It may not get much praise, but Gladiator II, the sequel to Ridley Scott’s stunning Ancient Rome, may be as good a film as we thought it would be. Written by David Scarpa (“Napoleon”) and directed by Scott (who, at 86, has not lost his touch for the peacock-fest of bloodthirsty audiences), the film is a solid piece of neo-classical popcorn — a serviceable epic. From brutal warfare, Colosseum jousts featuring lavish beheadings and animal and human monstrosities, along with the ‘decadentity’ of palace intrigue.
The entire film is built to the Next Generation specifications of its star, Paul Mescal, who plays Maximus’ descendant Russell Crowe (I won’t say more) and does so by not trying to imitate Crowe’s performance. In “Gladiator,” Crowe, who carried a sword that was an extension of his inner hostility, was the ultimate thinker. Agile and calm, Mescal looks like the shaggy son of Marlon Brando – a miserable cat turned angry.
Twenty-four years ago, Gladiator was both old and new: a cultured, ultra-violent action movie rooted in the theatrical antiquity of Hollywood’s past and rendered with the visual effects of the (then novel) future. With “Gladiator II,” we more or less know what we’re getting, but the film still stands strikingly far from the blockbuster market. It’s a Saturday night saga about Tony’s escape. But is it great? A movie he loves as some of us love “The Wrestler”? No and no. He’s ultimately just a shadow of this movie. But it’s just diversionary enough to justify its existence.
First, we learn that Rome is ruled by twin brother-emperors, the Phi Geta (Joseph Quinn) and even Caracalla (Fred Hechinger), who with their pale smiles resemble the effeminate from “Fellini Satyricon.” The glutted Roman Empire degenerates into vile bloodshed and debauchery. When a fleet of Roman battleships, led by the idealistic general Marcus Acacius (Pedro Pascal), appears to invade the North African province of Numidia, it is a defeat. One of the dead is the soldier wife of farmer-turned-troop commander Lucius Verus (Mescal), sending him into a state of temporary despair.
This is in marked contrast to the primal wound Crowe suffered in Gladiator, where the slaughter of his wife and son burned him so badly that he considered himself already dead. This is part of the poetic power of “Gladiator”: Maximus is now ready to join them in heaven, freeing his already great ferocity. He wants revenge, so much so on a deep level he Doesn’t give a fuck.
Crowe gave one of my favorite performances in cinema (I’ve watched it dozens of times) in Gladiator. That’s because he played a different version of something we’ve all seen too much of – the turbulent hard case designed to kill – and yet invested it with such a strange spirit. I talked about it a lot. His physicality was existential. And when he lowered his voice to say to Commodus Joaquin Phoenix: “The time for honoring yourself will soon end” (Translation: I’d like to cut out your eyeball with my thumb), he was more invincible in his silent rage than any superhero.
Paul Mescal has nothing approaching that primal masculine appeal. His Lucius, captured and brought to Rome to be a gladiator, is scowling and pensive, and has a strange look. His gaze is sensitive, his smile is sad, and his lower jaw is prominent. But Mescal has something going for the movie – he shows not vengeance but a disheveled, powerful nobility, an ideal that would make Lucius the would-be savior of Rome.
First, he must survive in the gladiatorial arena, which he does by facing off against a team of wild apes (who look like they’re from another planet, which is weird) and catching the attention of Macrinus (Denzel Washington), a former slave who runs the gladiatorial arena and becomes a mentor. Lucius. Washington’s performance is the film’s trump card, because you can’t pinpoint him – he’s a gregarious good guy, then a Machiavellian gossip gossip from senators, then a backstabber, then someone who stabs you anywhere and everywhere. You can feel Washington drawing on his Shakespearean knowledge to integrate this character into a realistic, realistic vision of ambitious evil.
Lucius first believes that his enemy is Acacius Pascal, who led the charge that killed Lucius’ wife. But Acacius is actually a respectable man who stands far from where Rome is headed. He is planning a coup against the emperors and has senators, such as Derek Jacobi Gracchus, on board.
If there’s a relationship that bears Gladiator II’s name, it’s the one between Lucius and his mother Lucilla (Connie Nielsen), who sent him away from Rome as a boy after Maximus’ death. The two have some issues to solve, and Nielsen’s acting gains tremendous bite. The way Macrinus rises, driven by Washington’s formidable flair, lends the film some structural surprise. What’s less surprising – an obediently honest sequel, in fact – is Lucius’s final-stage embrace of Moxy Maximus and his literal suit of armor. The way Mescal plays, with a rage that never boils over, we can’t help now but look at him as a millennial knock-off of Crowe’s incandescent royalty. In “Gladiator II,” aren’t we entertained? we. But this is not necessarily the same as being fascinated.