Roman Follies
Gladiator (15)
On general release, 150 mins.Directed by Ridley Scott. Starring Russell Crowe, Richard Harris, Oliver Reed, Connie Neilsen, Joaquim Phoenix
Forget the comparisons to forty year old movies like Ben Hur and Spartacus. One of those was a star vehicle, carrying, incidentally, a message from the tail end of Hollywood radicalism. The other was a picaresque story of Job-like forbearance, that happened to use a back story its audience ought to have known.
Gladiator is wisely free of such presumption. Some unfortunate scored a duck on the US edition of Who Wants To Be A Millionaire? after guessing that Hannibal employed llamas to navigate the Alps. Which carries the implication of either ignorance of what llamas are, or where Rome is, or both. No knowledge of actual history is assumed here, you’ll pick up the important bits as it goes along; just don’t use what you learn in any exams you want to pass.
Ridley Scott creates a very creditable movie from an underwritten script. You may not get something you’ve never seen, but you do get a sense of what films are for. The score by Hans Zimmer and Lisa Gerard, which at first irritated me by too cheaply anachronistic (Spanish guitars in Spain), grows as the film moves on, growling just above the subliminal. If your hearing is at all impaired, Gladiator may disappoint. The sound is fantastic, making each blow count, and providing emotional undercurrents the acting and direction just ignore.
There’s beauty for the eyes too — Scott certainly knows about light. How these tableaux will be raided to sell next year’s shampoo and cars, I can’t tell yet; I only know they will. Scott has crossed into the Elysium of the former ad-man, and now dictates the hip visual phrases.
Oh all right, there are valid comparisons to earlier Roman epics. Like Spartacus’ Stanley Kubrick, Scott is detached, and looking for the bigger picture. Like Heston in Ben Hur, Russell Crowe’s Maximus falls from his social position — for being too honest for an uppity Roman; like him he suffers as a slave, finds a patron, and goes to Rome; like him he has a public contest with his adversary. That’s it, that’s the similarity. It’s a lot, but not enough for a plagiarism suit.
The key differences are glaring too. Ben Hur stalked the New Testament; Gladiator is gladly pagan — book-ended by scenes from the afterlife. Both the older films implied that there were better ways than Rome; both favoured religious and political freedom for the conquered. While the Rome of this film stinks ethically — if not to the nose, they were still keen on washing at this juncture — no alternative is considered. The political solution is not the open debates of Greece, only ’vote for those who are wiser than you’. Populist Commodus spurns considered advice, and courts the mob, and the city turns into an moral sewer.
Russell Crowe is impressive as Maximus, the noble good guy wronged by a brat half his age. It’s clear that after a few decades of professional life, Scott has no truck with angry youth. After his performance in The Insider, Crowe is now more versatile than about 99% of his peers. If the Academy smiles on this film, the statuettes will go to the tech wonks: Crowe, though excellent, is too constricted by the ’strong, silent’ remit of his character. Years of chewing on life’s gristle have left him numb. Casting Derek Jacobi in an Roman elder part may have been unimaginative, but he adds a touch of gravitas. Good Old Ollie Reed could be counted on to provide ham, but he is surprisingly kosher — looking solid and lived in, he is credible as the ex-gladiator, and demonstrates the greatest range on show.
One of the many factors that made The Phantom Menace so limp was the lack of a proper baddie, and Joaquim Phoenix fills that gap handsomely. Physically, he is nice choice: so, the real Commodus was blond, and Phoenix is dark and his looks lean toward a baby-faced Mussolini. With long eyelashes and without the earth-mover jaw he suggests the fey depravity and decadent sentimentality that characterised European tyrants of the last century. Commodus is near the top of the historians’ choice for ’dirty rotten tyrant of all time’ award. The historical figure seems to have been more a robust sexual glutton than the infinitely sensitive thing of this portrayal. But, hey, this is movies, school’s out, remember?
Most of the successes of Gladiator, and all the cavils come down to Ridley Scott. Few of us have fought in a war, but we can recognise from the off that Maximus is a good general from the way that he strides amongst the ranks. I don’t know if the violence is excessive, but it is a bit much for tots, so the certificate in this country was predictable. As the film’s a romp, and either Maximus is partly bionic or the force is with him, it’s ’15’ rating limits it to entertaining the child in the rest of us. Scott is chillingly workmanlike with the action sequences. The opening battle is one of the best things he has ever done, but the rest of the combats are too sided with Maximus to properly thrill. Perhaps it’s ironic, and we’re invited to delight along with the crowd in the sick pleasure of vicarious butchery. Gladiator loses points, for me, because it fails to take a line on the demented mob psychology of the circus, and only sees the opportunity for a dust-up.
In short, Maximus’ journey is not an emotional odyssey like American Beauty, nor something you haven’t seen before, like Being John Malkovich. With dithering slow-mo’s and quick-times, and computer animation to make good the wreck of the Colisseum, Gladiator boasts the pinnacle of a mature talent, working with a palette of practised techniques. A spend of about 100 times that of Malkovich, may not look like good value, but though its heart is cold, Gladiator is set to be a deserving popular film of the year. The worst thing about it for me, was having to think about it. I’d sooner analyse a rollercoaster ride.
