Posts Tagged ‘Tuppenny Frowsers’

Cecil B. DeMille’s Samson and Delilah

May 13, 2010

Beefy Landers and Slanket Wurzel in 'Samson and Delilah'

I have not seen Cecil B. DeMille’s ‘Samson and Delilah’ as I am not a member of its target audience (deranged 1950s fruit loops living in nuclear bunkers with corned-beef breath). Nor do I intend to review it. Instead, I have copied and pasted the following extract from Harry Pudlinger’s seminal biography of DeMille, entitled ‘16mm Jesus’. Here it is:

Cecil B. DeMille is sitting in a Hollywood office fellating a veritable Big Bertha of a stogie. “Nyeah” he says. “Nyeah. Bring in the next one.” The assistant shouts: “Samson number 13, please enter Mr DeMille’s office.”

A stooped-up dumpling pads in on a sad set of thunder thighs. This rough-edged hunk of Christmas chicken has seen better days (only slightly better days, mind).

“Turn round” says DeMille. The hopeful thespian obliges, revealing a slope of back-fat and a muff of greying hair spilling out of the seat of his trousers. He twitches his neck, causing his permed mullet to cascade about his shoulders like a dismal car wash manned by a blank-eyed mouth-breather. “I had it done special” says the actor.

“Read out these lines” says DeMille, passing the poor sap a segment of script.

“What have you done with my hair, you odious, hoofed frump?” the would-be-Samson intones with an ululating trill intended, no doubt, to emulate the furious passion of a cuckolded booby, but sounding, in actual fact, like a pubescent fishmonger at the midday market.

“You stink” says DeMille, “get outta my head you grizzly fuck”. The oaf obliges, impassively. “Next” he cries.


Two years later, DeMille is overseeing the shooting of the final scene of his Biblical epic ‘Samson and Delilah’. A bald, blind Teuton of a pseudo-Jew practically grooves the living Moses out of a polystyrene pillar, causing 20kg of cardboard temple to rain down on the heads of a multitude of under-paid Philistines. “Breeeooorgghhh. Barurgle. Graaarrrr” he exclaims, “Damn you Delilah you inconstant fatty. I should have left you at the auto-shop you tuppenny frowser. Curses upon the mother that popped out such a duplicitous pig. Curses upon the father who stumped up a Poundland Piggy-Bank of a dowry to be rid of such a bad egg.”

The set implodes, the philistines weep. Samson continues to bleat and huff in the wreckage, invoking the great Jehovah like a cat trapped in a duvet.  “Cut” shouts DeMille, and everyone – Philistines and Israelites, stars, extras and supporting actors – climbs out of the spongy ruins of the phoney temple. Everyone cheers and everyone claps wildly. Then there is silence. All eyes are on their captain. Everyone is looking at DeMille. But DeMille is staring at the sky.

“Beat that God you B-Movie Bastard” he screams.