as his editor; the studio would assign Alexander Hall to cut the picture. Only art director Mitchell Leisen and production manager Roy Burns were allowed to come on board, and both took greatly reduced salaries. Jesse Lasky did agree to DeMille’s request that Charles Laughton be hired for the role of Nero, but he caught hell from the New York office for doing so.
The Paramount of 1932 was a far cry from the studio DeMille left in 1925. Paramount Pictures once dominated the box office, but now the company looked to be an economic train wreck waiting to happen, with only four of the twenty-three pictures released in the first half of the year projected to turn a profit—and only modest profits at that. A November 1932 estimated gross statement ticked off the bad news.1 Josef von Sternberg’s Shanghai Express would turn a modest profit of $33,000 on an $851,000 investment, but the prestigious Ernst Lubitsch productions of Broken Lullaby and One Hour with You promised a combined loss of nearly $800,000. The overall release slate for the first half of 1932 was predicted to lose a then-staggering $2,560,000, and as DeMille and writer Waldemar Young set about adapting The Sign of the Cross for the screen, the Paramount board of directors, spearheaded by theater man Sam Katz, moved to tighten the reins in Hollywood.
On April 25, 1932, just as the ink was drying on DeMille’s new contract, Jesse L. Lasky was asked to take a three-month leave of absence subject to recall on two-weeks’ notice. At the end of the three months, Lasky was asked to take an additional two-weeks’ leave as the details of his contract settlement were worked out.
Then in May, B.P. Schulberg went on a trip, and Emanuel Cohen, who had been working in the executive ranks at the studio for several months, was selected to fill in for Schulberg as head of production. A banty rooster in physical stature, Cohen came to the job after careers as a writer on politics and economics and as editor first of Pathé and then Paramount newsreels. He also oversaw Paramount’s short subjects department. Cohen’s interim appointment was brief. Schulberg was fired in June, and Cohen took over his job. The appointment of Cohen signaled that budgets would be tighter at Paramount in the future.
Cohen quickly established himself in his newly won position. In a memo dated May 26, 1932, he informed DeMille that The Sign of the Cross would not be charged for the use of already standing sets, but that the production would be charged for set dressing, and he also noted that costumes left over from The Ten Commandments would be available at no charge except for cleaning and altering. But with this helping hand, Cohen also berated DeMille for casting Nat Pendleton in the role of Strabo, somehow thinking that Pendleton was a football coach with no screen experience. DeMille sent Cohen a list of some thirty-nine talkie credits plus mention of three years in silents to persuade Cohen of the actor’s credentials. Cohen also asked about DeMille’s using Macpherson against studio orders. The director replied he had only asked her to read the 1907 novelization of The Sign of the Cross before production and had spoken to her one day about another proposed project, No Bed of Her Own, which was eventually made as No Man of Her Own (Paramount,1932) and directed by Wesley Ruggles.2
The Sign of the Cross, originally scheduled to start shooting on July 11,1932, was delayed for a week to allow Paramount leading man Fredric March to complete Smilin’ Through on loan-out to Metro-Goldwyn-Mayer. But by July 18, the Metro picture was running behind schedule. DeMille was forced to delay the start of The Sign of the Cross for another week, and M-G-M paid Paramount $7,459.00 to cover the cost of talent and crew left waiting to start. The extra time allowed for last-minute script revisions that were carried out by writers Sidney Buchman and Nick Barrows.
As the cameras started to turn, DeMille was also delayed by his own studio. Claudette Colbert was tied up shooting another picture and was not available when her provocative milk-bath scene was scheduled to shoot. On August 11,1932, production manager Roy Burns was advised: “We should not be charged with the cost of POPPAEA’S set, as the studio had to strike the set on account of lack of stage space before we were able to shoot it. The fact that it was our second set on our schedule; but on account of putting Miss Colbert in THE PHANTOM PRESIDENT, we agreed not to use her [at that time] although the set was built and the studio had to strike it before it was used.”3 Shooting on this sequence was postponed from Wednesday, August 3, to Tuesday, August 16. Legend has it that DeMille insisted on using real milk in the bath scene and that by the second day of shooting the milk was curdling under the hot lights and turning into a rather smelly cheese; but according to the shooting schedule the six script pages of the bath scene were completed in one day.
Even with these complications, DeMille was obsessed with remaining on schedule and budget to prove to Paramount that their shaky faith in him was well placed. By August 19,1932, he had made up the delay caused by The Phantom President, and Emanuel Cohen was quick to acknowledge the accomplishment. “I note on the production report today,” Cohen wrote, “that you have caught up on your schedule. Congratulations. I can well appreciate what an effort this has been on your part.”4
As often happens when high-powered talents come together, conflicts over billing erupted. Claudette Colbert’s February 16, 1931, contract with Paramount was clear that “no name can be announced more prominently.” However, Paramount’s agreement with Fox covering the loan-out of Elissa Landi stated that “no other feminine player shall precede or appear in type larger than” Landi’s name on the screen, and “only the male lead may precede or appear in type larger.” Colbert’s role as Poppaea, “the wickedest woman in the world,” was a plum that would lift her above the somewhat lifeless roles she’d been playing for Paramount up to that time, and on July 21, 1932, she finally agreed to allow Fredric March and Elissa Landi’s names to appear before hers in the main title credits
The star salaries for The Sign of the Cross wouldn’t even cover a week of a lead actor’s paycheck today. Fredric March received $2,101.91 per week for the eight weeks the picture was in production. Elissa Landi, on loan from Fox, received$1,500 weekly. Claudette Colbert received a flat $15,000 for her work on the picture, and Charles Laughton $1,250 per week. On the other end of the scale, extras in the crowd scenes generally received $10 per day.
With the economy in a slump, those ten-dollar checks took on great importance for Hollywood’s legion of bit players and extras, and Cecil B. DeMille received hundreds of heartbreaking letters from actors looking for work. DeMille took it as a point of personal responsibility to see that, if possible, he would offer work to these underemployed actors, and even though he was on probation with Paramount, he was adamant that his casting promises be kept by the studio. On September 8, as he was shooting the first day in the Coliseum arena, DeMille became aware that a number of those he had promised work had not been called, and he quickly dictated a pair of notes to the studio casting department: “A week or so ago, I told Joseph Sasso that he would work in the arena sequence, but he informed me tonight that he has not been called and that Mr. Weaver did not have his name on the list. Will you please see that he is called for work tomorrow?” and “Kindly make certain that every request name that I have sent through for work in the arena crowd sequence have been called and on the set tomorrow or else I will not shoot.”5
Several days later this issue was still not completely solved. DeMille noted that Will Geer had been promised work on the picture but had not had a call. His secretary also informed casting that Gertrude Robinson, a minor leading lady in the silent era, should be put on the list, as “Mr. deMille positively wishes her called.”6
As he had done earlier on The Volga Boatman, DeMille spent his budget with great prudence and skill. Art Director Mitchell Leisen and his staff were able to build what appeared to be a good portion of ancient Rome, including a full-sized replica of the Coliseum, for a mere $44,900 in labor and materials, with an additional $9,150 spent on set dressing. The Sign of the Cross was a huge production with fifteen different sets and locations, thousands of extras, and lots of special photographic effects, but it was also meticulously pre-planned, and only those portions of the settings that would show on-screen were constructed. It is nothing short of amazing that DeMille was able to make the film for under $700,000, while, across the lot, Ernst Lubitsch spent over $1 million on the four-character musical comedy One Hour with You, which was staged largely in one somewhat-lavish townhouse.
For all the power a director of DeMille’s stature is supposed to exert over his films, sometimes control over all the elements can be elusive. In the middle of shooting, Rudolph Kopp and the studio orchestra were set to record the background music for Ancaria’s lesbian dance, one of the more sensational elements of The Sign of the Cross. DeMille intended to have actors playing Romanesque instruments on camera and dub in the music during postproduction. Kopp’s music for the sequence did not please DeMille, however. On August 16, he wrote Fred Leahy, head of the music department:
Approximately six weeks ago, I informed the Music Department of the musical requirements for Ancaria’s dancing scene. I explained at great length to the Department that this was not a “musical number,” but a most dramatic scene; that I showed the Roman orchestra which was playing the accompaniment, and that anything suggesting a modern symphony orchestra, or modern combination of instruments would not do; that it must be a musical part of the scene, and I was informed on Saturday, August 13th, that they were using twenty pieces in the orchestra. I objected on the grounds that it could not possibly give the result of a barbaric group of some ten instruments. I was assured by Mr. Kopp that the effect I desired would be there.
We were prepared to make sound track on Monday night, and the twenty-two piece orchestra and orchestration was such that you would hear any night at the Biltmore Hotel. There was not even a suggestion of cymbals, or any of the instruments necessary to give the required character, and we were forced to spend an hour and a half on the set endeavoring to correct the orchestra and orchestration after we had lost three hours of rehearsing time with the symphony orchestra. This, in my opinion, is a needless and careless waste of money. I have been most insistent on several occasions to explain again and again to the Music Department that I did not want a “musical number” but an orchestration that would suggest the semi-barbaric instruments of a Roman orchestra.
On Sunday night, I again objected to the twenty instruments and was told that was necessary to give the effect that I wanted. No endeavor apparently was made to give the effect I desired, and no attention whatsoever paid to my request for the type of orchestration needed. This blunder has cost practically a full day’s shooting time.7
In the completed film, the final result is not particularly satisfying. DeMille was forced to compromise, and Joyzelle Joyner’s heavily accented song is nearly drowned out by a cacophonous musical din, in part because several executives found her dialogue and vocal performance to be “terribly bad.”8
As The Sign of the Cross neared completion, production manager Roy Burns is said to have come to the set to tell DeMille that the budgeted $650,000 had been spent, and the director, unwilling to expend another nickel, stopped production in the middle of a take. A great story, but somewhat unlikely. The picture did run slightly over budget, with some of the additional costs occurring during postproduction. The final cost was tagged at just over$694,000.
Theater man Sam Katz, new head of Paramount Publix, the parent of the production arm, was especially anxious to see The Sign of the Cross even before DeMille was finished shooting. On September 19 the director wrote Katz:
My cutter tells me you want to see THE SIGN OF THE CROSS tomorrow or the next day.
The picture is not in condition to run at all; it is merely assembled film with many scenes incomplete awaiting work by the trick and technical departments. Unless it is imperative for you to see it in this unsatisfactory form, I would consider it a favor if you can wait until I can spend some time on the cutting, as it is very unfair to the picture to see it in its present form. You can imagine what showing THE TEN COMMANDMENTS would be without the opening and closing of the Red Sea, etc.9
Katz agreed to wait, but he didn’t wait long, and DeMille was enraged when he learned that the picture was screened for Katz without his knowledge. On October 7 Katz wrote a letter of apology, noting:
I am extremely sorry to have heard from Al [Kaufman] that you were disturbed about the procedure I employed in connection with looking at the rough cut of “SIGN OF the Cross.”
All I had in mind, C.B., was to make certain that when I did talk with you about it I could talk with you intelligently and offer some constructive suggestions….
I am sure that when we get together you will be satisfied with the procedure. If a mistake was made it was a mistake of judgment, not of intent….10
DeMille offered a conciliatory response to Katz:
Firstly, I am for Paramount, you and all the new management, one hundred and one per cent. The attitude of the whole plant toward me has been one that would warm the cockles of any man’s heart. With the exception of one or two, perhaps justifiable little spasms of nervousness on the part of one or two executives, this association has been a very delightful one, and your letter gives me assurance that it will continue so.
Perhaps, as we grow older, our skin, instead of toughening, becomes a little thinner, and our nerves perhaps a trifle more sensitive. In this instance, I sent for George M. Arthur and had a talk with him in my office relative to cutting THE SIGN OF the Cross and asked his advice on the subject, and asked that as soon as I had completed my first cutting he sit down with me and look at the picture in order that I might have his ideas. He was very gracious and consented to this. I was, perhaps a little unjustifiably, startled later when I heard he was running the picture with you before I could even make my first cutting.
However, I should have known that what you do, you do constructively, and I want to assure you that I prize your opinion and views most highly and that you can, in addition to your production and showmanship knowledge, give me the exhibitor’s angle which is so valuable.11
In the wake of this dispute, the studio allowed DeMille to replace Alexander Hall, who was just beginning his own career as a director after years as an actor and editor, with his longtime film editor Anne Bauchens.
For a film filled with suggestive and sensational elements, The Sign of the Cross had very little trouble with industry censors—at first. The most questionable moment in the film was the lesbian dance performed by Joyzelle Joyner in an effort to provoke the Christian, Mercia. Colbert’s milk bath was also considered potentially censorable. DeMille decided to take his case directly to James Wingate of the Motion Picture Producers and Distributors of America before giving the picture a wider viewing among industry and state censor boards.
On November 14, Wingate was invited to a private screening at the studio. In a memo sometime afterward, Wingate offered, “In my opinion the Roman Holiday sequence and the indecent movement of the hips … were a violation of the Code. Mr. DeMille did not think so and believed that it was necessary to use this dance to show the sensuousness of the pagan as contrasted with the purity of the Christian.” DeMille went east to plead his case before the New York State censor board, and Wingate was surprised to note: “[S]trange to say, none of the official censors made deletions in either[sequence].”12
However, an enterprising Paramount advertising man named A.L. Selig sent a copy of the script to the Rev. Christian F. Reisner, a Methodist minister, in hope of obtaining an endorsement for the film. Reisner had shown a certain affinity for business when, in the economic boom of the 1920s, he’d posted a billboard proclaiming: “Come to Church. Christian Worship Increases Your Efficiency. Christian F. Reisner, Pastor.” But no one was prepared for Reisner’s scathing opinion of The Sign of the Cross. On October5,1932, he responded to Selig’s request, in part: “The picture … as shown in the script sent to me is repellent and nauseating to every thinking Christian. It endeavors to get a lot of lewd scenes and sex appeal exhibition son the screen and then dresses the whole with a cheap and unhistorical hodge-podge of hymns and vignettes from sacred Christian martyrdom. Only an ignoramus concerning Christian history, feelings and facts would compose such a script. … I confess I feel chagrined to think that you had such a cheap notion of me as to think I would in any way commend it.”13
Martin Quigley, publisher of the Motion Picture Herald trade magazine and a Catholic who would help establish the Legion of Decency in 1934 to clean up Hollywood movies, demanded that film czar Will H. Hays intervene to have the lesbian dance eliminated. DeMille flatly refused, and The Sign of the Cross was released as the director intended.
Audiences flocked to see the picture, in part for the spectacle and the racy elements, but also because they found the message of hope in the face of oppression a welcome one in the Depression-torn 1930s. Despite a “Bank Holiday” that coincided with its general release, The Sign of the Cross proved to be one of Paramount’s few hits in the 1932–33 season and re established DeMille as a power in the industry.
Even Adolph Zukor, who had been delighted to be rid of DeMille in 1925, was now moved to write: “Words cannot express my deep appreciation of the wonderful treatment you have given Sign of the Cross. Although it is a most marvelous spectacle it still retains all of the spiritual values and this in my estimation is an achievement which has never been equaled. Congratulations.”14
The censors almost had the last laugh, however. When the picture was reissued in 1938, 760 feet were cut to conform with the revised and strengthened 1934 production code. In 1944 DeMille added a World War II prologue for a second reissue, and the picture was trimmed by another 800 feet.15 It was in this final shortened form that The Sign of the Cross was seen on television. The original 1932 cut survived only as a single nitrate print in DeMille’s personal vault until it was recently restored by the UCLA Film and Television Archive.
Samuel Goldwyn, now an independent producer releasing through United Artists, remained friendly with Cecil, although he didn’t allow friendship to get in the way of a little friendly competition. Before their pictures were released Goldwyn bet DeMille one hundred dollars that his production The Kid from Spain, starring Broadway comic Eddie Cantor, would out gross The Sign of the Cross by at least 30 percent after the pictures had been in release for a year. In November 1933 DeMille proudly informed Goldwyn that The Sign of the Cross had gross film rentals of $819,000 to date, but he dutifully wrote out a check for $100 when Goldwyn executive Abe Lehr informed him that The Kid from Spain grossed $1,352,769 in its first forty-nine weeks of release.