It’s been a few days since I watched Gladiator II, during which time the dopamine has firmly worn off and I’ve been wrapped up in writing and presented a paper on Those About to Die and comparing it to other cases of spectacle on screen. Gladiator II has been percolating in my brain, and I’ve been able to think about it a little more deeply, now that the popcorn has run out. There's a joke that graces my feed every now and again that pokes fun at the idea that if you enjoy music, literature or art, studying it at university will soon put paid to that. There's some truth in that, because we're taught to forensically analyse, instead of passively consume. That's certainly true of me and Gladiator. I first watched it as a teenager obsessed with the ancient Mediterranean, who never once dreamt that I'd one day get to properly dedicate myself to its study. My mouth hung open the entire time, at the score, at the aerial shots of a reconstructed city I hadn't yet seen the ruins of, to the sheer scale of it.
I thought about this a lot when the trailer for Gladiator II came out. In the intervening years, I've very recently earned two degrees and extensively researched and written about gladiators. 24 years ago I was a wide-eyed teen, and now I'm much older and (currently) write about gladiators full time. I've dipped my toes deep into the pool of classical reception, and have written about the movie from that standpoint. I enjoy classical reception - I love to see snippets of antiquity where I least expect them, and I love to see how the ancient world is woven into modern media. I had a little trepidation with Gladiator II, though. In writing about the movie, (because who wouldn't get a kick out of writing about one of their favourite movies?) I was obliged to read about the movie. And so I did, holing myself up in the library reading articles and chapters upon articles and chapters. I was instantly reminded of why I quit my English Lit A-level after a couple of months - deep engagement in a piece of media, really grappling with it and dissecting it to examine the entrails can really change how you think and feel about that media. I have now read all of these clever observations about fascist aesthetics, mixed constitutions and the agrarian ideals of the American dream. Worse, I'd just finished and submitted a lengthy study of usages of the film's script and imagery by various far right groups and individuals, using the (ample, as I see now) fuel provided in the movie to fan the flames of their shitty ideology. My beloved Gladiator has become 300.
I watched the sequel on the day it was released with anticipation and not a little trepidation. Nostalgia and nerves, all in one. And it was... fine. The kind of fine I'll watch again, probably. It's adequate. The aerial shots still made me shiver, but the niggles I now have about the original were all present and correct. This time I was bracing myself for more elements that would give me an uncomfortable feeling, when once upon a time they whooshed over my naive little head. To quote Sondheim: "isn't it nice to know a lot!? And a little bit not..." And you can't voice your anxiety on social media, because then you're the curmudgeon who doesn't realise that it's just a movie. Few things are ever just anything, but Gladiator II is apparently firmly just a movie. Except it isn't to me, because this is my subject now. I read about gladiators because I'm fascinated by them, and because I believe they're misrepresented by both Hollywood and, to be frank, various eminent scholars. One thing I quickly came to realise is that the arena is a place of far more nuance than we give it credit for, which is missing from what much of the public gets access to. I'm putting my money where my mouth is on this, and trying to put out as much objective, nuanced content as I can.
Working Classicists, always keen to produce content for enthusiasts of every level, asked me to provide a quick companion to Gladiator II, because within 24 hours of release they were already getting questions about what was real. I was delighted to oblige, because I genuinely love writing for people who are new to learning about the ancient world in general. There is no such thing as a basic or stupid question, and it may be a hangover from my tour guide/museum days but I just get such a kick out of teaching someone something cool that might be pretty new to them. And, to be frank, it can be a useful skill that takes time to hone. So I sat down and got writing. Quickly, I realised I needed to add a disclaimer: I'm not here to preach, and I'm not here to whinge. I'm just here to sort fact from fantasy. You can read what I came up with here, if you like. But people don’t like feeling lectured, so a waiver had to go in. There's the constant retort that 'everyone knows it's not accurate' so there's no point presenting our research to explain what is real and what isn't. I have two questions about this POV:
I do wonder if there isn't an element of hierarchy going on, regarding sub-topics. This goes for the public as well as for academics. Adaptations of Homer are something that can be acceptably cross examined because Homer is literature, and high-brow literature at that. See also: Shakespeare's history plays. Novels fill this same category if they are hardbacks with that snazzy gilt font on the jacket. They are deemed sophisticated and as such can be critiqued freely.
Gladiators are pulpy in comparison, I suppose. They're a base entertainment, with elements that fascinate the darkest corners of our minds in a way that isn't discussed in polite society. Because gladiation can be so easily dismissed as crude, it's all too tempting to not have those conversations that attempt to contextualise them. Hence why they lack nuance in material the public sees. You'll forgive me, then, if I was left a little cold by Gladiator II, which was distinctly lacking in the nuance department.
There’s also an assumption from the public that academics don’t read ‘high brow’ texts critically, instead placing them on high pedestals as works of art to be revered with a fervent devotion, like a sacred text. This couldn’t be further from the truth, with various philologists, historians and archaeologists scrutinising every last consonant and vowel. Whilst we’re at it, a good theologian will tell you the same about actual sacred texts, except they can name wars that have happened over translations and interpretations of those texts. Scrutiny at a deep level is literally in the job description, so if historians talk about the ancient world all day, you can’t expect them to clam up when they see it interpreted in the modern world.
I suppose any historian latches on to a person, event or institution because it fascinates them, because it is interesting. I now know of a dozen gladiatorial stories - fragments of stories, really, that would make great movies. I've been trained to search for context clues and to read between lines, and much of my job is to construct a plausible frame around the little evidence I have. Plausible. There's the keyword. What is possible? What is probable? The joy of gladiators is that they provide such riveting narratives without the help of a screenwriter. The drama is built-in, and needs no fuss or fanciness to augment it. The first movie trod a fine, quite wobbly line between plausibility and dubiousness, but the reason I think it still holds up so well (and why I'll never quit it) is that it has a faint whiff of authenticity about it. This is probably due in an unknowable part to Kathleen Coleman, the professor hired to be their historical consultant. Most of Coleman's hard work did not make the final cut, and after seeing the movie Coleman asked that her name be taken off of the credits. Coleman wrote a chapter about her experience, entitled "The Pedant Goes to Hollywood: The Role of the Academic Consultant." You can read it here, with no paywall. If it wasn't in an edited volume dedicated to the movie, you'd barely guess which movie is being discussed. I read it as a scathing indictment on working with this particular set of writers, producers and Ridley Scott - that same Scott who told historians to shut the fuck up when they pointed out some inaccuracies in Napoleon. Her frustration is palpable, because she knows it could have been better.
It sounds, from this chapter and literally everything I have ever read about Ridley Scott, that he doesn’t like being questioned, or critiqued. After Dan Snow made a TikTok about Napoleon, Ridley had a tantrum and banned historians from coming anywhere near the Gladiator II set. It shows. One may even say that what he seems to want is unquestioning deference and adoration, like the deference and adoration people think academics reserve for Homer, and I doubt that he got that from Coleman. Good for her. What he seems to want is a starstruck yes-man who will let a dozen egregious things slide because they’re just happy to be there. Without wishing to sound mean, it looks like that’s exactly what Ridley found for this sequel, leading to the consultant being invited to fact check the film he consulted on and being forced to admit it’s chockablock with anachronisms. But, he says, Ridley is an artist. This is not a documentary. The insinuation here is that it’s Ridley’s genius vision, and that authenticity couldn’t enhance the finished product if it tried.
It's giving Annie Edison in the 'Redux' episode.
For this to be true, the movie had better be good. When Ridley proudly boasted that he refused to consult historians for Napoleon, (even though he seems to have,) was the genius vision enough to make a great movie? Hell no, do you know anyone who liked it? Let’s be really honest, when it comes to historical epics, Ridley has more misses than hits. To be charitable, perhaps this movie would have been better if Ridley hadn’t thrown his toys out of his pram and allowed a historian (any historian) on set. It’s no secret that consultants work more efficiently if they’re permitted on the property.
Gladiator II is OK. It’s mid, it’s meh. It’s mediocre. The combat and aerial shots are still pretty great. The plot, pacing, dialogue and characterisations are all inferior to the original. CGI baboons look worse than a real tiger did 24 years ago. It’s not particularly immersive. Certain scenes require the suspension of disbelief, which is easier to do with speculative fiction rather than historical drama. Viewers are happier to accept the implausibility if the protagonist has superpowers, or is on an alien planet, or has a pet dragon. Suspension of disbelief is the Achilles’ Heel of immersive ‘historical drama,’ though; as plausibility fades in the face of improbability.
When improbable elements start being sprinkled in, plausible elements start to masquerade as improbable. Even Charlotte Higgins, an ancient historian, commented that the Colosseum wouldn’t have been flooded in her list of anachronisms, despite very convincing evidence that it absolutely was. Herein lies the rub: ancient spectacle doesn’t need implausible anachronisms - it is perfectly capable of still being a spectacle on its own merit. The same is true of the rest of Roman history, generally.
Let’s go through a few alternatives that would have vastly improved the the vibe of the film:
Of course, there is a particular demographic that will forgive mutant baboons if they can find what they loved about the first film, and I suspect that there is an agenda behind why they don’t want minor anachronisms deflated lest the whole facade starts to crumble; Scott provides a very alluring version of Rome that appeals to wonky ideas of what it was like.
I feel comfortable saying this because I am nowhere near the rank of public historian that would ever be brought to his attention. But one does wonder why Scott is so determined to make historical dramas with so little history in them. Proud of it, in fact. Does he enjoy trolling historians? Does he revel in our frustration? Which secondary school history teacher hurt you, Ridley? He definitely seems to enjoy baiting us like a matador with a bull, or Lucius with that rhino. Why not go down the fantasy route, if so determined to make stuff up? Ah, but that still involves a deep engagement with scholarship if you want it to be any good. GRR Martin loved reading about the Wars of the Roses so much he created Westeros, a place that has dragons and ice zombies but is still a richly textured world only conceivable to a mind that has spent hours in libraries, been to the museums and sites, and talked to historians. Tolkien similarly created a universe and a narrative that felt fantastical, yet grounded in a profound understanding of myth and its reception. They both feel more historical than Gladiator II because that sheer amount of work can’t help but saturate every element of storytelling. It becomes real because it feels real. Even with Smaug and Shelob and hobbits. You want authenticity? You have to do the work. You want to still have fun with the unbelievable? Make it speculative fiction and go nuts. But don’t refuse to do the homework, make a movie that’s just fine and then complain that people who study and work on this as their vocation have something to say about it. That reeks of a fragile ego. Authenticity makes films better.
To wit: Russell Crowe may be popular as Maximus, but the CHOKEHOLD that Master and Commander has on fans is astounding, myself included. That’s a film that sandwiches minutiae between broadsides, and offers a complex portrait of male comradeship, friendship and masculinity. There’s more. Saving Private Ryan has a quasi-fictional plot, but the attention to detail and respect for the history took it (and its iconic opening scenes) from good to great. Band of Brothers is a masterpiece. Wolf Hall is just about as immersive as television can get, down to using candles as a sole source of light at night. My husband wouldn’t forgive me if I didn’t mention Sharpe at some point (though I’m a Hornblower girl at heart.) None of these examples are 100% accurate but there’s a reason historians quibble less with them. Films that play fast and loose by cutting corners don’t age well - see Braveheart, Robin Hood: Prince of Thieves, Troy and of course, 300. Authentic details aren’t pedantry, they’re an expression of passion, and an addition that elevates the vibe of any movie. Authentic details are also a demonstration of care, so it is no coincidence that you find authenticity paired with thoughtful dialogue, a meticulously paced plot, and layered character studies.
Compare Coleman's experiences to those of Rebecca Usherwood as consultant on the Domina series. Usherwood speaks of a collaborative process with mutual enthusiasm and desire for authenticity. Usherwood's efforts paid off, too, because the series is commendable. That’s why I’m not a fan of Ridley's inauthenticity. It betrays a lackadaisical attitude towards a sequel that didn’t need to exist that does a disservice to the original and to us as the audience. It screams ‘cash grab.’ It screams ‘resting on laurels.’ It practically bellows ‘half arsed.’ For a movie that features so many unabashed callbacks to the original, it manages to disservice both the characters of the original and its fans. The original managed to present itself as a serious movie: pretending this sequel isn’t deeply silly is risible. Even Russell Crowe has problems with it!! Tell him to chill out, I dare you.
In many ways, the movie is not my Circus Maximus and not my schlocky CGI monkeys, but you’re never going to convince me that this is just a movie. If it really were just a movie, historians wouldn’t be reprimanded by the creatives nor the fans. I wonder if Maximus stans will cease complaining about perceived pedantry when they too realise that the movie they’ve waited 24 years for is just OK. When they too start compiling a list of things that could have been done better. Or, has Ridley consistently depicted a Rome that they prefer to the historical one? By questioning the veracity of rhinos and flooded arenas, we challenge the wider depiction of Ridley’s Rome and reveal the sinister elements of his narrative that get missed in a superficial viewing. The deeper analysis from scholars will come after the wave of arena based fact checking, and it won't be neutral. That's the criticism Ridley should throw a tantrum over, and I really hope it sticks in his craw.
I thought about this a lot when the trailer for Gladiator II came out. In the intervening years, I've very recently earned two degrees and extensively researched and written about gladiators. 24 years ago I was a wide-eyed teen, and now I'm much older and (currently) write about gladiators full time. I've dipped my toes deep into the pool of classical reception, and have written about the movie from that standpoint. I enjoy classical reception - I love to see snippets of antiquity where I least expect them, and I love to see how the ancient world is woven into modern media. I had a little trepidation with Gladiator II, though. In writing about the movie, (because who wouldn't get a kick out of writing about one of their favourite movies?) I was obliged to read about the movie. And so I did, holing myself up in the library reading articles and chapters upon articles and chapters. I was instantly reminded of why I quit my English Lit A-level after a couple of months - deep engagement in a piece of media, really grappling with it and dissecting it to examine the entrails can really change how you think and feel about that media. I have now read all of these clever observations about fascist aesthetics, mixed constitutions and the agrarian ideals of the American dream. Worse, I'd just finished and submitted a lengthy study of usages of the film's script and imagery by various far right groups and individuals, using the (ample, as I see now) fuel provided in the movie to fan the flames of their shitty ideology. My beloved Gladiator has become 300.
I watched the sequel on the day it was released with anticipation and not a little trepidation. Nostalgia and nerves, all in one. And it was... fine. The kind of fine I'll watch again, probably. It's adequate. The aerial shots still made me shiver, but the niggles I now have about the original were all present and correct. This time I was bracing myself for more elements that would give me an uncomfortable feeling, when once upon a time they whooshed over my naive little head. To quote Sondheim: "isn't it nice to know a lot!? And a little bit not..." And you can't voice your anxiety on social media, because then you're the curmudgeon who doesn't realise that it's just a movie. Few things are ever just anything, but Gladiator II is apparently firmly just a movie. Except it isn't to me, because this is my subject now. I read about gladiators because I'm fascinated by them, and because I believe they're misrepresented by both Hollywood and, to be frank, various eminent scholars. One thing I quickly came to realise is that the arena is a place of far more nuance than we give it credit for, which is missing from what much of the public gets access to. I'm putting my money where my mouth is on this, and trying to put out as much objective, nuanced content as I can.
Working Classicists, always keen to produce content for enthusiasts of every level, asked me to provide a quick companion to Gladiator II, because within 24 hours of release they were already getting questions about what was real. I was delighted to oblige, because I genuinely love writing for people who are new to learning about the ancient world in general. There is no such thing as a basic or stupid question, and it may be a hangover from my tour guide/museum days but I just get such a kick out of teaching someone something cool that might be pretty new to them. And, to be frank, it can be a useful skill that takes time to hone. So I sat down and got writing. Quickly, I realised I needed to add a disclaimer: I'm not here to preach, and I'm not here to whinge. I'm just here to sort fact from fantasy. You can read what I came up with here, if you like. But people don’t like feeling lectured, so a waiver had to go in. There's the constant retort that 'everyone knows it's not accurate' so there's no point presenting our research to explain what is real and what isn't. I have two questions about this POV:
- When exactly are we supposed to share what we know with the public? Or are we admitting that we don't want them sniffing around, wanting to learn stuff without chucking thousands of pounds a year at an institution? Antiquity is not usually a part of the zeitgeist for very long, beyond the men who Think About Rome Every Day; I'd have thought striking whilst the iron was hot would be ideal regarding public engagement, but what do I know?
- Do you not have enthusiasm enough for your own niche that you want to talk about it? Share it? If the right moment came and the planets aligned, would you not want to talk about it?
I do wonder if there isn't an element of hierarchy going on, regarding sub-topics. This goes for the public as well as for academics. Adaptations of Homer are something that can be acceptably cross examined because Homer is literature, and high-brow literature at that. See also: Shakespeare's history plays. Novels fill this same category if they are hardbacks with that snazzy gilt font on the jacket. They are deemed sophisticated and as such can be critiqued freely.
Gladiators are pulpy in comparison, I suppose. They're a base entertainment, with elements that fascinate the darkest corners of our minds in a way that isn't discussed in polite society. Because gladiation can be so easily dismissed as crude, it's all too tempting to not have those conversations that attempt to contextualise them. Hence why they lack nuance in material the public sees. You'll forgive me, then, if I was left a little cold by Gladiator II, which was distinctly lacking in the nuance department.
There’s also an assumption from the public that academics don’t read ‘high brow’ texts critically, instead placing them on high pedestals as works of art to be revered with a fervent devotion, like a sacred text. This couldn’t be further from the truth, with various philologists, historians and archaeologists scrutinising every last consonant and vowel. Whilst we’re at it, a good theologian will tell you the same about actual sacred texts, except they can name wars that have happened over translations and interpretations of those texts. Scrutiny at a deep level is literally in the job description, so if historians talk about the ancient world all day, you can’t expect them to clam up when they see it interpreted in the modern world.
I suppose any historian latches on to a person, event or institution because it fascinates them, because it is interesting. I now know of a dozen gladiatorial stories - fragments of stories, really, that would make great movies. I've been trained to search for context clues and to read between lines, and much of my job is to construct a plausible frame around the little evidence I have. Plausible. There's the keyword. What is possible? What is probable? The joy of gladiators is that they provide such riveting narratives without the help of a screenwriter. The drama is built-in, and needs no fuss or fanciness to augment it. The first movie trod a fine, quite wobbly line between plausibility and dubiousness, but the reason I think it still holds up so well (and why I'll never quit it) is that it has a faint whiff of authenticity about it. This is probably due in an unknowable part to Kathleen Coleman, the professor hired to be their historical consultant. Most of Coleman's hard work did not make the final cut, and after seeing the movie Coleman asked that her name be taken off of the credits. Coleman wrote a chapter about her experience, entitled "The Pedant Goes to Hollywood: The Role of the Academic Consultant." You can read it here, with no paywall. If it wasn't in an edited volume dedicated to the movie, you'd barely guess which movie is being discussed. I read it as a scathing indictment on working with this particular set of writers, producers and Ridley Scott - that same Scott who told historians to shut the fuck up when they pointed out some inaccuracies in Napoleon. Her frustration is palpable, because she knows it could have been better.
It sounds, from this chapter and literally everything I have ever read about Ridley Scott, that he doesn’t like being questioned, or critiqued. After Dan Snow made a TikTok about Napoleon, Ridley had a tantrum and banned historians from coming anywhere near the Gladiator II set. It shows. One may even say that what he seems to want is unquestioning deference and adoration, like the deference and adoration people think academics reserve for Homer, and I doubt that he got that from Coleman. Good for her. What he seems to want is a starstruck yes-man who will let a dozen egregious things slide because they’re just happy to be there. Without wishing to sound mean, it looks like that’s exactly what Ridley found for this sequel, leading to the consultant being invited to fact check the film he consulted on and being forced to admit it’s chockablock with anachronisms. But, he says, Ridley is an artist. This is not a documentary. The insinuation here is that it’s Ridley’s genius vision, and that authenticity couldn’t enhance the finished product if it tried.
It's giving Annie Edison in the 'Redux' episode.
For this to be true, the movie had better be good. When Ridley proudly boasted that he refused to consult historians for Napoleon, (even though he seems to have,) was the genius vision enough to make a great movie? Hell no, do you know anyone who liked it? Let’s be really honest, when it comes to historical epics, Ridley has more misses than hits. To be charitable, perhaps this movie would have been better if Ridley hadn’t thrown his toys out of his pram and allowed a historian (any historian) on set. It’s no secret that consultants work more efficiently if they’re permitted on the property.
Gladiator II is OK. It’s mid, it’s meh. It’s mediocre. The combat and aerial shots are still pretty great. The plot, pacing, dialogue and characterisations are all inferior to the original. CGI baboons look worse than a real tiger did 24 years ago. It’s not particularly immersive. Certain scenes require the suspension of disbelief, which is easier to do with speculative fiction rather than historical drama. Viewers are happier to accept the implausibility if the protagonist has superpowers, or is on an alien planet, or has a pet dragon. Suspension of disbelief is the Achilles’ Heel of immersive ‘historical drama,’ though; as plausibility fades in the face of improbability.
When improbable elements start being sprinkled in, plausible elements start to masquerade as improbable. Even Charlotte Higgins, an ancient historian, commented that the Colosseum wouldn’t have been flooded in her list of anachronisms, despite very convincing evidence that it absolutely was. Herein lies the rub: ancient spectacle doesn’t need implausible anachronisms - it is perfectly capable of still being a spectacle on its own merit. The same is true of the rest of Roman history, generally.
Let’s go through a few alternatives that would have vastly improved the the vibe of the film:
- Ben Paites has already made the excellent suggestion that the ridiculous café set was jarring, and that the scene would have felt much more natural and, well, Roman, if it had been set in a bathhouse. The idea of shakedowns and shady deals being done whilst naked and marinating in human soup is so weird to modern sensibilities, it would have made for a wonderful scene, adding an extra layer to an otherwise thin scene. The power imbalance could have had so much more impact if, for instance, only one of the interlocutors was nude. Or if Thrax was forced to awkwardly stand whilst Macrinus manipulated him mid-massage. Hell, they could have even thrown in an easter egg along the lines of ‘Caracalla is a lunatic, but he sure can build a frigidarium.’ A meh scene becomes elevated, simply because it would feel a bit more authentic.
- I rolled my eyes at the newspapers. Ridley famously doesn’t listen to historians, preferring to draw from existing examples of Rome on screen. Why, then, did he not realise how great HBO’s Rome newsreader was? Ian McNeice, stood on a stool, reading the headlines with oratorical flair and gestures. It looked right, because it felt authentic and plausible. You can still get an authentic feel without reading a book, if you nick the bits from films and shows that manage it fairly well.
- The rhino - the rhino was fine! We know of Romans watching rhinos in the Colosseum. Commodus even fought one (if you count shooting arrows at it from the safety of a platform ‘fighting…’) Making the rhino slightly larger than reality is fine! Jurassic Park does it with dinosaurs and it’s fine! What Jurassic Park doesn’t do is saddle the triceratops, and if it did it would rightly jump the shark. Note that the Jurassic World films are a little bit rubbish because they flirt with exactly this kind of idea. Of course you can’t ride a wild rhino. But here is where a history book or consultant could have made an improvement: swap in that rhino for a war elephant with mounted archers. We know that ancient Persians, Hellenistic states and Carthaginians had them, we know that Romans soiled themselves when first confronted with them. Keep the rhino, unmounted, and have it replace those laughable baboons. Then have Lucius face an elephant. I have been killed by war elephants in Assassin’s Creed Origins enough times to know that such a battle is a) tough b) looks incredible. You’re welcome.
- Those About to Die beat Gladiator II both to the flooded arena and Cinecittà Studios punch. Theirs was an elaborate execution with senators dressed as Egyptians, being preyed upon by crocodiles. It felt more authentic, and not because Romans didn’t know what sharks were, they did (and claiming otherwise without checking beforehand may result in public embarrassment.) Those About to Die has its own issues with authenticity and plausibility, but not in this case. I’m not saying the sharks are a terrible choice, necessarily, just that the crocodiles are a better one.
Of course, there is a particular demographic that will forgive mutant baboons if they can find what they loved about the first film, and I suspect that there is an agenda behind why they don’t want minor anachronisms deflated lest the whole facade starts to crumble; Scott provides a very alluring version of Rome that appeals to wonky ideas of what it was like.
- Lucilla is the only woman to speak in the original. She’s smarter than any man she shares a room with, and she knows it. She was supposed to die in the original script, because the historical Lucilla predeceased Commodus. Her death was going to reinvigorate Maximus’ quest for revenge. She was only saved when a female Executive Producer insisted that half the women in the movie (2) should survive, and it should probably be the only one with lines. In the original, Lucilla never succeeds as a politician but she is maternal, and that makes her weak. She’s punished for her cleverness and her quiet defiance with emotional and implied physical abuse. Lucilla is still the smartest person in any room, but in a room where everyone is just that little bit dimmer than before. Her maternal instincts have proven to be her undoing again. If you’re the type of person who likes to see clever women in manacles, psychologically tortured and then pretty soundly silenced, then this is the movie for you. I had supposed that in a movie featuring Severans, a Lucilla that had ahistorically survived was going to be the stand in for Geta and Caracalla’s mother, Julia Domna. Like Lucilla in the movie, Julia Domna was smart, and she held real power. She was the centre of a circle of philosophers and writers, and administration was delegated to her by her sons because she was so damn capable. Another missed trick; Julia Domna witnessed Caracalla order guards to kill his brother, holding Geta in her arms as he died. What a scene that would have made! Granted, it’s watching a woman suffer, but in an accurate way that’s far more believable than what happened to poor Lucilla.
- This movie has a grand total of three women who speak! But the two who show some capability and equal skills and abilities as men (Lucilla and Lucius’s warrior wife) are the ones to die horrible deaths. Scott loves to see smart Roman women silenced. I suppose I should be grateful that Gladiator(s) doesn’t go down the Starz Spartacus and Those About to Die route of portraying elite women as nymphomaniac sociopaths, but the bar is low. Lucilla was the total opposite in fact, as quite the sexless matron. She’s over 40 now, and doesn’t do that kind of thing anymore. Having zero sexual chemistry with Pedro Pascal is quite the achievement.
- Speaking of the brothers - I was horrified when I saw the casting announcements. For the uninitiated, Julia Domna was Syrian, and her husband Septimius Severus was from Leptis Magna (Libya.) Initially Caracalla was going to be played by Barry Keoghan, and when he dropped out to lick jizz out of plugholes, they found the only actor paler than him to step in: Fred Hechinger. Geta is similarly lily white. Their whiteness is emphasised by thick white pan stick and burgundy rouge, which makes them look like hungover clowns. Commodus was pale, yes, with those eyes that looked bruised as if he hadn’t slept in a month. If anything, the first movie toned down Commodus’ adventures in the Colosseum, preferring to signpost him as the bad guy with SS Praetorian guards and incestuous tendencies. So far, so corrupt. But the Severan brothers weren’t anything like Commodus. Geta seemed to be a good, level headed administrator who was cursed to hate his brother. The movie Caracalla is a small, syphilis ridden sybarite who has a retinue of twinks and a pet monkey he makes consul - we get it Ridley, you really wanted Caligula. He's easily manipulated and clearly incapable of critical thought. Physically, he's small and weak, and dresses effeminately. This is a world away from battle-hardened soldier of the sources. The sources give plenty of cruelty for a writer to play with, but he seems to have been manly. Hechinger’s Caracalla is a cheap stereotype of the debauched queer man, behold, he bends gender norms and as such is a terrible guy. Only Lucius can be truly masculine, because Lucius is the Good Guy. Also - a missed opportunity. Caracalla was assassinated whilst mid-pee at a roadside. That’s the kind of death that a show like Game of Thrones would jump on with glee (and arguably a crossbow bolt whilst pooping may be a direct homage.)
- So why does the portrayal of the brothers matter? Their father is depicted in art as having a dark skin tone, theirs slightly less so. They weren't pale, they didn't make their faces whiter to emphasise a whiteness they didn't have. They had darker skin and ruled the Roman empire. Accurate representation would have been valuable to help dismantle the concept of Roman power being paper white. It's a misconception that fuels the idea of western civilisation and white supremacy. It's tricky, because the whitewashing doesn't tie in with presenting the brothers as good rulers or even good people, but most people only engage with antiquity through Hollywood. The problem now is that audiences will equate Severans with pasty dissipation, not a darker skinned dynasty who achieved a lot. I'm not suggesting a portrayal that shows Caracalla as a saint, because he certainly wasn't one, but he also wasn't a witless puppet. It would have been interesting to explore why he was hated by Roman historians but so adored by his troops, or to explore why he could be so brutal without explaining it away with advanced venereal disease. It would have been amazing to see the immediate ramifications of Caracalla's Edict, for example. By whitewashing the Severans and eradicating their actual deeds, Ridley is racialising them in a manner that Romans never did. How on Earth can someone produce such a thinly drawn picture of a man like Caracalla? It takes deliberate effort to get it so wrong.
- I’ll paraphrase what I’ve said previously about Macrinus: I worry about Denzel Washington's arc. By making him an ex-slave, and a Black one at that, who holds such a grudge against his white former masters that he schemes to bring them all tumbling down… Macrinus (as great as Denzel is) will be seen by some as the Angry Black Man. With the original having the fan base it does (white supremacists) - making this choice after BLM is adding fuel to the fire. Showing a Black former slave having such a violent vendetta against his former masters... It just made me feel uncomfortable. Macrinus isn't given a chance to elaborate on the trauma he clearly carries, and IMO his anger is 100% justified - I'm not sure everyone in the audience will agree with me there. He doesn’t want reparations, he wants revenge. He wants ultimate power and will kill those in power to do so, but we’re shown that he plans to be even worse than the STD-ridden spoilt white boys. An angry Black man (in this movie) should never be trusted, and never allowed to threaten the (unrealistic) utopia that the Good white guy is working towards. Ridley Scott has all the grace of a sledgehammer when it comes to race so I’d love to know his reasons for casting Washington specifically - he’s too willing to whitewash Severans with lesser known (and frankly second tier) actors to get away with using the star power excuse this time.
I feel comfortable saying this because I am nowhere near the rank of public historian that would ever be brought to his attention. But one does wonder why Scott is so determined to make historical dramas with so little history in them. Proud of it, in fact. Does he enjoy trolling historians? Does he revel in our frustration? Which secondary school history teacher hurt you, Ridley? He definitely seems to enjoy baiting us like a matador with a bull, or Lucius with that rhino. Why not go down the fantasy route, if so determined to make stuff up? Ah, but that still involves a deep engagement with scholarship if you want it to be any good. GRR Martin loved reading about the Wars of the Roses so much he created Westeros, a place that has dragons and ice zombies but is still a richly textured world only conceivable to a mind that has spent hours in libraries, been to the museums and sites, and talked to historians. Tolkien similarly created a universe and a narrative that felt fantastical, yet grounded in a profound understanding of myth and its reception. They both feel more historical than Gladiator II because that sheer amount of work can’t help but saturate every element of storytelling. It becomes real because it feels real. Even with Smaug and Shelob and hobbits. You want authenticity? You have to do the work. You want to still have fun with the unbelievable? Make it speculative fiction and go nuts. But don’t refuse to do the homework, make a movie that’s just fine and then complain that people who study and work on this as their vocation have something to say about it. That reeks of a fragile ego. Authenticity makes films better.
To wit: Russell Crowe may be popular as Maximus, but the CHOKEHOLD that Master and Commander has on fans is astounding, myself included. That’s a film that sandwiches minutiae between broadsides, and offers a complex portrait of male comradeship, friendship and masculinity. There’s more. Saving Private Ryan has a quasi-fictional plot, but the attention to detail and respect for the history took it (and its iconic opening scenes) from good to great. Band of Brothers is a masterpiece. Wolf Hall is just about as immersive as television can get, down to using candles as a sole source of light at night. My husband wouldn’t forgive me if I didn’t mention Sharpe at some point (though I’m a Hornblower girl at heart.) None of these examples are 100% accurate but there’s a reason historians quibble less with them. Films that play fast and loose by cutting corners don’t age well - see Braveheart, Robin Hood: Prince of Thieves, Troy and of course, 300. Authentic details aren’t pedantry, they’re an expression of passion, and an addition that elevates the vibe of any movie. Authentic details are also a demonstration of care, so it is no coincidence that you find authenticity paired with thoughtful dialogue, a meticulously paced plot, and layered character studies.
Compare Coleman's experiences to those of Rebecca Usherwood as consultant on the Domina series. Usherwood speaks of a collaborative process with mutual enthusiasm and desire for authenticity. Usherwood's efforts paid off, too, because the series is commendable. That’s why I’m not a fan of Ridley's inauthenticity. It betrays a lackadaisical attitude towards a sequel that didn’t need to exist that does a disservice to the original and to us as the audience. It screams ‘cash grab.’ It screams ‘resting on laurels.’ It practically bellows ‘half arsed.’ For a movie that features so many unabashed callbacks to the original, it manages to disservice both the characters of the original and its fans. The original managed to present itself as a serious movie: pretending this sequel isn’t deeply silly is risible. Even Russell Crowe has problems with it!! Tell him to chill out, I dare you.
In many ways, the movie is not my Circus Maximus and not my schlocky CGI monkeys, but you’re never going to convince me that this is just a movie. If it really were just a movie, historians wouldn’t be reprimanded by the creatives nor the fans. I wonder if Maximus stans will cease complaining about perceived pedantry when they too realise that the movie they’ve waited 24 years for is just OK. When they too start compiling a list of things that could have been done better. Or, has Ridley consistently depicted a Rome that they prefer to the historical one? By questioning the veracity of rhinos and flooded arenas, we challenge the wider depiction of Ridley’s Rome and reveal the sinister elements of his narrative that get missed in a superficial viewing. The deeper analysis from scholars will come after the wave of arena based fact checking, and it won't be neutral. That's the criticism Ridley should throw a tantrum over, and I really hope it sticks in his craw.