Robert Rossen had a massive problem. By 1955, the director was trying to out-spectacle the spectacles. He wanted to capture the sheer, world-burning ambition of the Macedonian king, but honestly, he ended up with a beautiful, bloated mess. Alexander the Great 1956 is one of those movies that shouldn't work, often doesn't, but remains essential viewing for anyone who loves the "swords and sandals" era.
It's weird.
Richard Burton, sporting a wig that looks like it was stolen from a Greek goddess, stares into the middle distance for three hours. He's playing a man who conquered the known world before he could legally rent a car in modern America. The film attempts to be a psychological study, a political thriller, and an epic war movie all at once. It mostly succeeds at being a very expensive costume party. But there's something about it. The grit is real.
The Problem with Richard Burton’s Wig and Alexander the Great 1956
If you’ve seen the posters, you know the vibe. Gold armor. Bright red capes. Cinematic 1950s Technicolor. But the actual film is much darker and more brooding than the marketing suggests. When we talk about Alexander the Great 1956, we have to talk about the casting of Richard Burton.
At the time, Burton was the "it" boy of the stage. He had this voice—this deep, gravelly, Shakespearean resonance that could make a grocery list sound like a declaration of war.
Rossen cast him because he wanted gravity. He didn't want a generic action star; he wanted someone who could convey the internal torment of a man who thought he was a god. The result? A performance that feels like it belongs in a different movie. Burton is intense. He’s theatrical. He spends a lot of time looking like he’s trying to remember if he left the stove on back in Pella.
The wig, though. We have to address the blonde wig.
It's iconic for all the wrong reasons. It’s meant to signify his Macedonian heritage and his "divine" golden locks, but it often distracts from the heavy political maneuvering happening in the script. You’ve got Fredric March playing Philip II of Macedon with incredible, chewed-up scenery energy, and then you have Burton looking like a very intense surfer who just read the Iliad.
A Script That Refused to Be a Simple Action Movie
Most 1950s epics followed a predictable beat. Hero is born. Hero suffers. Hero wins a big battle. Hero dies or rides into the sunset. Alexander the Great 1956 hates that structure.
Robert Rossen, who also wrote the screenplay, was obsessed with the "why" of Alexander. He didn't just want to show the Battle of Gaugamela; he wanted to show the daddy issues that led to it. The first hour of the film is almost entirely focused on the toxic relationship between Alexander, his father Philip, and his mother Olympias (played with terrifying precision by Danielle Darrieux).
It’s basically a family drama with spears.
Philip is a drunk. He’s brilliant, but he’s a mess. He resents his son’s potential. Olympias is whispering in Alexander’s ear that he isn’t even Philip’s son—that he’s the son of Zeus. Imagine growing up with that. No wonder the kid wanted to invade Persia.
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The dialogue is dense. It’s not "pass me the grapes" dialogue. It’s "the world is a singular fruit waiting to be plucked" dialogue. Some critics at the time hated it. They wanted The Robe or Quo Vadis. They wanted chariot races. Instead, they got a three-hour dissertation on the loneliness of power.
Why the History Buffs Actually Kind of Like It
Despite the Hollywood gloss, Rossen did his homework.
- He consulted with historians to get the Phalanx formations right.
- The costumes, while bright, reflect the transition from Greek to Persian styles as Alexander moves East.
- The film acknowledges the "League of Corinth" and the complex Greek politics that most movies ignore in favor of "Spartans are cool."
Usually, Hollywood treats history like a suggestion. Here, it’s treated like a burden. You can feel the weight of the research in every scene. It makes the movie slow, yeah, but it also makes it feel more "real" than the CGI-heavy Oliver Stone version from 2004. There's a tangible quality to the sets. When you see thousands of extras—real people, not digital clones—standing in the Spanish heat (where it was filmed), you feel the scale.
The Production That Almost Broke United Artists
Making Alexander the Great 1956 was a logistical nightmare.
Rossen was filming in Spain during a time when the infrastructure wasn't exactly ready for a massive Hollywood production. He used the Spanish army as extras. Thousands of soldiers were dressed in linothorax armor and told to march across dusty plains.
The budget ballooned to over $4 million, which was a staggering amount back then. For context, that's roughly $45 million today, but without the benefit of modern filming efficiencies.
United Artists was terrified. They had this massive, intellectual epic on their hands and they didn't know how to sell it. They tried to market it as a romance. They put Claire Bloom (who plays Barsine) on the posters, even though her role is relatively small compared to the political infighting.
The film's length was also a sticking point. The original cut was significantly longer. Even the theatrical version feels like it’s breathing heavily by the time Alexander reaches the Indus River. The pacing is weirdly lopsided; we spend forever in Macedonia and then basically sprint through the conquest of Egypt and Persia.
Comparing the 1956 Version to the 2004 Reboot
You can't talk about the 1956 film without mentioning Oliver Stone’s attempt.
Both directors fell into the same trap. They both got hypnotized by Alexander’s personality. Stone went for the "rock star" vibe with Colin Farrell. Rossen went for the "philosopher king" vibe with Burton.
Interestingly, the 1956 version handles the relationship between Alexander and Philip much better. Fredric March is simply a superior Philip. He captures the transition from a tribal warlord to a king of the Greeks in a way that feels grounded. You understand why Alexander feared him and why he wanted to surpass him.
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In the 2004 version, the battles are better (obviously), but the 1956 version has a certain dignity. It doesn't rely on slow-motion or eagle-eye shots. It relies on the face of its lead actor. Even with the wig, Burton’s eyes tell the story of a man who is slowly losing his mind as he realizes that conquering the world doesn't actually make you happy.
The Visuals: CinemaScope and Spanish Landscapes
The use of CinemaScope was a big deal.
The screen is wide. Really wide. Rossen uses that space to show the isolation of the characters. Often, you’ll have Alexander on one side of the frame and his generals on the far other side, with nothing but empty space between them. It’s a visual metaphor for his "divinity"—he’s standing apart from humanity.
The Spanish locations served as a decent stand-in for the rugged terrain of Greece and the high plateaus of Iran. The dust is real. The sweat is real. There’s a scene where the army is crossing the Gedrosian Desert, and you can almost feel the dehydration through the screen.
It lacks the "plastic" look of many modern period pieces. The armor looks heavy because it probably was. The swords don't look like foam props.
Why Did It "Fail" at the Box Office?
Well, it didn't exactly "bomb," but it didn't set the world on fire either.
The audience in 1956 wanted escapism. They wanted The Ten Commandments (which also came out that year). They wanted Charlton Heston parting the Red Sea with booming music and clear-cut heroes and villains.
Alexander the Great 1956 gave them a protagonist who was kind of a jerk.
Alexander burns down Persepolis in a drunken fit. He kills his friends. He becomes increasingly paranoid. He’s not a "hero" in the traditional sense. He’s a hurricane. People didn't know who to root for. By the time the movie ends with his death in Babylon, the audience was just as exhausted as his troops.
Actionable Insights for Watching the Film Today
If you’re going to sit down and watch this three-hour beast, you need a game plan.
Don't expect Gladiator. If you go in looking for high-octane action, you're going to be bored within twenty minutes. Instead, watch it as a character study.
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Watch the background. The production design is incredible. Look at the way the Persian court is depicted compared to the Macedonian camps. The contrast between the "barbarian" West and the "civilized" East is one of the film’s strongest visual themes.
Focus on Fredric March. His performance as Philip is arguably the best thing in the movie. He portrays a man who knows his time is passing and is both proud and terrified of the monster he’s created in his son.
Listen to the score. Mario Nascimbene’s music is bombastic and classic. It’s the sound of the 1950s epic at its peak.
How to Find the Best Version
Don't watch a compressed YouTube rip. The colors in the 1956 film are vital.
The Blu-ray releases have done a decent job of restoring the Technicolor palette. You want to see the deep blues and the vibrant golds. If the film looks washed out, the "vibe" is lost.
The Legacy of a Flawed Masterpiece
Ultimately, Alexander the Great 1956 is a reminder of a time when Hollywood took massive risks on intellectual properties.
They spent a fortune to make a movie about a dead king’s psychological profile. It’s clunky. The pacing is all over the place. The ending feels abrupt. But it has a soul. It’s trying to say something about the nature of ambition and the cost of greatness.
It tells us that even if you conquer everything from the Balkans to the Himalayas, you’re still just a guy with a complicated relationship with your mom and a dad you can never quite please.
Next time you're scrolling through a streaming service and see that gold-tinted thumbnail, give it a shot. Just prepare yourself for the wig.
Practical Next Steps for Enthusiasts
- Compare the opening. Watch the first 30 minutes of this film and then the first 30 minutes of the 2004 version. It’s a masterclass in how different eras of filmmaking approach the same historical "facts."
- Read the Arrian and Plutarch accounts. If you want to see where Rossen got his dialogue, look at the ancient sources. You’ll realize a lot of the "stilted" speech is actually lifted from historical records.
- Check out the Spanish filming locations. Many of the plains used in the film are still accessible near Madrid and are now part of cinematic history tours.
The movie isn't perfect. It's barely "good" by some modern standards. But it’s fascinating. And in a world of cookie-cutter blockbusters, a fascinating disaster is always worth the price of admission.