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24 years after the Oscar-winning 'Gladiator', Ridley Scott returns to the colosseum sandbox. The end result is difficult to dismiss but still hard to defend. There was every reason to feel nervous about .
Or more accurately, as the opening credits show us: . So please, let’s start pronouncing this legacy sequel properly: “Gladiiiiiiiiator”. If Josh Trank’s doomed can’t escape “Fant-four-stick”, there’s no reason why this sequel to the Oscar-winning 2000 original gets a pass just because it’s Ridley Scott behind the camera.
has some big sandals to fill, as even 24 years later, some of ’s epic speeches, thrilling battles and Zeus-tier score from composer Hans Zimmer still resonate. Plus, Scott is a very hit-or-miss director. For every , , and , there’s a , , whatever was, and .
No bad word shall be said about – it's a camp masterpiece, and that’s the end of it. Still, all eyes are on Scott’s return to the colosseum sandbox, and the end result is difficult to dismiss but still hard to defend. Unlike the loopy sequel idea that was proposed by none other than , who envisaged following Maximus (Russell Crowe) battling his way out of the afterlife, picks up 16 years after the death of our favourite commander of the Armies of the North, General of the Felix Legions and loyal servant to the TRUE emperor, Marcus Aurelius.
The dream that was once Rome has been forgotten. The empire is on the verge of collapse, with not one but two sniveling and anemic-looking emperors at the helm – Geta (Joseph Quinn) and Caracalla (Fred Hechinger). Imagine Romulus and Remus, if Romulus and Remus were John Lydon-aping petulant pricks.
Their tyrannical rule is defined by an unquenchable bloodlust when it comes to conquering countries. Enter a tanned and beefed-up Lucius Verus (Paul Mescal), Maximus’ son, who came of age under the name Hanno. He vows vengeance against General Marcus Acacius (Pedro Pascal), who marshals a seaborn military campaign into the North African province of Numidia, which leads to the death of Lucius’ wife Arishat (Yuval Gonen) and his capture.
You can guess what happens next, as is essentially a rehash of ’s script. Lucius is sold as a gladiator, having impressed Macrinus (Denzel Washington) - a slave owner and political schemer who has plans of his own when it comes to the future of Rome. Little does Lucius know, however, that Acacia is tired of the endless need for more territories and is secretly plotting a coup to end the reign of Geta and Caracalla.
Not only that, but the general is married to his estranged mum, Lucilla (Connie Nielsen, reprising her role from the first film), who exiled her son from Rome after the events of the first film to protect him from the plotting mob. That makes Lucius the grandson of Marcus Aurelius, and therefore the rightful heir to the Roman empire..
. If the course of true love never did run smooth, the path to revenge isn’t much more polished. Let’s get the obligatory question out of the way: “Are you not entertained?” Yes, is well-made and entertaining.
Who wouldn’t be distracted by gladiators facing off against a horde of baboons in berserker mode, a lumbering rhino, and a shark-infested colosseum? However, this belated follow-up doesn’t reach the heights of its predecessor and will most definitely not “echo in eternity.” The bulk of the blame resides at screenwriter David Scarpa’s doorstep. The scribe, who wrote Scott’s and last year’s , makes this an unnecessary continuation.
Long gone are the epic speeches (“Where death is, we are not” pales compared to David Franzoni, William Nicholson and John Logan’s “Death smiles at us all, all a man can do is smile back”) and the emotional heft of Gladiator is lacking. This sequel is all too happy to coast on nostalgic callbacks instead of carving out its own place in history. It can’t even fashion an ending of its own, preferring instead to give us yet another flashback.
The all-too-familiar beats are equaled by bafflingly pacing. Putting aside some very questionable CGI, the much-lamented absence of Zimmer on composing duties, some glaring historical accuracies and the fact that both Quinn and Hechinger can’t equal Joaquin Phoenix’s Commodus, there’s little here for the audience to grapple with. When it comes to the action, the well-designed set pieces can’t make up for the fact that there’s absolutely no build-up or sustained tension here.
As soon as the games begin, the battles are frustratingly dispatched in a flash. As for the emotional stakes, they are rushed at best, leaving no motivational or sentimental weight. This results in the muscular Mescal having to do his level best with precious little.
Granted, he’s a succulent beefcake, no one can take that away from him; however, the actor can’t wring out anything but flattened emotions, and nothing approaching a rousing call to arms. Scott seems to have retained that what people enjoyed from were the fight scenes, when in reality, combat was only memorable because the viewer cared about Maximus’ betrayal, his hurt, and his passionate quest for revenge. In , nothing is explored with any depth and rivalries lack consistency.
Suddenly, all is forgiven between Lucius and Acacia, and the knotty resentment he harboured when it comes to his mother evaporates. She ends up getting a nice hug from her long-lost boy in a prison cell before yet another bewilderingly anticlimactic showdown. The only element that truly works is Denzel Washington.
The actor relishes every line, knowing when to go Shakespearian and when to camp it up. An Oscar-worthy performance? Maybe not, but then again, he does make the whole show stay afloat - more so than some of the boats in the arena. While visually engaging, is a curiously hollow film that banks on big spectacle and small emotions, completely failing to step out of ’s shadow.
Did Scott even want to? It shows that the director needed more than two decades to stick this landing. Either that or he should have left the original alone. In this sense, this sequel joins George Miller’s : diverting, but equally unnecessary.
This is what you get when a director and his screenwriter are content with dialing everything up to 11 (except the emotion) and wallow in past glories instead of forging a new and dramatically satisfying narrative arc. “Strength and honour”? More diluted bis repetita..
