Famous American film producer and director Cecil B. DeMille, better known by his nickname “C.B.,” was an influential figure in the establishment of the Hollywood film industry and the birth of the Paramount studio. He achieved superstardom during the Golden Age of American cinema. Wearing his signature puttees, yelling commands via a megaphone, and having an attentive chair boy two lock-steps behind him, he became the classic picture of a film director.

This legendary, underappreciated auteur was instrumental in transforming the modest orange orchard in California into the global epicenter of filmmaking and in making the name “Hollywood” synonymous with prosperity. A life and career for DeMille were epic escapades in and of themselves. He skillfully maneuvered through the West Coast genesis of this billion dollar industry, the arrival of sound films, the introduction of color films, the Great Depression, WWI, WWII, the Korean War, changing demographics, fads, Communist hysteria, the challenge of television, cutthroat competitors, bosses who meddled, censors who controlled, politicians who agitated, conceited actors, and a slew of drug, sex, and murder scandals involving Hollywood. The unstoppable DeMille was unfazed by impossibilities such as great distances, enormous workloads, personal difficulties, and illness; only death could halt him.

With seventy feature films under his belt, this self-proclaimed expert in pop culture became “Hollywood’s most successful money director." Despite being hailed as the “bathtub king” in his day, Cecil B. DeMille is more famous for his spectacular epics and horrific mob scenes. As Aubrey Malone playfully put it, "In the beginning was the epic, and the epic was with DeMille, and the epic was DeMille.” His Oscar-winning circus picture is often associated with him, along with his colorful theatrics and worldwide reputation as “the Barnum of Hollywood films.” From 1952’s The Greatest Show on Earth to his four unforgettable Bible images His works include The Ten Commandments (1923), The King of Kings (1927), Samson and Delilah (1949), and The Ten Commandments (1956), among others. It is almost impossible to mention his name without also adding “master of the biblical epic.”

Nevertheless, DeMille is still best regarded as Hollywood’s unknown, even though he is famous, wealthy, and prolific. “For such an auteur, of such world-wide renown, the ignorance with regard to his best work must surely be considered peculiar, if not astounding,” said Simon Louvish, his biographer, and “De Mille rarely receives the serious academic recognition and study that he deserves,” said Eric Smoodin, a film scholar.

He was “one of the most complex and multi-faceted men in America,” and “no one on the Hollywood scene ever contradicted his legends more consistently than he did as you got to know him better and better.” This contradictory nature is a contributing factor to his critical apathy, devaluation, and dismissal. Consider Cecil: stereotyped as a romantic Salvationist, a kind man-of-God, and a cinematic lay preacher—yet also a sleazy filmmaker who gave epic sex-and-sin while posing as a moral man. Working in an industry populated by Jewish immigrants, he was a Freemason, very religious but not a churchgoer, and a firm believer in reincarnation. His father was an Episcopalian lay pastor, and his mother was Sephardic Jewish. Though he was wed for life, conservative moralist DeMille had many mistresses that his wife approved of. He was faithful to each of them, and they were loyal to him as well.

He was both a perfectionist filmmaker and a hokum merchant, playing with the historically ridiculous while feeding the public’s desires and fantasies. He embraced contemporary societal themes like love, divorce, and marriage in his films, despite being a skilled actor with a background in American theater and a man of the Victorian age. Critics said he was dishonest, stuck in the past, and a pioneer in the art and science of filmmaking while also selling America and Hollywood.

Even though he joined a union and picketed, DeMille was a fierce anti-Communist and an archconservative who was a devoted citizen of the United States. Although he was a tyrannical Paramount employee and an auteur individualist, he was a lover of freedom and democracy and had a short stint in political office. He spied for the FBI and CIA. He poured his heart and soul into his Lux Theater Radio profession, which he adored, and he eventually donated it—along with a fortune—to charitable organizations, favored workers, and those in need. He enjoyed innovative filmmaking, success, and profits. Behind his meticulously constructed enfant terrible persona, he was a devoted, giving, and very private guy who aggressively courted the public and became a celebrity larger than any of his film actors. Possibly Cecil B. DeMille was Cecil B. deMille’s best invention, according to Robert S. Birchard.

Even if the intellectuals thought DeMille was just a crude artist playing to the masses, the masses adored this maestro of mass entertainment and used their bums-on-seat voting to keep him in the spotlight and financially secure. Priests and parishioners enthusiastically advocated his biblical epics for children, but they were also accused of shoving more sex and depravity into the audience’s faces for longer than anybody else. As a result, they were either praised as the apex of cinematic religion or scoffed at as depraved and devilish. His films were said to have relied on tired clichés, but what many failed to see were the numerous religious and secular undercurrents that were expertly woven within them. That is why DeMille’s reputation desperately needs a makeover; critics never ventured “beyond the valley of the wisecrack” while critiquing his work.