Gold Trappings and 'Erotic Vagrancy': How Elizabeth Taylor's 'Cleopatra' Nearly Burned Down a Major Studio

In late 1960, executives at 20th Century Fox thought they were making a quick, efficient sword-and-sandal epic to pad their quarterly bottom line. Instead, they handed Elizabeth Taylor a pen, a contract, and the keys to the kingdom—unknowingly kicking off the most expensive, dramatic, and financially reckless production in cinematic history.

Taylor made history before a single frame of film was exposed. She demanded a record-shattering $1 million salary—worth nearly $10 million today—alongside ten percent of the film's gross revenues. It was a deal that permanently transferred power from cigar-chomping studio moguls to magnetic movie stars.

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When filming initially kicked off in England, bad luck hit immediately. Unrelenting London fog rotted the expensive outdoor sets, while icy winds sent tropical plants imported for Nile scenes into shock. Taylor herself fell gravely ill with a life-threatening bout of pneumonia, forcing doctors to perform an emergency tracheotomy. After months of delays and over $7 million spent, the studio had just 16 minutes of usable film to show for it.

Desperate to save the project, Fox swapped directors, hired Joseph L. Mankiewicz, scrapped every frame of existing footage, and moved the entire circus to Cinecittà Studios in Rome. There, the budget exploded into pure, unadulterated madness. Stonemasons constructed a replica of the Roman Forum larger than the actual historical original. Taylor cycled through 65 custom-designed outfits, including an eye-watering dress woven entirely from 24-karat gold thread.

Then came the explosive off-screen romance that captivated the world. When Taylor shared scenes with Welsh actor Richard Burton, life quickly imitated art. Both actors were married to other people, and their passionate, highly public affair drew frantic packs of Italian paparazzi who boarded helicopters just to photograph the lovers on private yachts.

The moral outcry was immediate. The Vatican's official newspaper publicly condemned the pair for "erotic vagrancy," while a U.S. congresswoman petitioned to ban Burton from re-entering the country. Behind closed doors, studio executives were tearing their hair out over rising costs, while secretly marveling at the millions of dollars in free front-page publicity.

By the time *Cleopatra* finally hit theaters in 1963, its budget had ballooned from $2 million to an astonishing $44 million—the equivalent of more than $400 million today. To stay afloat, Fox had to liquidate over 200 acres of its prized backlot in Los Angeles, land that eventually became Century City.

In modern film circles, debate still rages over whether the four-hour epic is a misunderstood masterpiece or a bloated monument to executive hubris. One commentator noted that while the movie actually became the highest-grossing film of 1963, its budget was so absurd that it took years for the studio to break even. Another argued that without *Cleopatra* pushing the studio system to the brink of extinction, the wild, artistic revolution of 1970s American cinema might never have happened.

On the latest episode of the podcast, the hosts tear into every absurd detail of this backlot disaster, from the gold-threaded costumes to the Vatican-shaking love affair that broke Hollywood.