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Gladiator (2000)

A Spectacular Thing Happens On The Way To The Forum

A review by Michael S. Goldberger.
Copyright © Michael S. Goldberger 2000
A man's gotta do what a man's gotta do. And in the opulently rousing Gladiator that goes doubly for Maximus (Russell Crowe), the classic hero personified. A great Roman general, he isn't insulated from the same skulduggery and inconsiderations that plague executives in today's corporate scene. You know the drill: The top man, in this case Emperor Marcus Aurelius (Richard Harris), loves you like a son. He's grooming you to take his spot. Only you can continue his glorious vision for the company. And then your benefactor meets an untimely demise. Suddenly no one knows anything about what the boss had in mind for you. Especially his corrupt son, who it just so happens was being cut out of the loop prior to dear old Dad's suspicious death.

But despair not, fans of the Roman Empire, the business world, or politics in general. Per director Ridley Scott's lavish throwback to the sword and sandal epics of the 1950s, talent and greatness will out. It is the romantically optimistic contention of screenwriters David H. Franzoni, John Logan and William Nicholson that ideas, like honour and devotion, are as indestructible as matter; that they live on in reincarnated forms.

Of course it was a little more complicated in 180AD. Whereas today's ousted golden boy in search of vindication might simply take his resume and a few company secrets cross-town, the fugitive Maximus' road to redemption first leads him into slavery. And then adhering to good Biblical/literary form, it is not until he hits absolute rock bottom that the heroic paradigm reinvents himself as a peerless gladiator, beloved by the masses and primed to challenge Aurelius' despotic son, Commodus (Joaquin Phoenix).

It's a grand old tale, and apparently ready for the retelling thanks to Mr. Scott's fine helmsmanship, Russell Crowe's stupendous tour-de-force in the title role, and the relatively economical set possibilities now afforded via computer magic. While you can expect Mr. Crowe (L.A. Confidential, The Insider) to garner another Oscar nomination, the rub-your-eyes-in-disbelief effects that virtually re-create Rome at the height of her glory are also award-worthy.

The other active ingredient in director Scott's sweeping tale of love, duty, deceit and revenge is testosterone. An opening battle scene depicting the Roman Legion's vicious campaign in Germania to win the last of the undefeated lands worth conquering is a naturalistic horror -- as primitively haunting in its anti-war message as the first twenty minutes of Spielberg's Normandy invasion in Saving Private Ryan. This is smartly balanced by a corresponding tale of intrigue at court featuring the internecine calculations of the deliciously twisted Commodus and his far more politically astute sister, Lucilla, exacted with notable aplomb by the comely Connie Nielsen.

Curiously subtle hints at incest as well as a far nobler tale of unrequited love round out the story. And perhaps just for good measure, conjuring images of de Havilland, O'Hara, Fairbanks and Flynn, the filmmakers can't pass up the time-honoured cliché wherein highborn damsel visits seemingly doomed hunk in the dungeon. Will she slip him a file along with the forbidden kiss? In any case, even when combined with the script's glibly knowing takes on senatorial politics, the cerebral aspects of this cinematic event are far outweighed by the visceral.

Mr. Crowe oozes with authority as the consummate warrior-leader, with men just dying, literally, to follow him to Elysium. A less egalitarian film critic, unconcerned with being labelled a chauvinist, might even dub Gladiator a men's film; albeit one that can still be enjoyed by the women who love them.

The fighting is, to coin a phrase, awesome, featuring more decapitations and high-pressure blood spurts than a slice-and-dice flick. Maybe even more than on those "real-life" emergency room shows you inevitably come across when channel surfing. Be assured, 'tis the free-flowing plasma and not sex that earns it an R-rating.

A fine supporting cast keeps the action from sprawling out of control and the story from being engulfed by the stunning special effects. Joaquin Phoenix is appropriately hateful and completely without redeeming qualities as the warped Commodus. Oliver Reed, who sadly died during filming on Malta, adds a sympathetically reflective note as Proximus, once a great gladiator and now a self-effacing promoter of combative flesh. Derek Jacobi is correctly aristocratic as Gracchus, the Roman senator who forthrightly declares: "I may not be of the people, but I certainly am for the people." And even Richard Harris manages to harness the hamminess, succinctly setting the film's philosophically sober tone as Emperor Marcus Aurelius. Naturally, in a respectful nod to Hollywood tradition, ancient Romans still speak with a proper British accent.

Truth be told, the architectural evocation of the legendary city is a bit much, a tad too perfect. Which tends to remind that it's all being done by a little computer. But then again, much of this splashing saga has to be exaggerated. If it weren't, the stirring political lesson, every bit as poignant as the message in Braveheart, would just get buried in the sand. Constructing an homage to the film phylum that is Rome while providing viably exciting entertainment not only for seasoned viewers, but for an entire generation that probably never saw Ben-Hur, director Ridley Scott achieves just the right balance of the old and the new. True, all roads no longer lead to Rome. But rest assured that once the word gets around, filmgoers in search of big-screen thrills will beat a path to Gladiator.

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