I adore the grand scale of Alexandria, the chariots rolling under huge camera cranes to frame the detailed costume of Cleopatra herself. Even the horses were adorned with gilded hooves. Liz Taylor was so stoic as hundreds participated in a choreographed worship that was not entirely false, all eyes following her deliberate motions. She knew this power and was comfortable being a royal. I became mesmerized as I watched the passionate takes and the off-camera brush-bys—it did not take much to notice the love affair of art imitating life, an illicit carbon copy of the one that leads to the eventual doom of a kingdom, and what would be a substantial financial failure. Such a story replayed before my eyes. Romance, murder, deceit. The fate of nations. Was there ever a woman that powerful, to le
