GLADIATOR II (2024)

There once was a dream of Rome. It was an idea so fragile you could only whisper it, or it would vanish. At the end of Gladiator (2000), it’s a dream our main characters plan on turning into reality. That is, at least, what they said. Unfortunately, 24 years later, Rome is just as corrupt and in an even greater shambles than ever before. A hero must rise (again) to dethrone a mad emperor (again), discovering that his path to destabilising Roman politics runs through the Colosseum… again…

Gladiator II is all too familiar. Featuring an almost identical plot to the original film, Ridley Scott’s sequel attempts no risks, so it reaps no rewards. Everyone knows how sequels tend to employ— which is a generous way of saying imitate — the same formula that succeeded the first time around. Keeping the moves that got you to the dance is understandable. However, refusing to incorporate anything new is not. In Scott’s return to Rome, there are zero surprises, and one can’t help but think that the 86-year-old director has phoned it in.

From the outset, it’s evident that Scott just wants to play the hits. We begin with a colossal assault on Numidia (one that doesn’t quite thrill as did the battle against the Germanic tribes in Vindobona, which opened Gladiator), and from there, nothing will shock you. David Scarpa’s screenplay, developed from a story he developed with Peter Craig, is almost entirely derivative: the pair copy plot points wholesale, hit story beats at almost exactly the same rhythm as their predecessor, though it often feels like they’re off tempo. While I won’t spoil anything, suffice to say that if you’ve seen the first film, there isn’t much to spoil.

All it feels like is an uninspired cover of that song you love: devoid of the heart, feeling, and startling freshness that made the original such a success. Furthermore, I dislike sequels that undercut the emotional heft of their predecessors in order to make narrative sense. The finale of Scott’s audacious swords-and-sandals epic has a resounding poignancy, one that this sequel renders completely hollow in only the opening credits: it’s divulged to us that despite the sacrifices and heroism on display from the original story, absolutely nothing changed, and the situation in Rome only became worse.

Terrific. By making the events of the previous film redundant, Scott alienates exactly the people he’s trying to appeal to: fans of the epic original. Of course, Scarpa and Craig had to create a Rome in dire need of rescuing, which they must have felt effectively demanded them to undermine everyone’s past efforts. However, what they fail to realise is that this narrative decision diminishes all the action that is to follow: if nothing worked last time, why will it succeed this time around? This especially considering both film’s heroes use identical methods to achieve their aims. I don’t see why we won’t be learning of Rome’s desperation (once again) in 2048, with Ridley Scott gleefully giving the middle finger to historical accuracy for a final time at the ripe old age of 110.

Extensively replicating plot points is bad enough, but it’s the rather brazen, shameless attempt to appeal to the viewer’s nostalgia that’s so off-putting. This can be found in both the action and (even more unforgivably) the dialogue. Battles occurring in the Colosseum plainly mimic the awe-inspiring sequences from the original, though they lack stakes. Worse is how lines that sent chills down your spine from the first film are repeated verbatim, yet without real emotion. They’re the same words, but now devoid of the significance they once possessed.

Instead of writing something inventive (in any way, shape, or form), Mescal delivers the same lines that Crowe did two decades ago: “I will have my vengeance,” and “Strength and honour!” both make several appearances. As much as I like Paul Mescal, his leading performance isn’t stellar. From the actor who gave an incredibly nuanced showing in Aftersun (2022), his work here feels rather monotonous. Much of his dialogue is delivered in a clunky, half-hearted manner, and his speeches feel flat.

I’m not sure if it was his attempt to maintain an English accent that led to his unvarying tone, but the almost droning quality to his monologues robs them of any urgency, depth, or power. Crowe brought a mesmerising gravitas to his role, one that was equal parts overwhelming despair, indescribable rage, and malicious purpose. Still, there was an unspoken tenderness that provided his character with equilibrium; he was a three-dimensional hero, well-written and expertly performed.

However, I wouldn’t pile blame onto Mescal’s shoulders: the script simply isn’t there for him to do much new, and it immediately leads to these unfair comparisons. If anything, he’s provided with fewer scenes than Crowe to demonstrate his acting range —mostly Mescal spends his time onscreen fighting, screaming, or both—and when he does sermonise to legions of men, the lines feel lifted from the original script, so they lack dramatic heft.

Still, some of the performers still manage to thrive. Denzel Washington remains incredible (though I can’t really think of an instance when he wasn’t), and unlike Mescal, refuses to put on a faux-British accent. Similarly, Joseph Quinn is sensational, delivering another understated performance in one year. Much like his role in A Quiet Place: Day One (2024), Quinn reveals just how adept he is at acting with only his eyes. Consequently, his performance as Emperor Geta is commanding, even if it never quite reaches the same heights as Joaquin Phoenix’s portrayal of Commodus.

With this in mind, it eventually becomes apparent that Scarpa and Craig have committed the screenwriter’s cardinal sin: they haven’t written their story about the most interesting character, and the plot suffers as a result. It’s Washington’s Macrinus who steals the show, not just because he’s a fabulous performer, but because he has more going on underneath the surface. He may be a little old to be swinging swords in the Colosseum, but that’s beside the point: the real issue is how the writers have attached their story to one that had concluded satisfactorily, so it only feels like they’re clutching onto a better film’s coattails (or tunic-tails, in this instance).

Not only this, but there are too many characters in the story, without sufficient time to develop them all. Gladiator was a deceptively fast-paced film. It was such a success because it expertly achieved a delicate balance between plot, character, and story, a balance almost as fragile as the dream of Rome. Yet, David Franzoni, John Logan, and William Nicholson deftly designed a narrative around two principal characters (Maximus and Commodus), two supporting parts in Oliver Reed’s Antonius Proximo and Connie Nielsen’s Lucilla, with Derek Jacobi’s Gracchus embodying the film’s underlying themes of democracy countering tyranny.

With each character serving a specific narrative function, the story could remain brisk without feeling rushed. In this respect, Gladiator was practically Shakespearean. Themes of honour and vengeance, familial strife and forbidden love, all woven into the fabric of a blockbuster movie. In stark contrast, this sequel feels hasty to finish up: there are so many plot lines (and all of them predictable) that the story feels hurried.

And so, Gladiator II feels about as superfluous and as ill-advised as Hamlet II: both the stories of our protagonist and antagonist have been wrapped up in very neat, very deliberate bows. Untangling them so that you can cram in another present under the wrapping paper feels decidedly forced, which is ultimately the sensation one gets when watching Gladiator II. This is a sequel that didn’t need to be made, much like Joker: Folie à Deux (2024).

If you’re going to watch Gladiator II because you loved the first movie, you may just be better off re-watching it. I, for one, feel as though I’ve watched a pale imitation of a deftly written, heartfelt classic. Much like how Marcus Aurelius described his son Commodus, Gladiator II is an unworthy successor, one that takes 148-minutes to say nothing new.

However, if you think you should see for yourself, then definitely see it in the cinema (and preferably in IMAX). Credit where credit’s due, Scott’s film is ambitious —if not narratively, then at least in scale. Unfortunately, the grand scope can’t cover up narrative shortcomings, and nothing you see feels innovative or memorable. Personally, I don’t find the ambition to be all that impressive when the project feels vapid overall. Watching this on your television would only amplify that dissatisfaction.

I was in the perfect position to like this film: I had low expectations, which means I could have been easily impressed, and I really wanted to enjoy this return to sword-swinging, sandal-wearing Rome on the big screen. However, I realistically can’t see myself watching Gladiator II again. With yet another sequel said to be in the works — imaginatively titled Gladiator III— it seems there are still some who think the story possesses potential for growth, but I’m not one of them. Yes, the film is epic in scope, but it somehow feels small, and I’m very disappointed that a world of such intelligence and depth could be rendered so shallow.

UK • USA | 2024 | 148 MINUTES | 2.39:1 | COLOUR | ENGLISH

Cast & Crew

director: Ridley Scott.
writer: David Scarpa (story by Peter Craig & David Scarpa; based on characters created by David Franzoni).
starring: Paul Mescal, Pedro Pascal, Joseph Quinn, Fred Hechinger, Lior Raz, Derek Jacobi, Connie Nielsen & Denzel Washington.