Are we not enterained? You’re goddamn right we are.
Ridley Scott’s Gladiator remains a cinematic monument, a high watermark for historical epics (and Scott’s more recent movie making career) that brought the genre roaring back to life. Released at the turn of the millennium, it revitalised a style of filmmaking that had long lain dormant since the swords-and-sandals heyday of the ‘60s. With its sweeping vistas, visceral combat sequences, and emotionally potent narrative, Gladiator has cemented itself not just as a box office triumph but as a cultural touchstone.
The film, led by Russell Crowe’s commanding performance as the betrayed General Maximus Decimus Meridius, takes a classic revenge tale and imbues it with dignity and pathos. Crowe’s portrayal of Maximus is a masterclass in stoic heroism, rightly earning him the Academy Award for Best Actor and propelling him to global stardom. Yet, the film’s acclaim is not solely due to Crowe’s gravitas; the counterweight that provides the delicate balance for the high intensity drama to succeed exists in Joaquin Phoenix’s Commodus, a villain whose oily malevolence, sociopathic entitlement and fragile ego surely has nothing to teach us in the present day.
A lot of what follows in Gladiator wouldn’t really work were it not for the efforts of some legendary veterans thesping it up. Richard Harris’s portrayal of Emperor Marcus Aurelius exudes wisdom and weariness, kicking things off with a Shakespearean sensibility, his scenes with both Crowe and Phoenix highlighting the ever-fragile detente between duty, honour, power and ambition. The mentorship baton is passed from Harris to Oliver Reed’s grizzled and gruff Proximo, whose low cunning meets Maximus’ high ideals, each inspiring change in the other to drive the narrative forward. Connie Nielsen’s performance as Lucilla adds further Shakespearean complexity as she manoeuvres her way through a life fraught with peril. Adopting a quasi-manipulative role; she drives events forward perhaps more than any other single character, emboldening Maximus with her subtle encouragements while simultaneously restraining Commodus’s worst impulses and plotting against him. She’s at the heart of Gladiator‘s fascinatingly dynamic power plays, maintaining the emotional tone that drives Maximus’s arc.
Scott’s direction brings an operatic flair, blending technical prowess with evocative storytelling. The cinematography, guided by John Mathieson, juxtaposes the splendour of Rome with the brutality of the Colosseum, while Hans Zimmer’s now-iconic Holst-influenced score reverberates with emotional potency. The music, from the haunting lament of Lisa Gerrard’s vocals to the thundering percussive pieces, became synonymous with epic cinema and set a benchmark that scores would strive to match for years to come.
Beyond the sheer spectacle, Gladiator is driven by profound themes of honour, betrayal, and the pursuit of justice. At its core, the narrative explores the fragility of power and the corrupting influence of unchecked ambition. Maximus’s journey from revered general to enslaved gladiator mirrors a deeper descent into the moral decay of Rome itself—a society where loyalty is expendable, and virtue is punished. This thematic depth grants the film its staying power, transforming it from a simple tale of revenge into a reflection on resilience and the undying hope for redemption.
The twisted relationship between Maximus and Commodus adds a layer of personal animosity to the grander tragedy. Commodus’s insatiable desire for validation from his father, Emperor Marcus Aurelius, and his simultaneous jealousy of Maximus highlight the destructive nature of envy and the lengths one will go to secure power. This fraternal conflict underscores the broader political corruption of the empire, where the desire for control supersedes justice and morality.
One of the more intriguing aspects of Gladiator is how it threads historical texture with fiction. Although it plays fast and loose with Roman history, the film’s vision of Rome as a sprawling empire approaching a pivotal epoch feels authentic enough to transport audiences. The screenplay, which underwent significant rewrites, at times skirts historical accuracy to enhance its dramatic beats—a choice that pays off handsomely in both visual spectacle and narrative engagement.
Beyond the rewrites, the film’s production was not without its challenges, especially the untimely death of actor Oliver Reed. Reed’s role as Proximo, the grizzled former gladiator turned trainer, was eventually completed using digital effects and body doubles, an early use of CGI for such purposes and while the end result is far from perfect, it was good enough to not overshadow the film’s final impact or, indeed, the sterling work Reed had done earlier in the film.
In the years since its release, Gladiator has continued to resonate, inspiring countless imitators yet never quite being matched. The film’s most quoted line— “Are you not entertained?”—has become emblematic of cinema’s power to captivate and provoke. Whether viewed as a spectacle of combat or a meditation on honour, loyalty, and loss, Gladiator endures as a testament to the potency of ambition, carried on the shoulders of a director unafraid to mix the grandeur of antiquity with the raw edge of human drama.
Ultimately, Gladiator endures because it invites viewers to grapple with timeless questions: What is true leadership? What is the price of loyalty? And can justice prevail in a world so deeply entrenched in corruption? These questions resonate as powerfully today as they did over two decades ago, solidifying Gladiator as more than just a film—it is an epic reflection on humanity itself.
