VERDICT: Ridley Scott displays his prodigious gifts for violence and camp in this Roman sequel, but there’s a lot of filler.
Alonso Duralde
November 11th, 2024
Since the dawn of cinema, there’s always been something inherently queer about the gladiator genre. In these grand cinematic spectacles, half-naked brawny men in mini-skirts wallop the tar out of each other at the behest of decadent aristocrats with posh British accents. Just ask Vito Russo.
Returning to the well — or maybe the aqueduct — in Gladiator II, Ridley Scott seizes the opportunity to indulge in his gift for absolute camp; think of Joaquin Phoenix whining about boats in Napoleon, or any moment in House of Gucci where Jared Leto unleashes his spicy-meatah-ballah Italian accent.
This facility for glamorous excess is a relatively new skill of Scott’s. Still, it pops up with some frequency in his latest film, alongside his longstanding ability to stage violence with gusto, whether it’s Roman warships attacking a walled city or the mano-à-mano above walloping.
Unfortunately, Scott has chosen not to fill every one of the 148 minutes of this sequel with wacky, quotable moments or with a strapping Paul Mescal taking on soldiers, sharks, or mad monkeys — rest assured, the Aftersun star does do all of those things — and when Gladiator II is being neither wild nor crazy, it’s all a little dull.
Mescal stars as Lucius; those who remember the specifics of 2000’s Gladiator will know that as a young man, he was sent away from Rome by his mother Lucilla (Connie Nielsen) for the boy’s safety. Fifteen years later, as a settler in Nova Africa, the grown-up Lucius nonetheless faces the might of the empire when his village is invaded by General Marcus Acacius (Pedro Pascal) and his forces. Lucius’ beloved wife is murdered, and he is subsequently enslaved.
Following this latest conquest, Acacius is lauded by Rome’s twin, decadent emperors Geta (Joseph Quinn, A Quiet Place: Day One) and Caracalla (Fred Hechinger, Thelma), who want to send him to seize more territories for Rome, even though the Empire can’t feed its current subjects. The military leader would rather stay home with his wife (who happens to be Lucilla) and so he conspires to turn the army against the emperors to restore “the dream of Rome,” even as Lucius, now being groomed for gladiatorial fame by the duplicitous Macrinus (Denzel Washington), plots his revenge against Acacius.
The political machinations get pretty melodramatic, including a surprise reveal, which adds to the film’s soap-opera-for-dudes quotient amidst all the beheadings and swordplay. But they don’t add up to a satisfying throughline for a film that comes alive only in the splashy set pieces.
Splashy, in the case of a naval battle that takes place inside the colosseum, which has been filled with water and sharks for the occasion; unfortunately, the level of CG illusion in this sequel resembles the original, and that one had the excuse of coming out nearly a quarter of a century ago.
The actors understand what kind of movie they’re in: Mescal gets that his job is to sport a Steve Reeves torso while uttering his lines with a plummy gravitas that suggests Richard Burton or Richard Harris before each devolved into self-parody. Washington hasn’t looked like he’s been having this much fun on screen since Training Day; he revels in his Fire Island 1972 caftans and gives a downright goosey performance as a master manipulator.
There’s a cynical joy in the way his character extends the final “s” in “politics,” and his decadence is more than matched by Hechinger, who keeps boy toys around the throne like Charles Laughton playing Nero in The Sign of the Cross.
Gladiator II makes clear the division of labor between its stars and its character actors: Quinn, Hechinger, and Matt Lucas (as the arena announcer) all look like they’ve wandered in from the recent Caligula Director’s Cut and look appropriately, and amusingly, syphilitic. The A-listers — including Pascal, who has little to do here but play the straight man – are unfailingly robust and have great teeth. If only the film itself had that much bite.
