A Cecil B. DeMille Story for the Hamptons Film Festival

Cecil B. DeMille is one of the greatest movie directors of all time. His films, huge extravaganzas sometimes with thousands of actors were made in the 1950s. There was no CGI back then. No AI. You want a crowd? You hire a crowd.

After he made Cleopatra starring Elizabeth Taylor and Richard Burton, and after he made a chariot extravaganza called The Ten Commandments starring Yul Brenner and Charlton Heston, there was one final film he wanted to make.

Nearly 50,000 people stood crowded into a valley in the Sahara Desert, some dressed as Barbarians, some dressed as Romans.

DeMille sat in his director’s chair atop one of the four hills that loomed over this valley. The Barbarians, carrying swords and shields looked up at him. Across from them were the Roman soldiers with their horses and chariots, also at the ready.

DeMille held up his megaphone and called to the film crew atop one of the other hills.

“Ready, film crew number one?”

“Ready when you are, C.B.,” came the reply.

DeMille held up his megaphone and called to the film crew atop another hill.

“Ready, film crew number two?”

“Ready when you are, C.B.,” came the reply.

DeMille held up his megaphone and called to the film crew atop the last hill.

“Ready, film crew number three?”

“Ready when you are, C.B.,” came the reply.

DeMille looked down at the huge crowd of soldiers.

“Ready, Barbarians?” he shouted.

They rattled their swords.

DeMille’s heart pounded in his chest. He looked to the other end of the valley.

“Ready, Romans?” he shouted.

They stomped their feet.

DeMille raised his arm.

“Lights!” he shouted. “Camera! Action! ”

Then, with a karate chop, he brought his arm down.

Below, the two armies charged. The swords clanged, the shields thumped, the horses whinnied, fake blood streamed through the sand and the soldiers and Barbarians raised tons of dust and smoke. Ten minutes went by, then 20, then 25.

At the half hour mark, DeMille, with tears of happiness in his eyes, raised his arm again.

“Cut!” he shouted. And the performers in the greatest battle scene in cinematic history fell exhausted to the ground.

From his chair, DeMille shouted across.

“Crew number one! Get it?”

There was a long pause. Then a miserable reply. “We’re terribly sorry, C.B., but nobody removed the lens cap. It was on the whole time. So, nothing.”

“What?” DeMille thundered.

He stood up. But aides held him back.

“There’s still two and three,” one of them said

“Crew number two? Make your report!!”

After another pause came another miserable reply.

“C.B., we put the film in good. But it broke in there. Really, really sorry.”

C.B. was stunned, but he gathered himself. “Crew number three?” he shouted out to the last hill.

A reply came back almost instantly this time. “Ready when you are C.B.”

Which is why you’ve never seen “The Colossus of Adelphi.”

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