Gladiator
(2000)
(SPOILERS) Ridley Scott’s Oscar glory. It must have left him feeling a
little peeved, since he went away without the Best Director statuette. Was Gladiator’s winner deserved? How often
are the Oscars actually deserved? Gladiator is solid, populist entertainment,
the kind of picture that would have been wholly ignored if it hadn’t put bums
on seats (which in some respects is a point in its favour).
It wastes most of
the ripe potential it has for commentary and self-reflexivity, as suggested by
Russell Crowe’s general turned slave when he demands of the crowds “Are you not entertained?” Such lofty
notions are never more than lip service. This is far too linear a movie for
hidden depths. Gladiator works for
two simple reasons. Firstly, there’s Russell Crowe, lean and matter-of-fact in
his charisma; he hasn’t found a role that suits him so well since. Secondly
there’s Scott, by this point a no-nonsense director who had long since forsaken
artsy shit for processed, production line, and nuance-free visualisations. But
nevertheless, one more than capable of adding the necessary thrills to those gladiatorial
contests.
As noted, Gladiator
was an example of the Academy stepping in line with the public opinion. This
had been seen over the previous decade in both its basest form (Titanic) and most unlikely and potentially
mould breaking (The Silence of the Lambs).
More than the kudos, Gladiator opened
studios’ eyes to the potential for the historical epic the way The Lord of the Rings (and the trilogy’s
eventual Oscar endorsement) would for the fantasy film a year later. It’s
probably not co-incidental that neither genre has seen success quite on that
scale since. Troy actually made a bit
more than Gladiator globally, but had
none of the cultural impact. Mostly studios have just been grateful to break
even, despite the high cost, low rewards nature of the genre; the likes of Kingdom of Heaven, Robin Hood, Exodus: Gods and
Kings (all from Scott), Noah, King Arthur, Pompeii, Alexander, and
even 300 on the comic/historical crossover
point. You’d be lucky to claim two of those as unqualified box office champs.
It’s significant that, amid its Oscar splendour, Gladiator didn’t received an award Best
Original Screenplay. That it was nominated is perhaps most surprising. Not unusually
for the furious pace of movies Scott would churn out over then next decade and
a half, the script is its least auspicious element. David Franzoni (credited
only with other less than superlative historicals Amistad and King Arthur)
had the original-ish idea, owing not a little to 1964’s The Fall of the Roman Empire (Livius there occupies a similar
position to Maximus, just without becoming a gladiator). The spine of the movie
is identified succinctly by Commodus, pretty much doing the ad men’s hard work;
“The general who became a slave. The
slave who became a gladiator. The gladiator who defied an emperor”.
It wasn’t as smooth sailing as that sounds. John Logan (Bond, Aviator, Rango, The Time Machine, Star Trek: Nemesis; a mixed bag, basically) was brought into
finesse Franzoni’s work, improving the dialogue and rewriting the first act by slaying
Maximus’ family and so giving him added motivation. Then in came William
Nicolson (First Knight, Shadowlands, Les Mis, Unbroken; more
mixed bags) to make Maximus more sensitive, improve his friendship with Juba
(Djimon Hounsou), and develop the afterlife elements. While I don’t think
Maximus has been made too heroic, neither of the latter elements work
especially well. The friendship with Juba feels grafted on without any real
substance, while the afterlife theme is Scott at his most typically
heavy-handed.
Crowe was instrumental in the changes, being a right pain in
the arse and telling Nicholson he’d written a big pile of shit. Perhaps he was
right, certainly he had the certitude and understanding to add weight to perfunctory/
improvised dialogue (“Unleash hell!”)
and he is the movie, basically (first
choice Gibson could have done it, no doubt, but he’d have done entirely
familiar Mel things with the role). It may have done wonders for his
bankability, but it didn’t help Crowe’s rep any. Certainly, if the reports of
him screaming he was the best actor in the world are unvarnished, it sounds
like was a right prima donna. But he looks, great, with his little hair curls
and manly skirt, spinning his sword, sometimes two-handed. Most importantly he
lends the proceedings utter conviction. He grounds the picture where it is
(frequently) wafer thin, or pulls off lines that simply sound corny now (“My name is gladiator!”)
One might, if one were generous, see the picture’s arrival
as prescient. A reflection of the need for heroes with a righteous cause in an
age when leaders are waging wars for their own nefarious ends and seizing public
feeling through the most bare-faced of manipulations. One such would be
“elected” only months after Gladiator was
released. It’s appealing to have some one noble and righteous and good to look
to in such times. But, of course, we had a not dissimilar historical (although
it’s abiding criticism arises from its inaccuracies) reminder of sticking true
to one’s beliefs in the martyrdom of Braveheart
only a few years before. This sort of thing is sweat off a warrior’s back, if
it lands at all.
And it isn’t really Sir Ridley’s thing. Because, as simple
as the premise is, it’ s rendered in a manner that is so unfinessed as to be
almost perfunctory. This approach ultimately reins in its designs on being an
epic. It’s a rudimentary affair, dressed up and polished. There’s not much
going on, and the attempts at court intrigue via reliable British thespian
royalty can only go so far. This is great art direction, and CGI work, but in a
city with about five speaking parts. It feels undernourished, and to carry off
political machinations there needs to be nourishment. Accordingly, it’s easy to
see why aspects such as the shades of Elysium were added, Crowe’s double
running his hand through a field of corn at intervals on his path to death.
There are movies where such portents feel fitting and of a piece, but here it
is merely mock poetic.
Likewise, the machinations of Commodus (Joaquin Phoenix) are clodhopping. Phoenix goes right over the top, giving Commodus a lisp
and a violent temper. His choices are probably shrewd ones all told,
recognising the limitations of the part; his problem is partly one of design
that cannot be surmounted. Commodus is a petulant child, cowardly, vain and
given to fits of instability. It’s this that leads Marcus Aurelius (Richard
Harris) to pass him over for Emperor; he instruct Maximus that Rome should
become a republic again, giving power back to the people and ending corruption.
Why couldn’t he have done that while he was alive, eh? And it’s this that leads
Commodus to kill his father. But the consequence is, Commodus is never a match
of personality for Maximus, despite Phoenix’s attempts to compensate by going
bigger. He’s a weasel rather than a snake.
The real Commodus was assassinated, eventually strangled by
his personal wrestler Narcissus (who, with Claudius Pompeianus, formed a very
loose basis for the Maximus of the movie), but only after 12 years of rule (and
having also co-ruled with his father). He was given to fighting as a gladiator,
charging a million sesterces a time for the privilege, always winning because
his opponents always submitted to their emperor. He built up an endemic level
of unpopularity by the end (he was subject to a failed poisoning before he was
strangled) and was widely known for his cruelty. Commodus would kill his
practice opponents. He was also given to posing as Hercules in the arena, where
he would kill the wounded and amputated, clubbing them to death.
So the movie
makes the Commodus appear almost benevolent in comparison. Even knowing such
“truth is stranger than fictions”, the final arena showdown translates as
overly contrived, particularly when the assorted nobles gather on the Colosseum
floor and Gracchus asks, “Who will help
me carry him?” There’s no final note admitting a republic wasn’t restored, as that might have been
considered even more of a downer.
Still, Scott delivers with the action. The opening battle is
overtly indebted to Saving Private Ryan
with its suddenly fashionable use of high shutter speed. This creates a choppy,
stop motion effect. It’s something that, like shakycam, can get old very quickly,
but does create a certain visceral immediacy. It’s in the arena bouts that
Ridley really comes into his own, though. They do indeed make you entertained
(it probably would have taken a Verhoeven to really revel in the debasement,
however), with the expertly calculated move from Maximus shunning sparring
during the training to suddenly battling for his life; he and Juba turn the
tables completely, leading to a Spartacus-inspired
spear hurled into the gallery.
The chariot sequence obviously has a fair bit of Ben-Hur in there, and the strategic
commander (“If we stay together, we
survive”) leads to a surprise rout. Scott, despite my preference for the
mad Dutchman, doesn’t stint on the limb lopping (he even cuts a woman warrior
in half). This sequence is easily the highlight of the picture, even though the
tigers follow (I can never not see the bit where a fake tiger flopping on
Crowe’s back), and includes the picture’s best line as a slightly amused
Commodus comments “My history’s a little
hazy, Cassius, but didn’t the barbarians lose the battle of Carthage?”) It
shows how long ago I’d last seen this, as I managed to credit the best line in Pompeii, where Keifer Sutherland says
almost exactly the same thing about a gladiatorial upset, as original. Paul W
Anderson, acting the hack? Say it ain’t so.
The supporting cast can be relied on to do what they do well.
Harris is old and wise and sad (he and Crowe got on together). Oliver Reed (he
and Crowe didn’t get on together), his performance as Proximo curtailed in The Crow or Furious 7 fashion and CGI-enhanced at key moments, makes for a coarse
and funny slave owner. He’s just what the picture needs (“You sold me queer camels. I want my money back”) and gives Maximus
a fair helping of X-Factor advice (“I wasn’t the best because I killed quickly.
I was the best because the crowd loved me”).
Jacobi’s a past master at
playing Romans, so looks like he’s merely been exhumed after two millennia of
idling. Connie Nielsen is (as always, it seems) excellent in an underwritten
and reactive role. A very youthful looking Tommy Flanagan (Sons of Anarchy) is the loyal Cicero. David Hemmings gives good
eyebrows.
The problem with
Gladiator is that it’s merely good when it could have been great. This isn’t the
modern day Ben-Hur, even if it has
been proclaimed as such. It’s a greatest hits package of Roman epics with
modern technical flair, when it should have been its own thing entirely. Ridley
was now in the frame for providing the same kind of prefab sheen to any
material to which he attached himself (invariably with a solid but underwhelming
Hans Zimmer score). He knew to tell Crowe not to try an Antonio Banderas
accent, but being actually inspired was now beyond him. This was the point
where he decided to stop spending years trying to get projects made and leapt
from picture to picture. In one sense it’s an admirable repositioning,
approaching your mid-60s (and, now approaching 80, he’s maintained his regimen),
but are the results fruitful? He hasn’t quite
made a terrible film since, but the majority have been mediocrities albeit with
unfailing technical flair.
Perhaps The Martian
will change all that. Perhaps he should have directed Nick Cave’s screenplay
for Gladiator 2: Christ Killer. I
don’t really think he should, of
course (Maximus travels to the afterlife, is reincarnated, sent to kill Jesus
and the Christians and meets his nipper, who he kills, and is then condemned
then to forever gladiate through the centuries). But at least it wouldn’t have
been as pedestrian as most of his script choices. It might even have ended up
as likeably mad as The Counselor.
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