Gladiator
dir. Ridley Scott
Dreamworks Pictures
Full disclosure: I saw Gladiator at a theater with OK digital
sound but terrible acoustics, and I nodded off during an early expository
scene between Russell Crowe and Connie Nielsen. So perhaps my experience of
the film was diminished compared to those who have slobbered all over the
Roman epic, but I still have to give the movie the ol’ Roman thumbs up.
Which, of course, means, "Send it to heaven," or, more bluntly, "kill
it," meaning that when the Colosseum crowds gave that sign to the failed
gladiator, the guy’s tunic was retired. Thumbs down meant to leave
‘im here on earth. It’s a historical detail that Gladiator
fudges — its Romans use thumbs-up to mean good — and while it’s
less egregious than, say, the film’s rewriting of Emperor
Commodus’s reign, all such accommodations adhere to a piece of advice
given in the film: Any shnook can kill, but the successful gladiators are
prepossessed with pleasing the crowd.
And so we get this grand pabulum with a connect-the-dots plot
that’s as simple as any summer blockbuster — not a bad trait for a
summer blockbuster to have, really, except that there’s definitely an
air of better intentions that gets lost in all the crowd pleasing.
Director Ridley Scott appears to be trying for, if my Roman numerals are
correct here, a sort of MCC Smackdown, drawing parallels between the
bloodlust of Rome’s people and the modern bloodlust for The
People’s Elbow. Indeed, Gladiator certainly succeeds best when
exploring Commodus’s (a fidgety Joaquin Phoenix) bright idea to
abandon pursuit of solutions to problems like the plague and instead base
his tenure as emperor on selling the people a vision that they will love;
never mind how unattainable it is. And so he calls for 150 days of games,
central to which are the gladiator battles.
Scott includes shots of loaves being tossed to the crowds just so the
"bread and circuses" reference is actualized; he certainly takes glee in
suggesting that this is the state of America’s (and his native
Britain’s) representational government. (When favorite gladiator and
proxy media star Maximus (Crowe) defies Commodus, the people side with
Maximus.) But it’s a go-nowhere metaphor, more of an in-joke than a
cultural critique. Scott relies on the viewer to connect all of his
gossamer strands of ideas to come up with a point — rather than any
real thematic payoff, he just lets the movie slide into the credits with
the whir-click of a melodrama’s denouement.
And as melodrama, it’s not bad. Crowe isn’t required to offer
the caliber of acting he displayed in The Insider, but he brings a
terrific game face to the film, the kind of presence that the great actors
have always had when they were working on B-movies. The movie rests on his
broad shoulders, and he carries it as far as it will go. His supporting cast
is also top notch, prompting cinephiles to remember a time when the biggest
movies featured the best actors because they were also the most popular
actors.
Of course, even back then the biggest movies were rarely the best, and
Gladiator recalls that tradition as well. The recommendation is
pretty simple here: If you want to see prettily photographed fights that
include horse-and-carriage pile-ups, flaming Germans and Crowe’s pecs,
Gladiator will be three hours well spent. It’s the kind of
crowd-pleaser audiences demand every summer; ask and you shall receive, I
guess, as long as you don’t ask for too much.
— Sean Weitner (sean@flakmag.com)
