‘Gladiator II’: Too Many Gladiators In A Film No One Expected

If you don’t expect a bloody good sequel, you might just have a bloody good time. Gladiator II, a film no one even expected, suffers from a classic case of fabula redux: similar plot, similar grudges. Set 16 years after the events of the first film, and released 24 years after its predecessor, this sword-and-sandals epic serves up the same basic outline of the first movie—a valiant soldier forced into slavery must fight for his freedom in the gladiatorial arena of the Colosseum—without any of its compelling characters. But, hey, at least there are sharks and rabid baboons!

GLADIATOR II  ★★★ (3/5 stars)
Directed by: Ridley Scott
Written by: David Scarpa
Starring: Paul Mescal, Pedro Pascal, Joseph Quinn, Fred Hechinger, Lior Raz, Derek Jacobi, Connie Nielsen, Denzel Washington
Running time: 140 mins

The Academy Award-winning original offered juicy political duplicity following the patricide of Emperor Marcus Aurelius (Richard Harris), a highbrow showcase for valiant deeds amid lowbrow acts of sneering treachery that earned it a slew of Oscars, including Best Picture. Gladiator II’s second visit to the Roman Empire’s end times has no such rigorous aspirations, merely devolving into personal vengeance and camp shenanigans—with a lascivious scoop of swagger from Denzel Washington. 

In the first one, exiled and debased Roman General Maximus Decimus Meridius (Russell Crowe) personified Marcus Aurelius’ four chief virtues: wisdom, justice, fortitude, and temperance. This time around, Maximus’s secret son Lucius Verus (Paul Mescal), the latest wronged soldier-turned-slave-turned-gladiator, radiates only one burning emotion: rage. He makes for a flatter protagonist, one who watched his warrior wife die and wants to kill the man who did it: weary General Marcus Acacius (Pedro Pascal), who, like Maximus, aches to retire from the battlefield. 

Previously, the royal villain was bad-boy black sheep Commodus (Joaquin Phoenix), Marcus Aurelius’ sociopathic Emperor son and a delectably devious adversary for Maximus. Gladiator II instead gives us a Tweedledee-and-Tweedledum twofer with the ruling fraternal duo of Emperors Geta (Joseph Quinn) and Caracella (Fred Hechinger). Geta is the slightly smarter one, Caracella is a brain-addled syphilitic maniac with a pet monkey in a toga. But they’re both mincing idiots, frosty-faced soft bodies who revel in petty cruelty. 

The one improvement in this looney lineup is shady merchant Macrinus (Denzel Washington), who takes over the slot that Oliver Reed so memorably filled as gladiator dealer Antonius Proximo. A former slave who now trades in human life, the ambitious Macrinus mentors Lucius, hand-picking him from the hinterlands to spar in the big-league events of bloodthirsty Rome. He’s also a master manipulator, worming his way into the lives of weak senators and angling for the throne while gossiping about his polyamorous proclivities. By the way, if you haven’t noticed, the film embraces some seriously retrograde stereotypes. Real men are fit, straight, and heroic; the duplicitous ones are always sexually fluid and murderous.

 Back for dramatically dull turns are Senator Gracchus (Sir Derek Jacobi), the tsk-tsk Senator who does his best to sidestep all the imperial rot; and Lucilla (Connie Nielsen), once Marcus Aurelius’ conniving hottie daughter and now a po-faced royal MILF who slowly realizes that the badass new star of the Rome’s favorite bloodsport is actually…drumroll, please…the son she had with Maximus! Are you not entertained? No, not really. 

Although the circus maximus of backstabbing palace intrigue falls short, at least there’s a plethora of Gladiatores Violentia. Expect severed limbs, decapitations, and stampeding rhinos, plus naval combat courtesy of the Colosseum’s versatility as a basin-filled bathtub. The arena’s clownish emcee is Brit clown Matt Lucas, who gives the proceedings an appropriate touch of absurdity.  

Also knowing full well that this Roman romp is an objectively decadent retread, Washington happily gives his American Gangster director, Ridley Scott, the requisite big-dick thuggery. He’s gnawing the scenery with wicked menace, while the rest of the cast busies itself with the delusion that this might be another Oscar-worthy prestige picture. It’s not. Meanwhile, Hollywood’s most prolific octogenarian auteur is already onto his next movie. Will it be Gladiator III? It all depends whether audiences’ thumbs go up or down.