Gladiator

Move along now. There’s nothing new to see here. That’s right – back in 2000,  Ridley Scott spent $100 million of Steven Spielberg’s money resuscitating the moribund sword’n’sandals genre that kept previous generations amused. But while Gladiator hardly has novelty on its side, it barely puts a foot wrong in crowd-pleasing terms, delivering a truly magnificent widescreen spectacle.

In familiar modern action flick style, Scott hits us with a bloody great battle before bothering with all that exposition business. And what a battle it is, as Rome’s finest, under the leadership of loyal general Maximus (Russell Crowe), unleash a firestorm upon their hairy warrior foes in a snowswept Germanican field, outflanking the survivors and moving in for the kill on horseback. (Cunningly, Scott uses that semi-pixillated style pioneered by Spielberg in Saving Private Ryan to confound the censor by blurring the battlefield bloodletting and leaving the viewer’s imagination to fill in the gory gaps.) Ageing Caesar Marcus Aurelius (Richard Harris), meanwhile, is tiring of all this conquering malarkey and confides in Maximus his desire to re-establish the supremacy of the senate as his legacy. But Aurelius reckons without his deranged and scheming son Commodus (Juaquin Phoenix), who throttles him and jealously sends Maximus off to be slaughtered, having his wife and eight-year-old son crucified for good measure. Naturally, this makes our hero Real Mad. He swiftly disposes of his executioners and works his way back to Rome, as a gladiator under the command of sleazy Proximo (Oliver Reed), where the barking Commodus has installed himself as emperor and set about ensuring the purity of the bloodline through an incestuous relationship with his own sister (Connie Nielsen).

Scott took the Independence Day route of eschewing established stars to sell the film on spectacle alone. This pays mixed dividends. The then little-known Russell Crowe built on his excellent performances in Romper Stomper, LA Confidential and The Insider in a star-making role, refusing to be overshadowed by the magnificence of the CGI colosseum as he sweats testosterone by the bucket while making mincemeat of his heavily armoured opponents and the occasional over-sized pussy cat. Unfortunately, this has the effect of completely overshadowing Joaquin Phoenix’s absurd and rather effete Commodus. As for the home team, the elderly and, indeed, deceased Brits (Harris and Reed respectively) acquit themselves well, while Derek Jacobi also makes the most of his obligatory casting. It’s no surprise to find the dialogue ripely ridiculous, but the eye-candy of the chariot scenes and an astonishing overhead tracking shot across the colosseum, aping modern-day TV sports stadium coverage, makes this a must-see for connoisseurs of state-of-the-art epic entertainment.