'Gladiator II': Endure, Adapt and Bite wild dog

What makes Gladiator (2000) so captivating and inspiring is precisely its pure, uncalculating heroism. From this perspective, today's historical epics—much like heroism itself—seem to have grown outdated.

In the Numidian province arena, Lucius faces his first battle. A pack of wolfman-like beasts lunges wildly at and savagely mauls a group of hapless individuals who've just been captured by the Roman forces and forcibly turned into novice gladiators. Among them, one beast wrestles Lucius to the ground. On all fours, Lucius defends himself by mimicking the creature's posture and movements. In a startling turn, he retaliates by biting the beast fiercely, then seizes the moment to wrestle it to death barehanded.

Having narrowly survived, Lucius is met with a mix of admiration and mockery from the other slaves, who mimic dog barks in his direction. Rather than taking offense, Lucius plays along by making self-deprecating howls.

This dog-eat-dog fighting style is utterly unthinkable—and unachievable—for his illustrious father, Maximus, the noble protagonist of the 2000 classic, Gladiator. Maximus is a dignified gladiator, embodying absolute humanity and earning tears from audiences as an unassailable hero. This early arena scene in Gladiator II effectively sets the tone for this highly anticipated sequel: the protagonist is more cunning in combat and sharper in political maneuvering, with a touch of humor added to the narrative.

However, what makes Gladiator so captivating and inspiring is precisely its pure, unadulterated heroism. From this perspective, today's historical epics—much like heroism itself—seem to have grown outdated.

Of course, this shift may delight audiences weary of conventional sentimental tropes. Lucius, less upright and perfect than his father, feels more authentic and multidimensional. After all, in the harsh and treacherous currents of history, only those who can adapt—perhaps even by biting back—stand a chance of survival.

It's not just traditional heroism that has retreated. With a new generation of audiences less inclined to endure three-hour historical epics, the new-generation Gladiator sequel has also compromised on its runtime. Coupled with the dual critical and box-office failure of Napoleon, producers likely had ample reason to curb Ridley Scott's outdated penchant for exhaustive, panoramic displays of battle scenes. That said, there was a time when Scott excelled in conveying the intensity of combat, as seen in the battle sequences of Gladiator.

Let's compare the opening sequences of the two Gladiator films, one set in the north and the other in the south. The original features the Roman Northern Expedition Army clashing with Germanic tribes in a forested battleground, while the sequel depicts the defense of the Numidian city-states—Rome's final conquest in North Africa—against Roman forces on a coastal plain. In my view, the sequel falls far short of capturing the tension of the standoff or the brilliance of the combat compared to its predecessor. The CGI in the assault and defense scenes brings to mind the old multiplayer strategy game Age of Empires. Coincidentally, this iconic Microsoft game was released around the same time as the original Gladiator and quickly became a hit.

The most eye-catching and innovative sequence in Gladiator II is undoubtedly the naval battle. Enslaved fighters armed with spears and shields sail a warship into a massive amphitheater flooded with seawater. Opposing them is a Roman warship equipped with neatly arranged cannons, while lurking below the water surface are dozens of ravenous great white sharks. The setting evokes aquarium dolphin shows at theme parks or the water theater from last year's art film Beau Is Afraid. The ensuing clash between the Roman navy and the slave army is a spectacular display of fire, blood, and carnage—a visceral thrill.

Having visited numerous ancient amphitheater ruins, from Rome to France, from Tunisia to Morocco—and possibly even the ruins of Timgad in northeastern Algeria, which may have inspired the sequel's opening battle—I can confidently say that such grandiose venues for performative warfare never existed in ancient Roman history. Of course, the creative premise of these blockbusters has always been to fictionalize stories about real historical figures, so the exaggerated sets should come as no surprise. Entertainment has always been the priority, throughout the ages.

A key supporting character present in both films over the 24 years is Lucilla, the sister of the previous Roman emperor. In the original, she has entanglements with both the protagonist and antagonist: the enslaved General Maximus and her patricidal, self-crowned, biological younger brother Commodus. In the sequel, she is now married to Roman General Marcus Acacius. Historically, Lucilla was indeed known as a promiscuous royal woman, but there is no record of her affairs with the two generals, nor of her plotting a Senate coup to assassinate her brother.

Sacrificing heroism to create more multidimensional characters and runtime for more efficient storytelling might be justifiable. However, sacrificing Hans Zimmer and replacing him with his former assistant Harry Gregson-Williams for the score is a major downgrade. Of course, this decision was likely unavoidable. On one hand, since the 21st century, directors have been reluctant to let overly melodic music overshadow their narratives, leading to a significant decline in strong, memorable scores. On the other hand, Zimmer himself declined to compose for Gladiator II because he was reluctant to produce stylistically similar scores, so he recommended Gregson-Williams for the task, believing he'd do well.

From the perspective of staying unobtrusive, Gregson-Williams's score does its job adequately. However, it leaves no lasting impression. To evoke nostalgia for returning audiences, Gladiator II occasionally reprises Zimmer's iconic themes—during flashbacks of Maximus (played neither by Russell Crowe, who did not return for the sequel, nor through archival footage; the new Maximus could either be a lookalike actor or an AI creation) and in homage to the classic wheat field scene.

But rest assured, the legendary song, "Now We Are Free," by the former symbol of record label 4AD's ethereal music, Lisa Gerrard, is still part of the soundtrack.

And finally, a little personal brag: in 2019, I had the privilege of watching Gerrard perform this song live, along with her world music ensemble Dead Can Dance, at an ancient Roman amphitheater in Thessaloniki, the second biggest city in Greece.