Walk through a Bosch painting and marvel at the excesses and debauchery. Critics don't take this seriously because a porn producer snipped it up and inserted his own scenes. It is what it is. A near masterpiece.

Now I'll be honest, I think John Hurt ("I Claudius" - BBC - 1976) made a better Caligula, but Malcolm McDowell is still pretty convincing as the despotic sexual deviant who held the ultimate power in the Roman Empire for four years. It ought not to have been a surprise that he turned out the way he did when we are introduced to the decrepitly monstrous Tiberius (Peter O'Toole) on his island paradise of Capri. He lives there in a court of acolyte nymphs and "fishes" guided only by the vaguest semblance of decency from his friend Nerva (Sir John Gielgud). When that brief sequence of hedonism is swiftly over, our antihero assumes the throne and proceeds to share it with his sister Drusilla (Teresa Ann Savoy) with whom he enjoys a pretty incestuous relationship. There's pressure on him to marry, though, and father a legitimate child - so along comes Caesonia (Helen Mirren) - a woman all too keen to father the imperial progeny whilst enjoying a life of luxury and depravity. That's the history bit - which is really all rather peripheral to this shockingly scripted exercise in soft-porn which we are now going to watch in all it's three hour glory. It's clear that no expense has been spared on the look of the film, and to be fair to director Tinto Brass he does offer us quite a convincing glimpse at the excessiveness of a despotic court ruled by a monarch who believed himself a god - and who had few prepared to argue. It's maybe on that last point that "Longinus" (John Steiner) takes a decisive stance. He is the chancellor who increasingly finds himself, along with Praetorian Commander Chaerea (Paolo Bonacelli), more and more disgusted by the antics of this man with the thinnest grasp on reality. There's nudity all over the shop to the point that it becomes innocuous and once you've got used to that the rest of it fails to carry what could have been a blank cheque opportunity to portray the pivot of historical decadence. Instead, we have McDowell hamming it up energetically as he flounces around, scantily clad, but very little else. It's tawdry, no other word for it - and the unwelcome intermission completely throttled whatever pace there was as it sort of lumbered along in the most clunky of episodic fashions to an denouement that history told us about nearly two thousand years ago. It doesn't seem to know whether it's a movie or a sequence of short theatrical plays, Mirren adds precisely nothing and the magnificently odious O'Toole isn't around long enough to make enough of a difference. It's a shambles, certainly, and this ultimate cut is far, far too long - but somehow it's not unwatchable. You might never eat cottage cheese again!