“GLADIATOR II” My rating: C+ (In theaters)
148 minutes | MPAA rating: R
“Gladiator II” is pretentious twaddle.
At least it’s brilliantly-produced twaddle.
Director Ridley Scott’s followup to his 2000 Oscar winner (what were they thinking?) is less a sequel than a loose remake. It’s forever repeating beats from the original.
You see that right in the opening credits, which unfold over a montage of moments from the original “Gladiator,” albeit this time rendered in painterly animation.
Once again we get color-desaturated dream sequences and flashbacks.
Then there’s the plot, which begins with a massive battle, then becomes the story of an honest man reduced to slavery and a life of fighting in the arena. (Remember the gladiator owner played by Oliver Reed the first time around? This time those duties are fulfilled by Denzel Washington.)
The first film had a crazy emperor. This one has two crazy emperors.
And again there’s an iffy subplot about Roman political machinations with lots of uplifting/dubious oratory espousing democratic ideals that sound more like Thomas Jefferson than Marcus Aurelius. (At one point we even get an “I am Spartacus” moment.)
But here’s the thing: “Gladiator II” is bigger, noisier, faster. Special effects that looked phony in the original are now so sophisticated that one cannot tell a real rampaging rhino from a digitally created one. The city-scapes are awe-inspiring.
The whole thing pulses with visceral/sensory overload.
And it needs to, because dramatically “Glad II” feels like amateur hour. (The screenplay is by David Scarpa, Peter Craig and David Franzoni.)
Our hero (I never caught his name…I now see that this was deliberate) is played by Paul Mescal. I’ll call him Hero.
Hero comes to Rome in chains after a Roman fleet destroyed his city on the coast of North African. Having lost his home and his wife in the battle, Hero carries a chip on his shoulder. All he wants before dying is revenge on the general who ruined his life.
That would be Marcus Acacius (Pedro Pascal), who is now married to the princess Lucilla (Connie Nielsen, reprising her role from the first film). Together they are plotting to overthrow the sibling emperors Geta and Caracalla (Joseph Quinn, Fred Hchinger), a debauched pair of painted syphilitic psychos.
Before it’s all over, Hero’s path will cross those of Marcus and Lucilla in an unexpected (and wildly unlikely) plot reveal.
But then there’s the spectacle. Scott and his production designers have outdone themselves in creating the Colosseum in beautiful downtown Rome.
The first big brawl finds humans battling a troop of killer baboons. Then we move on to that armored rhinoceros, which is about the size of a Sherman tank. Most awe inspiring of all is a naval battle staged in the flooded arena. Those Romans thought of everything, including introducing huge sharks which swim around the galleys to snatch anyone who falls overboard.
The acting? It’s okay. Just okay.
Which is disappointing because Mescal has in recent roles (“Aftersun,” “All of Us Strangers,” “Normal People”) displayed a subtly seductive approach. He’s one of the few actors who can find interesting things to do with “nice” characters.
Ironic, then, that as our vengeful protagonist he’s kind of a one-note creation. Barely suppressed rage gets tiresome after a while.
Washington has been getting some awards-season buildup for his work as the gladiator master and Machiavellian power broker Macrinus. I don’t see it. The character has a few moments of gloating triumph as he turns the tables on Rome’s blue-blooded politicians, but I yearned for Washington to exhibit some wickedly comic impulses. Nope.
Denzel Washington
Everyone else delivers their lines with the sort of bloviating declamatory dialogue that wouldn’t be out of place in an old Hollywood epic from the 1950s.
Here’s the thing: “Gladiator” is all surface and no substance. There are no interesting ideas beneath the grandeur and violence, no emotional engagement.
Like Scott’s last film, the curiously untethered “Napoleon,” “Gladiator II” is a display of elephantine emptiness. No wonder it feels about 45 minutes too long.
| Robert W. Butler
Butler's Cinema Scene 