How Queerness
is used as a tool in
Toga Movies
Introduction
Queer identities are consistently used as tools to characterize antagonists and increase tension in all varieties of media, and Toga movies from the last half-century are perfect examples of this phenomenon. In “Ben Hur: A Tale of the Christ” (1959), the rift between protagonist and antagonist is intensified by their implied homosexual romantic history. “Spartacus” (1960) uses bisexuality to vilify the corrupt antagonist by separating him from the heteronormative idea of “normality” and painting him as a sexual deviant. Finally, “300”‘s (2006) androgynous God-King antagonist was designed using queer stereotypes to intimidate the film’s target audience more effectively. The directors of these films use queerness as a powerful tool in order to shape the audience’s perception of their characters and stories.
Long Lost Lovers
In the acclaimed film "Ben Hur: A Tale of the Christ" (1959), the complex rivalry between Judah Ben-Hur (Charlton Heston) and his co-star Messala (Stephen Boyd) is intentionally amplified by an implied romantic history. As the Roman army annexes Judea, Judah's homeland, he reunites with Messala, now a successful Roman tribune. When a loose roof tile nearly kills the new Roman governor of Judea, Messala betrays his childhood friend, condemning Judah to life as a galley slave and his family to imprisonment in a leprotic dungeon. This treachery is intentionally exacerbated by the formerly romantic nature of their relationship.
The first reunion scene between Judah and Messala is remarkably intimate. Messala warmly greets Judah, saying, "I said I’d come back," to which Judah replies, "I never thought you would. I’m so glad" (Ben Hur 1959). The interaction evokes the cliché of long-lost lovers in a classic romance film, enhanced by extended embraces, longing stares, and lingering touches that bridge their political divide. Slight caresses and constant stolen glances from Messala imply his persistent more-than-platonic desire. Even innocuous phrases, like Messala's remark, "After all these years, still close," gain romantic and sexual undertones when Judah responds with, "In every way" (Ben Hur 1959). It's this implication of unparalleled closeness that renders the relationship compelling, setting the stage for Messala's subsequent betrayal.
In his controversial book “The Celluloid Closet: Homosexuality in the Movies” Vito Russo writes about Judah and Messala’s relationship from the perspective of the film’s screenwriter Gore Vidal. According to Russo, Vidal brought the idea of an implied homosexual relationship to director William Wyler, who was frustrated with finding strong motivation for the men’s falling out, suggesting, “Look, let me try something. Let’s say these two guys when they were 15, 16 when they last saw each other, they had been lovers. And now they’re meeting again and the Roman wants to start it up [again]” (Russo). Wyler was initially skeptical, specifically pointing out the subtitle of the film “A Tale of the Christ”, but he was eventually convinced on the condition that Charlton Heston (Judah) would be unaware of the added backstory. “[Wyler] said, ‘You talk to anybody about this?’” “And [Vidal] said no. [Wyler] said, ‘You talk to Boyd, Messala. Don’t say anything to Heston (Judah) because [he] will fall apart. I’ll take care of him.’” Vidal’s own personal gay identity became a powerful narrative device, as he and Wyler framed Messala’s suggestions of political partnership as a one-sided desire for a rekindled romantic connection.
In consciously using homosexuality as a powerful storytelling tool, the writer and director elevated the relationship between Judah Ben-Hur and Messala from friends to lovers. This deliberate choice widened the emotional chasm between them and intensified the impact of Messala’s ultimate betrayal.
Snails and Oysters
“Spartacus” (1960) tells the story of a once-doomed slave leading a bloody revolt against the corrupt Roman state. This oppressive enemy is personified by Marcus Licinius Crassus, a lustful senator who aims to one day rule Rome. The crooked aristocrat commits atrocities worthy of hate from any audience, whether it be publicly crucifying an entire army or pitting selfless hero Spartacus against his right-hand man in a duel to death. On top of this, the creators of Spartacus characterize Crassus as queer in an effort to further vilify him.
As Crassus is bathed by his theatrical slave Antoninus, he attempts to court him using the extremely overt metaphor of likening male and female genitalia to snails and oysters. Though Antoninus euphemizes to the senator his own straight sexuality, Crassus coerces the wary servant into agreeing that a taste for snails, and in turn, homosexuality, “is all a matter of taste… and therefore not a question of morals.” (Spartacus 1960) This forcing of Antoninus to justify Crassus’s sexuality is likely intended to evoke fear of queer corruption of the youth, tying his depravity to a personal fear of the audience. Crassus then reveals to Antoninus his own bisexuality with the line “My taste includes both snails and oysters.” (Spartacus 1960) While the revelation of his queer identity adds meaningful depth to his character, its purpose is to separate Crassus from the heteronormativity of the 1960s audience and of the heroes of our story. Noticing Antoninus’s hesitation, Crassus doubles down on his pursuit, making it very clear that he really has no choice but to submit. Crassus once again speaks shrouded in metaphor, likening himself to the empire of Rome itself. This sickeningly visual monologue is worth quoting at length:
“No man can withstand Rome. No nation can withstand her. How much less- a boy. There's only one way to deal with Rome, Antoninus. You must serve her. You must abase yourself before her. You must grovel at her feet. You must love her.” (Spartacus 1960)
In a vacuum, Crassus’s relentless sexual pursuit is undeniably sinister. Couple this with fear amongst 1960s audiences of queer people corrupting and indoctrinating the youth, especially young innocent boys like Antoninus, and you have a recipe for an intricately horrid villain. The creators of Spartacus (1960) intentionally used queerness as a tool to powerfully characterize their villain as a twisted sexual deviant.
8 Foot God-King
Zack Snyder’s “300” (2006) is a whirlwind comic-book-inspired hack’n’slash centered around Spartan King Leonidus. As the tensions rise between the Greeks and the Persians, the latter plans an invasion of Grecian soil. Against the wishes of his allies and peers, Leonidus takes 300 of the most adept Spartan soldiers as his “personal guard” to hold off the unfathomably large Persian horde led by the mysteriously powerful King Xerxes.
Leonidus and his soldiers are designed to mimic the exaggerated image that pops into viewers' heads when they think of a Spartan soldier: unimaginably violent, incomparably skilled, and impossibly muscular machines of war. Xerxes, however, is portrayed significantly differently. While he is as muscular and commanding as his Spartan counterparts and stands at a staggering eight feet tall, aspects such as his effeminate body language, intricate jewelry, and openness to sex play into widespread gay stereotypes. Not only does this once again separate the villain from the obnoxiously heterosexual protagonists, Leonidus in particular, but this juxtaposition of the masculine and feminine is key in making the omnipotent Xerxes as mysterious and intimidating as possible. This queer characterization was absolutely intentional: in an Entertainment Weekly interview that has since been deleted following backlash, Zach Snyder is quoted as saying “What's more scary to a 20-year-old boy than a giant god-king who wants to have his way with you?” Xerxes is a titan of both power and pleasure. He embodies the heterosexual image of queerness and was designed this way to further intimidate the target audience of young men.
Closing
Queerness is an extremely powerful characterization tool, and its frequent use in toga movies demonstrates this. Whether used to deepen perceived emotional bonds, vilify an antagonist, or separate a character from a predominately straight audience, its use has been consistent and intentional. I find it fascinating to look back at these films and attempt to distinguish what would be different without the implementation of queer identities. Would Judah’s story of revenge in “Ben Hur: A Tale of the Christ” (1959) have been as compelling if it weren't for his sexual tension with Messala? Would Marcus Licinus Crassus have appeared as horrible of a villain if it weren't for his attempted seduction of his male slave? Would Persian God-King Xerxes of “300” (2006) have been as enthralling of a villain if it weren’t for his androgyny and portrayal of queer stereotypes? All these questions point to the same conclusion: the use of queer identities and character traits is invaluable in creating a compelling toga movie with engaging characters.