Who could possibly deny the brilliance of the fundamental labor that went into this silent epic? It was an era when filmmakers were constantly pushing the envelope and advancing the art form; some of the greatest movies ever made hail from the 1910s and 1920s, before sound was even introduced. This 1925 feature made a mark of its own with a production that's outright legendary - for its size, its scope, and its cost. That extravagance was not for nothing, however, and even today 'Ben-Hur' stands tall as an exemplar of craftsmanship. As well it should; the sets are as large and detailed as they are gorgeous, a feast for the eyes, and it's difficult to even pick out a favorite from among the Hur homestead, the ship interiors, Arrius' manor, or even the genre-defining circus. The costume design, hair and makeup, and weapons and props are no less terrific; the sartorial arrangements provided for each and every actor are a sight for sore eyes in and of themselves. The many stunts, effects, and action scenes are utterly superb, with a level of violence and excitement that's genuinely unexpected; the galley sequence, and the climactic chariot race, are almost 100 years later still two of the superlative moments in all of cinema, equaled by sparing few points of comparison. Everyone working behind the scenes is to be honored for being part of such an enduring classic, and still this is to say nothing of the exquisite cinematography that captured it all; the camerawork during the chariot race alone makes this worth watching. Nevermind the early use of Technicolor to augment select instances, or the stellar direction that tied it all together. Whatever else is true of this picture, it boasts an excellence - nay, magnificence - of sheer shrewd artistry that relatively few titles in all the entirety of the medium could ever claim.
Moreover, bolstered in subsequent decades by like esteem for the 1959 remake, the tale told here is timeless and fabulously compelling. The saga of Judah Ben-Hur, from prince, to slave, to champion - and the story of his family - is wonderfully engrossing in and of itself. Other highly lauded films have spotlighted characters with a similar arc, yet few if any can match the splendor of this one, or have stood so mightily. The scene writing that builds that narrative piece by piece is rich, varied, and inviting, and it is to the credit of filmmaker Fred Niblo that he orchestrates each and every shot and scene with a tremendously keen eye. Why, under Niblo's guiding hand, relatively subdued scenes of dialogue (set amidst the undeniable grandeur) are nonetheless rendered with a dazzling expertise and intoxicating allure that makes them as captivating as the most intense moments of action thrills. Of course I had high expectations before I sat to watch, and still I'm roundly impressed. Why, it's worth noting that while this 1925 feature naturally follows the same plot as its successor of thirty years later, and some shots and scenes were reproduced almost exactly, there are discrete differences at varying points (some subtle, some more overt) that help the two to stand well apart. 'Ben-Hur' is 'Ben-Hur,' but to weigh the two side by side, there's no arguing that both titles are creations all their own, each worthy on their own merits. Frankly, it's to the point that I can't even decide which is better, for the strengths of both are readily on par, and sufficiently distinct that comparison effectively requires a frame-by-frame breakdown.
Vibrant and bewitching as this picture is in most every regard, I can't bring myself to say that it's perfect. Niblo's direction is impeccable where every scene is concerned; when it comes to instructing his cast, it isn't necessarily untarnished. Every now and again there's a tinge of forceful bluntness in the acting that exceeds the already common comportment of the silent era of exaggerated facial expression or body language - a holdover from the stage and compensation for the lack of sound or spoken dialogue. It doesn't come up often, here, but when it does, it's distracting. Tangentially related, it's noteworthy that antagonist Messala, unmistakably cruel and villainous as he is, is written here with a peculiar forthrightness that's a little off-putting. This is to say, at least in 1959 there was a hint of nuance in the characterization, the suggestion of a path the man had taken from loyal friend to loyal Roman; here, he's just bad news from the moment we first see him, much more black and white. Unfortunately, this isn't even the worst sin of this otherwise silent masterpiece.
There comes a point where all the greatest craftsmanship in the world can't wholly compensate for content that is in any way Less Than. If a perfectly formulaic and forgettable TV movie romance reused the same sets that in the prior year won every possible award for their grandeur, it would still be a perfectly formulaic TV movie romance, only slightly less forgettable. The 1959 picture is brought low from its throne by the abject, ill-fitting shoehorning in of Christian mythology into the story of the protagonist; frankly the entire last half hour becomes tedious. With marginal differences in how exactly the course of events is depicted, 1925's 'Ben-Hur' is at least on par, or might well be worse in that regard. William Wyler and his collaborators at least tried to weave segments about Jesus throughout their mid-century rendition; here, Niblo and his team form all the biblical content into dubious bookends, the first fifteen minutes and the last thirty. Niblo's film is even more excruciatingly heavy-handed about the religious aspects as they present (I didn't think that was possible), and for the fact of being shoved to the front and back ends, the inclusion is even more deeply unconvincing. It's almost as if we have two separate features that were inelegantly smashed together into one, with the two parts tied together very flimsily. I can't speak to a book that I haven't read, but should the blame for all this rest on the shoulders of author Lew Wallace, or the screenwriters? Is Wallace's novel just as questionable in adjoining two tales that don't meaningfully belong together, or is that ham-fisted trait an invention of Hollywood producers and writers?
I'm divided. On the one hand, this bears value above and beyond what can be said for many, many other pictures, with a remarkable, incredible, striking and mesmerizing production that is as strong in 2023 as it was in 1925. On the other hand, finely crafted as its other component may be, nevertheless the insertion of religious mythology is weak and tawdry both in and of itself and for the manner in which it's kluged onto the primary plot. On the one hand, my expectations have been surpassed; on the other hand, I'd be lying if I said I weren't disappointed. Sincerely, with all my heart, I want to like this more than I do. Ultimately, for both good and ill I think this is on par with its later remake. It's very much worth watching, and on the basis of what is so unbelievably good here, it is a must-see - with the caveat that, gosh golly, there is one glaring issue here that inherently places limits on one's engagement and entertainment, and I'm not even talking about the animal cruelty that was accordingly part and parcel of filming. Do please watch 1925's 'Ben-Hur,' for it deserves to be celebrated every bit as much as what is now its more famous sibling. Do also be aware, though, of its regrettable follies as much as its astounding strengths.
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