November isn’t over yet, so let’s talk about Gladiator (Ridley Scott, 2000) and Movember. This annual event, where men grow moustaches to raise awareness for men’s health issues, has more in common with Scott's film than you might think. In an era dominated by looksmaxxing and devoted epic fans, the conclusion of Game of Thrones (2011–2019) paved the way for the anticipated success of Gladiator II, now leading the box office.
Before we explore the Roman Empire through the lens of Maximus (Russell Crowe), it’s worth noting how he embodies the masculinity of his predecessors. After all, he fills the anticipation gap for a new kind of hero at the turn of the millennium.
Maximus is the son of the "hard body" heroes who battle wild beasts, gladiators, and even emperors. These characters are defined by virtues such as strength, loyalty, courage, tireless effort, and a commanding physique—values that emerged from Reagan’s era and its emphasis on hypermasculinity and conservatism. Additionally, these traits reflect the influence of action and martial arts movies from the previous decades.
Maximus anticipates the phenomenon of looksmaxxing—the pursuit of maximizing one’s physical attractiveness through various methods, from softer techniques like skincare, makeup, hair styling, fashion, and workouts, to more extreme measures like plastic surgery. This is closely related to metrosexuality, the late 1990s and early 2000s trend in which urban heterosexual men focused on enhancing their appearance. It’s no coincidence that the protagonist, a classic heartthrob, is named Maximus—despite the military title, his name means 'the greatest,' symbolizing the constant, unhealthy competition for dominance, or to be the 'alpha.' Like Maximus, the ancient hero, the focus on physique, skills, and character reflects this primal drive attached in male veins.
The colour grading in Gladiator reflects Maximus’ mindset. Cold colours dominate the screen during the battles, evoking his vulnerability, while warm tones appear during scenes of comfort and renewal, such as those with his family in a memory at a bucolic setting, care and prayer. This duality is underscored by the pun on "Rome" and "home." Through his role as a father, Maximus embraces the concept of "new" masculinity, a shift that emerged in the 1980s.
Maximus’ masculinity is rooted in the 1980s, drawing influence from interracial buddy movies, particularly through his friendship with Juba (Djimon Hounsou). While this dynamic doesn’t fit the typical white savior narrative, it still perpetuates Eurocentric storytelling conventions by marginalizing Juba’s voice. Their relationship reflects racial hierarchies, as Juba’s story remains underdeveloped, and the film maintains a dominance of white characters.
Gladiator relies heavily on battle sequences and Coliseum performances to drive the story forward. On one hand, Russell Crowe in armour has a clear sexual appeal, particularly for the female audience. However, these scenes also serve to repress male homosexuality, using violence and the choreography of the battles to conceal and mask the spectacle of the male body. Additionally, the props—such as the swords—further emphasize this repression, acting as phallic symbols that reinforce the traditional, hypermasculine narrative.
In the first encounter between Maximus and the Coliseum, the camera angle emphasizes their difference. The high angle implies vulnerability and powerlessness—qualities that align with the protagonist's situation. The Coliseum serves as a battleground for Roman Empire slaves, including Maximus, who are fighting not only external enemies but also their inner demons. It's important to note that these gladiators are essentially "nobodies" with their identities hidden, masked and armoured.
The angle underscores the setting's role as both a threat and a source of power. The energy of the Coliseum is overtly masculine, with women excluded from the gladiatorial games, as emphasized by the sharp, impactful sounds of punches. Many films present this as part of a manhood ritual for their audience, where gladiators are given the opportunity to prove their masculinity. Despite the centuries that separate these events from today, the dynamic remains like modern UFC matches, with the audience witnessing a public display of power and dominance.
Beyond Maximus, Gladiator presents another dynamic of masculinity worth exploring: the relationship between Commodus (Joaquin Phoenix) and Marcus Aurelius (Richard Harris). This relationship can be interpreted through the lens of Freudian psychology, where Commodus experiences a subconscious desire to replace his father. The story revolves around themes of power, succession, and the father's rejection of his son's abilities, as well as Commodus' desperate need for approval. Their contrasting styles of governance highlight the shift from a more collective, wise rule under Marcus Aurelius to a more autocratic, selfish one under Commodus.
In Gladiator, there is also a notable issue with the absence of diversity and problematic gender representation. The film contrasts its male spectacle with women relegated to passive roles, often embodying the "damsel in distress" or, more pointedly, the "Smurfette trope," as seen with Lucilla (Connie Nielsen), who fits these archetypes.
Fast forward to November 2024’s box office leader, Gladiator II, where the sweeping epic and widescreen grandeur of the first film is transformed into a more introspective drama focused on Lucius, played by Paul Mescal - the contemporary heartthrob panty and eyes wetter. This shift may reflect contemporary masculinity and the growing conversation around mental health. Small spoiler alert—the apple doesn't fall far from the tree!
However, the film still struggles with issues of diversity, presenting women as mere plot devices (the "woman in the refrigerator" trope), tokenism, and othering, alongside a brief nod to an interracial buddy dynamic. Adding to the controversy is the cutting of a gay kiss between Senator Thraex (Tim McInnerny) and Macrinus (Denzel Washington). Further perpetuating the Eurocentric lens and the film's focus on a singular, conquering Roman protagonist.
An interesting aspect to note is the use of makeup for the twin emperors, which reflects broader Roman cultural values of appearance, status, and public image—an offscreen parallel to debates surrounding gender fluidity and against the traditional masculinity values.
Should we start sporting Marcus Aurelius-style beards next November to address the tangled web of toxic masculinity values perpetuated and ingrained in the patriarchy, especially as screen formats evolve, yet their immense power and dominance to influence and brainwash generations remain unchanged?
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