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God, Sex, and Easter: The Ten Commandments Returns Again
Every year but one for the last half-century, one of the biggest, baudiest, most excessive movies ever made graces the small screen, courtesy of the ABC network. As surely as the seasons change, come spring Cecil B. DeMille’s The Ten Commandments returns to TV in a massive four-and-a-half-hour block of ad-supported religious television... and people are still watching. As recently as 2023, it topped broadcast TV viewership for the week of Passover. It’s a time of year I look forward to immensely.
Not that I’m watching it on ABC... who needs that many Ozempic commercials interrupting the 10 plagues of Egypt? But I still stream it just before Easter every year, just as I have since I was a little kid and it was on TV the Saturday night before we all got dressed up in our Easter best the next day.
1956’s The Ten Commandments is not a good movie, but it’s a massively important one, and it’s certainly one of my favorites. Its hammy, sometimes wooden, deeply pretentious and overly concerned with itself, with long pseudo-biblical narration in pretentious King James-ish tones. But it’s also huge, bawdy, violent, sensual, packed with Hollywood legends, and stunningly entertaining thanks to its colossal scale and its extraordinary commitment to exploiting its audience.
Now I want to be very clear here: I’m not particularly talking about the Exodus story. I’m talking about the film. I’m a Quaker, and I take Exodus with a lot of theological weight: Even if I doubt much of it ever happened historically, the story itself still says some very powerful, meaningful things. It lays a foundation for three great religions, and establishes the extraordinary character of Moses, a deeply flawed, deeply reluctant, and empathetic cultural hero. And The Ten Commandments themselves represent something quite powerful historically... a legal code that, while theistic, endeavors to be truly just, promoting a peaceful and civil society.
The (Covertly Exploitative) Ten Commandments
The Ten Commandments is an epic, certainly, and a feat of filmmaking at scale. But more than anything else, it’s an exploitation flick. I think that in the modern world, when many of us hear “exploitation flick” we instantly travel to the 1970s grindhouse aesthetic. But exploitation flicks have existed much longer, and The Ten Commandments is easily the biggest, most expensive, and most brazen ever made.
What makes an exploitation flick not just another movie is its overt appeal to a very specific audience; in this case, people of faith and “family” moviegoers looking for a moral and ethical play to confirm their own biases. And once the viewer is in the seat, a proper exploitation film delivers enough sordid, tantalizing material to keep them invested.
The moral and religious trappings of The Ten Commandments are the bright paint and swan facade on the entrance to the Tunnel of Love. The theological and patriotic nuances fully justify a ticket purchase for even the most prudish. But once through the doors and in the darkness, our riders sail over a world of temptations, sins, and horrors: murder, political intrigue, lust, sex, dancing girls, kidnapping, assault, infanticide, sorcery, and revolution, all culminating in the most famous and spectacular Hollywood special effect of all time.
The Hays Code had neutered movie storytelling for over 20 years, forcing filmmakers to create largely sanitized universes of bloodless cowboy violence and gee-gosh-darn-it language. Sexuality was still present, but heavily curtained, hidden behind layers of innuendo... Lauren Bacall’s famous “You just put your lips together, and blow” in To Have or Have Not being the best example.
But The Ten Commandments was no Republic Pictures cowboy flick. It was a Big Important Movie about Big Important Things, like God, a morality play where good is rewarded and evil is punished. And that framing allowed DeMille to get around the Hays code in some absolutely amazing moments. Moses’ story in scripture is plenty violent and miraculous, but it lacks what audiences always want: sex appeal. And Cecil B. DeMille had absolutely no difficulty rectifying that omission on the part of the Bible.
At least six-and-a-half of The Ten Commandments are broken in the story of The Ten Commandments. Near the film’s climax, a golden idol is crafted and worshipped... that’s one and two. Rameses bears false witness against Moses. There’s a lot of killing at the beginning (babies) and again at the end (more babies and the Egyptian cavalry). Dathan and Baka covet what they do not yet possess. Theft and graft are integral to the plot. And while we don’t see overt adultery, Egypt is very thirsty, with affairs and alliances heavily inferred.
If this seems like a cynical take on a famous film, I ask you to consider the history of exploitation cinema. Take, for example, the cautionary tales and health films of early Hollywood, which overtly engaged sexual material under the guise of moral teaching. Reefer Madness is probably the most famous example of this bit; there were plenty of others. The Ten Commandments is exploiting morality and faith to get butts into theater seats... then using sex and violence to keep them there.
The film is incredibly horny. The Ten Commandments weaves a lust triangle between dreamy, chiseled Moses, his much hotter adoptive brother Rameses, and the princess Nefretiri, played by the sultry Anne Baxter. Whichever of the two rival men becomes Pharaoh will marry her. Nefretiri is team Moses all the way, but the sexual tension between the two men and Nefretiri is palpable. Consider this dripping exchange when Nefretiri and Rameses are finally alone:
Shirtless Yul Brynner: “Remember, my sweet, that you must be wife to the next Pharaoh. That you are going to be mine, all mine, like my dog or my horse or my falcon. Only I will love you more, and trust you less. You will never do the things to me you would have done to Moses.”
They kiss.
Anne Baxter, dressed in a transparent gown: “Did you think my kiss was a promise of what you'll have? No, my pompous one. It was to let you know what you will not have. I could never love you.”
Shirtless Yul Brynner, now smouldering: “Does that matter? You will be my wife. You will come to me whenever I call you, and I will enjoy that very much. Whether you enjoy it or not is your own affair… but I think you will.”
See what I mean? There’s a lot more stuff like that throughout the film. Showing off see-through wedding night fashion accessories. The women of Midian dancing for the entertainment of the men, who will choose one to be a bride. A startlingly overt suggestion (for 1950s America) of interracial romance between Moses and the Princess of Ethiopia, delivered masterfully by the talented actor Esther Brown (who sadly seems to disappear from Hollywood soon after).
There’s murder by knife, murder by balcony, murder by strangling, death by angel, death by dart, a giant magic pillar of fire, a parted sea, laws drawn on stone by the finger of God, and of course, a Golden Calf orgy. This is not a boring film. Stuff happens.
But there may have been another element at work in the film’s moral storytelling composition, and act of political rather than audience exploitation. For more background on this, you have to consider just how different our country was at that time, and also how powerful Cecl B. DeMille was.
An Overtly Conservative Time
The mid-1950s were a dark time for America, an era of racial animus and anti-communist paranoia. On Capitol Hill, Senator Joe McCarthy brazenly flaunted his baseless lies before the Senate, and in the House the Un-American Activities Committee spread fear and suspicion. It was also the age of the Hollywood blacklist, when stars and writers suspected of leftist sympathies were barred from work.
It was a tense period in Hollywood, a place always existing between the demands of commercial success and artistic expression, now inflamed by the steady gaze of Washington. And in the midst of this doubtful environment, no movie was a safer commercial bet than The Ten Commandments, something DeMille understood incredibly well. After all, he practically invented moviemaking as we understand it. It’s not an exaggeration to say that Cecil B. DeMille created Hollywood. And while today we may think of a 1956 movie as ancient, by the time he produced this film, Cecil B. DeMille had already been making films for over 40 years. He’d seen two world wars, the silent era, the silver screen era, and now color film. He was a pioneer, and his films made bank.
An Americanized retelling of Exodus was an ideally palatable film for an age of political orthodoxy. Mom-and-apple-pie values were all there in the fabric of the story: the elevation of personal freedom, denouncement of bondage and tyranny, a cursory reverence for some Abrahamic perspectives on God, and an emphasis on family across Moses’ life, from his Egyptian brother, mother, and father, to his Hebrew birth family, and yet again to his adoptive family in Midian. Don Draper would have been happy to cynically espouse all of these virtues in print and radio for a nominal free.
Was The Ten Commandments a deliberate bending-of-the-knee to McCarthyist trends? DeMille was famously conservative, and some elements lend themselves to interpreting a political dimension to the film. The first is DeMille’s theatrical spoken intro to the film in theaters (not typically included on streaming cuts). In the brief intro, the director evokes some potent language, calling the film “The story of the birth of freedom.” He goes on to say:
“The theme of this picture is whether they are to be ruled by God’s law, or whether they are to be ruled by the whims of a dictator like Rameses? Are men the property of the state, or are they free souls under God? This same battle continues throughout the world today.”
While there are plenty of flags in the production and story of The Ten Commandments that support a McCarthyist interpretation, also note that two formerly-graylisted individuals contributed significantly to The Ten Commandments, with actor Edward G. Robinson and composer Elmer Bernstein helping make the film with DeMille’s blessing.
When you compare The Ten Commandments to another successful sword-and-sandals epic released just four years later, you get a sense of just how overtly conservative and covertly exploitative it is. Like The Ten Commandments, 1960’s Spartacus sported a world-class cast, a legendary director (Stanley Kubrick), and colossal setpieces rivaling the parting of the Red Sea. Both films center on enslaved people revolting against tyranny. But where The Ten Commandments loudly espouses Americana orthodoxy while selling titillation, Spartacus makes no qualms about its more liberal politics. It’s a story of a popular uprising against an established national authority... a nation masquerading as a republic but where only the privileged and powerful are free. It proudly credits two blacklisted writers (novel and screenplay).
But that was four years after The Ten Commandments, when Joe McCarthy was dead. In 1956, what we got was the life of Moses filtered through the two veils of the hour: the Iron Curtain, and the filter of American sexual repression.
Watching the Film Today
There’s not a great deal that’s artful about the way The Ten Commandments is constructed, but its straightforwardness actually makes it kind of timeless. As admirer Martin Scorsese advised, stop looking at the plot and try to follow the imagery and spectacle instead. It’s almost a horror movie in several places: The image of an Egyptian soldier pulling a bloodied sword from a cradle next to a wide-eyed, dead mother in the opening sequence is haunting, and the coming of the Angel of Death like a cloud of poison gas is genuinely disturbing.
Everything before Moses meets God is pretty much Charlton Heston at his hammiest best, but once he encounters the burning bush, he sort of walks around looking stoned. The Red Sea parting is a very cool effect, and Vincent Price absolutely slays as Baka, a truly sinister and gross master builder who turns in the best performance of the movie.
This Ten Commandments is almost 70 years old, yet I can think of few films I’d rather watch. The thing is, the traps DeMille set worked. All that sex and violence really is damn entertaining. It’s huge for the sake of being huge, opulent, indulgent even.
Just understand the movie for what it is: a film exploiting a divine story. It’s there to entertain, not instruct. If you want something less lurid and more spiritual, the book of Exodus is a short read, and provides the same tale in its much older form, a tale that details a vital chapter in the ancient lives of the Hebrew people.
