I’ll be taking a bit of time away from FlicksChick.com for the holiday season. I hope you and yours experience great joy and warm togetherness at this special time of the year! See you in a few weeks!

To many people, Gladiator is a man’s movie, a macho flick which boasts impressive CGI and spectacular scenes of bloody combat. It’s entertainment for those who enjoy watching violence–sort of along the same lines as viewing WWE. Everybody knows that what they’re seeing isn’t real; but it’s fun to pretend it is, to revel in the savagery on display.

I think this view of Gladiator is completely erroneous.

As far as the film’s graphic content, what director Ridley Scott does with his BP winner is to employ violence in order to condemn it. Pretty clever. In the film’s opening scene, we watch the Romans, led by their general Maximus, make short work of the last unconquered Germanic tribe. The scene is brutal and gruesome; but near its close, Scott takes an interesting approach with his camera work, blurring the violence and giving viewers an insight into both the chaos of warfare and various reactions to it (revulsion, desperation, sorrow, heartlessness, emptiness). Maximus and company seem noble enough when they are fighting for their emperor and empire, but still there is a feeling of unease and doubt as to what conditions are acceptable for killing another human being: When is it right to take a life?

Soon after the battle, Maximus meets with his dying emperor, Marcus Aurelius, who reminds the victorious general that life is full of unending conflict: “There is always someone left to fight.” When Aurelius asks Maximus to become the Protector of Rome after his impending death and help give power back to the Roman Senate so that they can end “the corruption that has crippled” the empire, Maximus must choose to set aside his own desires (namely, to go home to his wife and son) for the greater good of others.

His noble choice is hijacked when that very night Aurelius is murdered, and Maximus is faced with another, more instant choice. He can opt to take the easy way and serve Aurelius’ son Commodus, who has claimed the throne and whom Maximus believes is the murderer; or he can defy logic and emperor and attempt to right the wrongs around him. His choice to do what is right leads to the horrible deaths of his wife and son and to Maximus’ own capture, enslavement, and forced transformation into a gladiator.

Now the film presents its viewers with more violence. We have been told that there will always be someone to fight, and we–and Maximus–are again asked when it is right to kill. Devastated by the loss of his family, Maximus is at first suicidal, refusing to fight and, in essence, asking someone to kill him and put him out of his misery. But after a rousing speech by Proximo, Maximus’ owner, about how each person can choose how to meet death “in order that we are remembered as men,” the former general’s mindset changes. He has been given a task: save Rome from its amoral self. The road to achieving this goal seemingly involves taking revenge on the man who had his family killed: Commodus, the new emperor. So Maximus becomes pretty much the most popular gladiator in the world, spectacularly slaughtering all his competition. Like the soldier he was, he is “required to kill, so [he kills].” One can argue that he is exercising self-defense in the arena–but there is the lingering issue of his quest for vengeance. Is retaliatory killing morally acceptable?

Commodus, whose thirst for brutality can hardly be quenched by the deaths in the arena, addresses this issue as well. Confronting Maximus in the arena after the gladiator has defeated another challenger in an unfair fight rigged by the emperor, Commodus asks, “Are we so different, you and I? You take life when you have to, as I do.” This is a legitimate question, the answer to which lies in the characters of the two men. We’ve seen who Maximus is: a man of honor, devoted to his family and to his empire, loyal, and respected. On the other hand, Commodus is about as bad as they come. Not only is he whiny, immature, and spoiled, but he also delights in cruelty. He commits patricide and regicide, brainwashes/manipulates the Roman mob to do what he wants, and denies his people the true freedom of living in a republic. Plus, he loves his sister Lucilla…in an incestuous way. Other than a few moments of vulnerability when Commodus expresses his desire to be loved by his father, his sister, and his people, as well as his fears about the dark and life being nothing but a bad dream, all we get from Commodus is corruption and hatred. He is evil embodied. He doesn’t kill for honor or self-preservation, but for enjoyment and out of fear. He and Maximus could not be more different.

In the end, though (spoiler alert!), Commodus claims brotherhood with Maximus on the grounds that they both loved his father Marcus Aurelius–and then treacherously wounds Maximus before fighting him in the arena. This set-up of the final clash of protagonist and antagonist allows Maximus’ quest for vengeance to be achieved as he kills Commodus–but the revenge is justified both by Commodus’ evil and by the motivation of self-defense inherent in such duels. It is interesting to note, however, that by achieving his vengeance, Maximus loses his own life. Perhaps the film–like Shakespeare’s Hamlet–hints here that revenge is not a worthy reason for taking the life of another person. Nevertheless, Maximus goes to his reward: an afterlife with his wife and son. We can only surmise what happens to Commodus’ soul.

For Me Then…

Gladiator‘s take on violence and the ethics of life-taking are simply one aspect of an utterly and brilliantly complex film that also asks its viewers to debate such issues as the meaning of empire, the responsibilities of leadership, the essence of being human, and what happens when we die, among other things. The way the film intertwines its exploration of all these significant topics sets it apart from most other movies I have seen. It challenges my mind every time I watch it, and for that I love it.

For me, though, the deepest, most beautiful aspect of this film is the underlying message of salvation that it gives its viewers.

Maximus, the essence of good, is never dissuaded from the mission that Marcus Aurelius gives him at the beginning of the movie: save Rome. Whereas once Rome was “light” to a world that is “brutal and cruel and dark,” it has lost itself and the morals upon which it was built. To save the empire and restore this idea of goodness and greatness requires Maximus to sacrifice himself and all that he loves: his family, his freedom, and his own life. To him, though, this is his reasonable service. Not even a reigniting of his past love for Lucilla can distract him from his end goal: “There was a dream that was Rome. It shall be realized.” Rome is not to be a place of death, where people are enslaved and tortured and massacred for others’ enjoyment. Those atrocities belong to the dark, where Commodus sits paranoid and full of evil. The only hope for the mindless masses who greedily consume whatever sustenance and vile entertainment is thrown to them is for someone who knows the good way–and who lives in it–to defeat what is wrong and demonstrate what is right. This is what Maximus does as general, as gladiator, and in his final fight with Commodus. He removes the evil and establishes the good for those who cannot do so, who don’t even know what they’re looking at when the enslaved gladiator kills their emperor. Maximus’ last words to those who betrayed him and who lacked the courage to selflessly pursue right are of restoration. To Quintus, his former second-in-command, Maximus gives one final instruction: “Free my men.” To Lucilla, he gives reassurance about her son’s future: “Lucius is safe.”

But the best part for me comes when Juba, Maximus’ gladiator friend, takes Maximus’ little carvings of his wife and son and buries them in the bloodsoaked sand of the Colosseum, declaring with a smile, “Now we’re free.” Literally, freedom is gained by being covered in the blood of the good one who gave himself for others. This is, in essence, the message of Christianity as well. Jesus, the only perfect Man, also God, gave up his life so that those who believe in Him can be covered by His blood and receive true freedom, the forgiveness of our sins and life everlasting. “What we do in life echoes in eternity,” General Maximus tells his troops. Like many concepts in Gladiator, this one is also true. What we do in this life with Jesus Christ’s sacrifice–accept it or reject it–will affect us forever. If we choose to accept it, we are now free.

During this week following Thanksgiving, I have two confessions to make. One: I am so, so, so thankful for this film (especially after the previous two BP winners). And, two: This is my absolute favorite movie ever. Seriously.

Personal story! Back when I was still in high school, my parents used to have me and my brothers take turns choosing what we would watch for family movie nights. One night when it was my youngest brother’s turn to select the film, he came back from the video store with Gladiator (2000; DreamWorks, Universal Pictures, Scott Free Productions). I was thrilled because I am a huge ancient history geek; however, I strongly disliked this movie the first time I saw it. I found it gross, and the ending really upset me. However, my brothers and I always had this habit of rewatching a movie we had rented (you know, to make sure we had gotten our money’s worth), so I dutifully engaged myself in a second helping of Gladiator the following day. For whatever reason, this second viewing was not as repulsive as the first. I found myself intrigued by the characters and the plot, inspired by Hans Zimmer’s gorgeous musical score, and captivated by the film’s deeper meaning. After another viewing with some friends, I was hooked. On my senior class trip to Colorado, I bought myself a shiny new VHS copy of Gladiator, calling it a “souvenir” so my parents wouldn’t say I had wasted my money on a movie I had already seen. I and all my classmates enjoyed it on the long bus ride home..and then I watched it every chance I got once I was home. It was spectacular every time.

One fun fact about Gladiator is that the movie almost didn’t happen. Years after its filming and release, director Ridley Scott and actor Russell Crowe, who plays protagonist Maximus, still joke about the unconventional way their BP winner came to be. In what Crowe calls “the dumbest possible way to make a film,” Gladiator began production with only about 20 pages of script (the average script is usually closer to 110 pages long). In fact, the movie was written at the same time that it was being filmed–by a team of writers who sometimes even worked on set, combined with the efforts of freelance writers in the United States and the United Kingdom who also sent pages to Scott and Crowe. The finished product was a patched-together screenplay whose brilliance is often underappreciated, in my opinion, despite Gladiator‘s nomination for Writing (Screenplay Written Directly for the Screen) at the 2001 Academy Awards.

All in all, Gladiator received 12 Oscar nominations and took home 5 awards in a year that boasted such diverse competition as Crouching Tiger, Hidden Dragon and Traffic. Gladiator‘s wins came in the categories of Costume Design, Visual Effects, Sound, Actor in a Leading Role for Russell Crowe as Maximus, and Best Picture. It failed to win for Art Direction, Cinematography, Film Editing, Music (Original Score), Writing, Actor in a Supporting Role for Joaquin Phoenix as Commodus, and Directing for Ridley Scott. Gladiator‘s Best Picture win marked the first time since 1949 that a movie had won BP without winning for either Directing or Writing, which is a true travesty, in my book. I also think it’s absurd that Joaquin Phoenix didn’t win for his creepy and diabolical Commodus–he so owned that part that it took a few years for many people (myself included) to be able to accept him in any role in which he wasn’t the bad guy.

On an interesting cultural note, Gladiator was the last film to win BP before September 11, although 2001’s winner A Beautiful Mind was also shot prior to the terrorist attacks that had such a drastic impact on every part of our lives, including pop culture and film. Released during that short period of time between what was supposed to be the end of the world as we knew it (Y2K and the new millennium) and what actually wound up being the end of the world as we knew it (9/11), Gladiator and its commentary on violence (and especially violence as entertainment) now seem deeply ironic–and deeply profound. To a world that still had fresh memories of Columbine, that debated the effects of graphic video games on the minds of young people especially, that both embraced and wrestled with the ethics and unpredictability of the new reality television where anything could happen, that still remembered a simpler way of life before the domination of cell phones and computers, Gladiator presented a story of good versus evil that didn’t shy away from addressing both the problem and love of violence in our culture. Today, as we can literally watch any kind of brutality or lewdness on demand at home, this BP’s message of rejecting depravity as amusement and fighting instead for what is good is even more relevant than it was all those years ago. Just one of the reasons why it’s my favorite.

For more thoughts on Gladiator and its significance, please check out this weekend’s post!