By Peg Aloi

After 45 years, this controversial juggernaut of a film has finally arrived, in all its ambitious, hot, messy, gratuitous splendor. Do see it on the big screen if at all possible.

Caligula: The Ultimate Cut, directed by Tinto Brass. At the Somerville Theatre in Davis Square through August 22.

Malcolm McDowell and Helen Mirren sharing an intimate moment in Caligula: The Ultimate Cut. Photo: Vertigo Releasing

The year was 1979. Disco was not quite dead, and the terror incognita of contemporary cinema was taking a breather following a brilliant decade of experimentation and visionary artistry. The publisher of Penthouse Magazine, Bob Guccione, teamed up with award-winning Italian film director Tinto Brass and co-producer Giancarlo Lui to make a sumptuously erotic period film about Caligula, the notorious Roman emperor who could perhaps best be described as a psychopathic libertine. Could there be better timing for a pornographic costume drama about the slow, crumbling fall of Rome? We were at the dawn of the ’80s, a decade that would become renowned for its embrace of decadence, odd social trends, and artistic fluff. After pertinent narrative scenes were deleted so that more graphic pornographic material could be added (per order of Guccione), Brass (who was eventually barred from the editing room) disowned the controversial project along with screenwriter Gore Vidal (whose prominence lent the unusual project some semblance of legitimacy at first). The sensational turmoil of the film’s creation and reception is chronicled in Giancarlo Lui’s 1981 “making of” documentary.

Caligula starred a number of iconic English actors, including Peter O’Toole and John Gielgud, all of whom did their best to distance themselves from the film after major film critics fired off scandalized and scathing reviews. The chorus of disapproval included Roger Ebert, who referred to the movie as “sickening, utterly worthless, shameful trash.” Malcolm McDowell and Helen Mirren were the stars, as the titular Caligula and his wife, Caesonia. McDowell was already famous for his innovative performances in Stanley Kubrick’s A Clockwork Orange (1971) and Lindsay Anderson’s O Lucky Man! (1973), which he co-starred in with Mirren. Meanwhile, the talented Shakespearean actress had attracted attention for delivering a delirious cheesecake-stuffed turn in Ken Russell’s Savage Messiah (1972). It seemed almost inevitable that the two would be paired up again in a noteworthy  — and controversial  — British film. At that point, Mirren’s career had begun to catch fire (she also starred in John Boorman’s Excalibur, released in 1980), but Caligula nearly tanked it.

As we learned in Boogie Nights (1997), the world of  ’70s porn may have been seedy, but there were some filmmakers and performers who saw what they did as art, and, compared to what porn cinema became after the shift from celluloid to videotape, it was, indeed, akin to art. But in the early ’80s, making porn was disparaged, dismissed as a lowly endeavor. It was certainly not something an actor could be proud of. This raises a provocative question: did Caligula’s actors know what they were getting into? After all, the film’s major producer owned Penthouse. Perhaps they were caught up in the thrill of being part of a project that sought to elevate porn to arthouse status. On top of that, the involvement of artistic luminaries like Vidal might well have been enough to convince them that the project would be seen as respectable and admirable. But the film kicked off a salacious fracas that hovered over it for decades (certainly helping it attain cult status). O’Toole and Gielgud were already well-established actors, but McDowell and Mirren were still young. It’s not surprising they felt compelled to separate themselves from the resulting box office disaster.

The film’s top-notch cast, ostentatious sets, gorgeous costume designs, dreamy cinematography, and daring blend of verité and artifice (three pregnant women were brought in to film a scene of live birth featuring Caesonia) were signposts of artistic professionalism. But, well, viewers just could not get past the scenes involving orgies and gory murders. Guccione’s demands may have been groundbreaking, but the execution was flawed because of his egotistical refusal to collaborate or compromise. He was a porn purveyor, first and foremost, and that overshadowed whatever cinematic aspirations the production clamored for.

I recall seeing a supposedly “unabridged” version of Caligula on video some years ago. Despite finding the nearly endless parade of nude actors and frequent orgy scenes intriguing from a sociological standpoint, the film itself felt rather dull. I loved the performances of McDowell and Mirren, but I have to admit that, at the time, I felt embarrassed for them. The producers had crafted a steamy, occasionally elegant film around them, a narrative that felt borderline visionary on its surface. But the film’s controversy overwhelmed its accomplishment: its artistic worth was buried beneath all the ugly reviews and midnight screenings on college campuses throughout the ’80s (attended for reasons both curious and lascivious, no doubt). But Caligula’s cult success can be attributed to more than its excessively lurid content. The film’s fine performances, despite being hacked to bits by Guccione and his henchmen, are still very much evident. And now, with the release of Caligula: The Ultimate Cut, these onscreen performances have been restored, fleshed out to their original vivid fullness.

Keep in mind: this is not just a restoration, but an entirely fresh cut of the film. Art historian Thomas Negovan worked with editor Aaron Shaps to create a wholly new version from footage previously relegated to the cutting room floor. It became clear to Negovan that many scenes had been excised from the original theatrical release version in order to make room for Guccione’s “vision” of a pornographic period epic. He set about locating the best bits of footage to add to the new cut. As a result, much of the previously discarded work of the outstanding cast is now being seen for the first time. This is a noteworthy cinematic event, marked by a premiere screening at the industry’s most prestigious venue, the 2023 Cannes Film Festival. And, while Caligula may not be a lost masterpiece, I can confidently assert that this new version resurrects and revalorizes what might have been, had the stars been aligned differently. After 45 years, this controversial juggernaut of a film has finally arrived, in all its ambitious, hot, messy, gratuitous splendor. Do see it on the big screen if at all possible.

Peg Aloi is a former film critic for the Boston Phoenix and member of the Boston Society of Film Critics, the Critics Choice Awards, and the Alliance for Women Film Journalists. She taught film studies in Boston for over a decade. She has written on film, TV, and culture for web publications like Time, Vice, Polygon, Bustle, Dread Central, Mic, Orlando Weekly, Refinery29, and Bloody Disgusting. Her blog “The Witching Hour” can be found on substack.