Within a couple years of the release of Cecil B. DeMille's Samson and Delilah in 1949, most of the major (and some minor) studios were releasing or planning entries in the suddenly-rejuvenated Biblical Epic — or larger "Swords and Sandal" — genre. Films like David and Bathsheba (1951) and Julius Caesar (1953) updated these ancient spectacles with Technicolor and, soon, wide screen formats, often packaged with overture, entr'acte, intermission — and eventually as VHS "two-reelers". Counting both Quo Vadis and imitator Sign of the Cross, the story of Christ vs. Caesar has been told in film about once a decade since the first year of last century; starting with the Mervyn LeRoy production in 1951, the conflict proliferated on film screens through the 1950s.

LeRoy's version of the story is a solid Biblical epic that restrains the excesses the genre — or it seems at times — was invented to indulge. The story is familiar: victorious commander Marcus Vincinius prepares for Rome's equivalent of the ticker-tape parade at the home of friends, retired General Plautius and his wife Pomponia. There he meets and falls for their adopted daughter, Lygia, child of conquered royalty, who had been brought to Rome as a hostage — along with her loyal protector, the giant slave Ursus. Marcus smugly invites Lygia to his Triumphal Entry and she turns him down cold. There's something odd about the whole household, something having to do with another guest, Paul, who is introduced as a philosopher but we recognize as the Apostle just returned from one of his missionary journeys. Marcus pulls rank as a Roman hero and has ownership of Lygia transferred to him, but aided by Ursus, she goes into hiding. Thus is set up the common tactic of such films, luring a Roman into deeper exploration of this mysterious sect of Christ-worshippers. There's an underground church gathering very reminiscent of that in Sign of the Cross, here led by Paul and a very papal Peter. In flashbacks the latter recalls his personal experiences with Christ (one of these is an especially silly DaVinci-like Last Supper). But as Peter recites the Beatitudes, Marcus begins a change of heart that ultimately changes Lygia's heart toward him: the sticking point remains, however — Christ or Rome.

Robert Taylor is an unfortunately quite stiff and plebian Roman hero, without the Imperial demeanor of a Richard Burton or Russell Crowe. Peter Ustinov, on the other hand, makes a marvelous Nero, as decadent but more likeable than Charles Laughton. And Nero's burning of Rome in this film is right up there with the burning of Atlanta in Gone With the Wind (this became MGM's biggest film right after GWTW), a gaudy spectacle with Nero watching and "fiddling" above. Other spectacle includes Marcus's Triumphal Entry, a celebration of Roman Power almost as fevered as Triumph of the Will. They include that practically un-Roman touch, a guy riding in the chariot behind Marcus who frequently reminds him, "Remember, thou are only a man," a reminder Nero doesn't get until his bitter end. The climactic arena sequence is not squeezed for sanctimonious titillation quite as in DeMille, and no matter the filmmakers' motivations, the spectacle of martyrs and lions is sure to move the jaded and bloodthirsty audience, which includes of course the movie viewers. The ending features both both religious martyrdoms (including Peter's upside-down crucifixion) and an abrupt political revolution, as freedom-loving Romans are inspired to defeat tyranny. A more subtle metaphor for the effect of Christ on Rome is the subplot featuring a a slave girl who gradually turns her cold and brutal master into someone capable of receiving and returning that love.

Quo Vadis was remade again in 1988 and more recently in 2001 by Polish director Jerzy Kawalerowicz.