Mad Maximus

Director Ridley Scott takes the best of the old Roman films, crowns the incredibly focused Russell Crowe his hero, and makes a modern classic.

By STEVE PERSALL

© St. Petersburg Times, published May 5, 2000

Before pro wrestling smackdowns, before Roger Ebert's thumb, before mace was a spray weapon, there was the rise and fall of Roman Empire movies.

Their heroes are legend: Spartacus, Ben-Hur, Barabbas. Betrayed in 1963 by the expensive tastes of Cleopatra that made casts of thousands obsolete. Violence remains in style, rarely with valor, often in outer space, and never with such primal purity. Sorry, Tina Turner, but we do need another hero.

Hail, Maximus, the solemn champion of Ridley Scott's invigorating film, Gladiator.

Russell Crowe puts a stranglehold on stardom as Maximus, a Roman general demoted to battling slave by Empire politics. Crowe's performance, swelling with pride and guile, is a dynamic reminder of Mel Gibson's breakthrough in the futuristic gladiator flick, Mad Max. No nonsense, no hesitation, just a noble firebrand leading with his broadsword.

Yet, Crowe hints at humane regret underneath the fury, a timeless conflict in 1 A.D. He simply wants to retire to his family and farm. This death machine has a heart, never wearing it on his armored sleeve. Maximus stokes our emotions enough to make our temporary bloodlust justified. Just what Scott's colossal movie needs.

Without Crowe's intrepid performance, Gladiator could be overwhelmed by Scott's impressive re-creation of the period. Sets are enhanced with amazing computer-generated images, especially the massive Coliseum packed with thousands of cheering fans. Scott built fascinating new worlds in Blade Runner and Alien. Now, he immerses moviegoers in ancient surroundings with the same excellence.

Gladiator goes medieval on your senses, starting with Maximus leading troops into battle against Germanic soldiers. Catapults heave fireballs to soften up the enemy, flaming arrows soar and brutal duels commence. Scott is merciless with details of bashed bones and severed limbs, a grisly overture establishing Maximus as a leader of men.

Emperor Marcus Aurelius (Richard Harris) is dying and decides to pass his throne to Maximus. That doesn't please the emperor's less-qualified son Commodus (Joaquin Phoenix). Commodus usurps the throne and throws Maximus into the slave pool, where he is purchased by Proximo, a crafty spectacle promoter (Oliver Reed, who died shortly after filming).

Maximus proves to be invincible in the arena, and news arrives that Commodus is planning a series of fights in the Coliseum. Proximo sees a potential payday. Maximus sees a chance to get within sword's length of the person who wrecked his life. Gladiator uses this mythic outline to bind together awesome action sequences and a dose of social commentary.

There isn't much difference between the crowds cheering Maximus and fans of modern mayhem entertainment. Money is the root of all violent exploitation then and now. One of Maximus' endearing qualities is the way he resents the attention. It's insane to view these fights as fun. We like him enough to agree, then realize we're gawkers, too.

Scott plays cagey with this paradox, as if to say: If you want to be a ghoul, do it right. Mano a mano, with much more than profit in the balance. Viewers shouldn't feel guilty watching Gladiator, but its impatience with trash-sports showmanship is unmistakable. Proximo could be WWF founder Vince McMahon. Maximus has honor and purpose, either missing from or poorly fabricated by today's actor-athletes. That makes all the difference.

Therefore, Gladiator has the distinction of being both timely and nostalgic. But don't forget its freshness to young moviegoers crowding box offices. They weren't born when Kirk Douglas and Victor Mature were swinging chains. To them, Charlton Heston is just some old guy hyping the NRA. Gladiator provides excitement the youth market craves and a hero it deserves. Maximus rocks.

Grade: A Gladiator

Director: Ridley Scott

Screenplay: David Franzoni, John Logan, William Nicholso

Rating: R; extreme violence, mild sexual situations and profanity

Running time: 154 min.

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