A broad range of experience and the skills to handle diverse situations is usually thought to be an asset. However, it seems that William Wyler's mastery of a wide variety of film genres is precisely what caused him to be devalued by many film scholars. Indeed, the current status of and the problem with Wyler is summed up by Jan Herman, “Today, despite his extraordinary accomplishments, Wyler is hidden from view.” A similar assessment would lead columnist David B. Green, in 2015, to christen Wyler, “the most famous director you never heard of.” Wyler often proclaimed his desire to attempt every type of film. When asked why he accepted the project of the 1959 version of Ben-Hur, he replied: “I said it would be intriguing to see if I could make a Cecil B. DeMille picture.” The venue was not important to Wyler. The challenge for him was to tell a story in the clearest and most understandable way for the audience, regardless of the material. This diversity, however, worked against recognition as an auteur, for when he did agree to helm Ben-Hur, the auteurists declared it a blatantly crass attempt at simply making money. Wyler did nothing to assuage them; he stated quite openly, “I thought this picture gonna make a lots of money, and maybe I’ll get some of it.” A more serious reason for Wyler shepherding this project was given by producer Sam Zimbalist who “wanted Wyler to give … the picture what it needed—body, depth, intimacy—the sophisticated treatment for which Wyler's work was prized.” So, despite those who may see Wyler as only a gifted craftsman and not a true artist, Zimbalist's desire for Wyler's hand was the recognition of the director's most valued skill—breathing life into characters and examining the complexities of human relationships.