Gladiator Reviewed

ROVIN' AND RAVIN' WITH MIKE

Gladiator: Where the Boys Are (2)

Last week, I said we would continue exploring films dealing with men with a look this time at Gladiator, after finding Frequency and U-571 in some ways lacking. I'm sorry I've stuck Gladiator into a series, because it stands—and stands very firmly—alone. I was not expecting such a rip-roaring good yarn with so much character development and memorable performance in a film that is a grand old-fashioned, even outdated, blood-drenched sword-and-sandal extravaganza and at the same time is so much more.

Gladiator opens with a ten-minute battle sequence between the Romans and the Germans that for sheer hellishness rivals the opening battle of Saving Private Ryan. Fury, pain, terror are fused in a horrible mix of snow and fire. In this setting, we meet Maximus (Crowe), a Roman general who, after defeating the enemy, only wants to be reunited with his family. The emperor Marcus Aurelius (Harris) offers him leadership of the Empire, but the emperor's son Commodus (Joaquin Phoenix) kills his father, and orders the execution of Maximus and his family.

Maximus escapes but is sold into slavery. Proximo (Reed), a sometime gladiator himself, buys Maximus and teaches him the ways of show business, to gain power by gaining the affection of the audiences. Throughout the film, there are hints that we are not just talking about Rome, but any parallels between ancient Rome and our time seem to develop naturally, not with any undue attention. Maximus is an unlikely parallel for a modern superstar, since he is kept in chains--but, then again….

Once Proximo and Maximus reach Rome, the popular appeal of politicians and entertainers comes together against an amazing replica of the city and a convincing recreation of life in the city. I am sure that experts on all things Roman are lining up to criticize and nitpick over the many details that enrich this film. Life in ancient Rome is as distant as life aboard an interplanetary space craft, however, so director Ridley Scott, known for such science-fiction classics as Alien and Blade Runner, creates a sort of sociological science fiction. He finds empathy with and understanding for people in the ancient city, getting the human angle right, even if he sometimes errs, such as with the announcement of a gladiator as the "undefeated champion."

And, yes, there are gladiators, engaging in some of the most brutal fights I've ever seen, fights drenched in blood, sweat, and urine. The mutilations, decapitations, and sheer brutality underwhelm. There is so much violence that I cast up a sort of filter, reminding myself that this was, after all, just a movie, just an illusion, almost as phony as professional wrestling. While there seems to be a criticism of the violence—Maximus expresses surprise that a young boy is allowed to watch the games—at the same time, the violence of ancient Roman entertainment is exploited for its entertainment value today. Interestingly, the most significant act of violence in the story, the murder of the wife and son of Maximus, is not shown. When Commodus taunts Maximus, he recounts the fate of Maximus's family in two stark sentences that have come back to me in the small hours of the morning ever since I first heard them.

The script keeps things moving with poignancy and humor. Proximo has some of the funniest lines in the script, and he is given ample life by Oliver Reed, who seems to have relished every moment of this, his last performance. Commodus is as fully-drawn a villain as you're likely to find, a complex mix of pathology and sheer evil. Again, the words carry his most extreme depravity, and there are some corners of his personality, including the possibility of pedophilia, which are not even given words. Joaquin Phoenix brings a dark sense of frustration and bitterness that makes his evil both human and believable.

Dereck Jacobi and Richard Harris bring the authority of their age and experience to their roles, while Connie Nielsen is convincing and glamorous as the daughter of an emperor. It is fitting that she brings the film to a graceful conclusion functioning almost as a priestess.

But this is Russell Crowe's film. His role as the great general reduced to slavery, finally earning his revenge and regaining honor at a terrible price, gives him quite a lot to work with, and work it he does. He shows incredible physical stamina and emotional depth in his performance, but he doesn't take the role over the top. Maximus is always believable in his motivations and actions alike. This characterization is close to the classic concept of the tragic hero, a man who may be godlike but is a hero because he is completely human.

The film is technically splendid. The computer graphics, including thousands of virtual extras, are smoothly integrated into the flow of the film. The camera finds some odd angles and points of view, with the fight scenes taking on a hallucinatory quality, as if we can see bits and pieces of the scene, but not the scene as a whole.

The two and a half hour film moves along, with an occasional lag to work out some plot details. And it all comes to a close worthy of an ancient tragedy, with the sense that things have been made right, that a period of time out of joint has been balanced, even with a sense of redemption. I doubt that the crowd I saw the film with, who actually cheered some of the gladiator sequences were looking for redemption, but, hey, this film has many things for many different members of its audience. It is violent, extremely violent, but even if you have to turn your eyes from the screen from time to time, Gladiator is a spectacle worth seeing.

It’s strange how one’s mind works, sometimes, but about halfway through the film, I felt a nagging puzzlement. Why had I never before noticed the similarity between the words gladiator and gladiolus? As it turns out, the words are related, both coming from the Latin word for "sword," since the gladiator carried a sword and the gladiolus has leaves shaped like a sword.

What does all of this have to do with my originally stated them of what it means to be a man in contemporary America? Not much, perhaps. Perhaps it is a sad comment that we have to look to ancient Rome to find a hero. Last year, two films came out which presented such bleak pictures of American men today that we should all, men and women and anyone else along for the ride, should be afraid, Fight Club and American Beauty.

Do these films really say any more about men than Psycho and its sequels say about motherhood? Is the depiction of problems that men face, problems with the concept of manhood, in these films a symptom of a problem in our society—or a cause of problems in our society? People of different aesthetic and political persuasions have different answers, but I’m not sure I have any answers. So, stumble along with me, on dry feet, of course, and hope to find a noble thought to cling to, even if you do have to look backward several centuries to find one.