We trailed out of the theater as the credits rolled, weaving our way through the cluster of loud families in the lobby who had just seen Wicked. Our group—myself, Jozef, and our friends E, N, and A—weren’t among the droves of musical theater fans, though; we had gone to see the “dreadful, pointless” Gladiator II.
But there are many ways to be a “good” movie. People quip that the Golden Globes created the Award for Cinematic and Box Office Achievement for Barbie, and that may be true (the Golden Globes are notoriously corrupt, as far as film awards go). But why shouldn’t we acknowledge the cultural importance of widely popular films? In her acceptance speech for Best Actress in a Musical or Comedy Motion Picture, The Substance’s Demi Moore pointed out that hypocrisy:
“Thirty years ago, I had a producer tell me that I was a ‘popcorn actress,’ and at that time, I made that mean that this wasn’t something that I was allowed to have—that I could do movies that were successful, that made a lot of money, but that I couldn’t be acknowledged. And I bought in, and I believed that.”
Gladiator II is decisively a “popcorn movie.” A blockbuster featuring a thin plot and a cast of certified hotties—not exactly the sort of film brimming with artistry.
But unlike A Real Pain, which was a fantastic film with hardly anyone in the audience, Gladiator II is the sort of movie people actually go see. Critics can do what they want: make fun of it, poke holes in it, declare that it “never should have seen the light of day.” But dismissing a film as a popcorn movie merely dismisses its audience, too; at a time when media literacy and critical thinking are significantly low, it’s more important than ever to meet the people where they’re at. Media literacy is a skill you build over time, not a gift that God bestows on the critics at birth. When you’re lifting weights, you don’t start with a hundred pounds. When you’re learning to read, you don’t start with The Canterbury Tales. Why should it be any different for movies?
I’ll admit this was a lesson I had to learn myself. I was an English major in college, specializing in film and television (though oddly enough, my thesis was on Sally Rooney and J.D. Salinger). I focused my research on media I felt was artistic, profound, important. I wrote off the popcorn movies as beneath my attention.
But I realized that the movies most people I know actually watch are those same movies I dismissed. If media are the lenses through which we view ourselves, our culture, then we need to engage in critical conversations about the media actually being consumed. If there are two dirty pairs of glasses—one, the pair your neighbor wears every day; the other, a pair you’ve never seen in your life—which lenses do you want to clean?
Okay, maybe the metaphor is a little half-baked. Still, I’ve decided to commit the same level of attention and care to any movie I watch. To ask myself: what does this movie want me to take away from it? Why? What do I want to take away from it? Why? Every film is made with an audience and message in mind. It doesn’t serve us to absorb art uncritically; we have to interrogate the media we consume and draw our own conclusions. Otherwise, we’ll find ourselves falling down rabbit holes, getting sucked into one conspiracy theory or another, blindly accepting propaganda on X or Instagram (or, dare I say it, Substack). It’s important to note that what you take away from a piece of media doesn’t have to be (and often isn’t) what its creator intended. Now more than ever, we have access to the personal viewpoints of writers, directors, and artists—the age of the auteur, if you will. But authorial intent isn’t the whole story, and I believe that it’s up to us, the audience, to make meaning out of the media we consume.
Which brings me to the central question of this essay: what did I take away from Gladiator II? Yes, I went into it expecting to see a very handsome Paul Mescal in a tiny skirt—which I did see, thank you very much. But that’s what I brought into the viewing experience. What did I take away? What did I take away?
Gladiator II is a parable about the different ways we can respond to imperialism and fascism. Through Emperors Geta (Joseph Quinn) and Caracalla (Fred Hechinger), General Acacius (Pedro Pascal), Macrinus (Denzel Washington), Ravi (Alexander Karim), and Lucius (Paul Mescal), we come to understand fascism’s corrupting power in Rome and the relative success of four different responses to it:
Fighting the system from a position of power within the system
Learning how to use the system to one’s own advantage after being oppressed by it
Finding opportunities to heal oneself and others from the harm the system has inflicted
Fighting the system as an oppressed person refusing to participate on the oppressor’s terms
Ultimately, the film asserts that it is the last approach that is most successful in combating fascism, though Lucius’s hope of restoring Marcus Aurelius’s dream of Rome—as a free republic with enfranchised citizens—remains precarious at the end of the film.
“the Gods have spoken”: Emperors Geta and Caracalla
Gladiator II begins by establishing the extent of Rome’s imperialism and the corruption of its rulers, twin brothers Geta and Caracalla. Geta is cold and calculating, though not as intelligent as he pretends to be. Caracalla, meanwhile, has a childish impulsivity and is quick to rage. One could argue that they are presented like two parties: one more “rational” and restrained, the other charismatic and volatile, but ruling together. Sound familiar?
The film begins with the Roman army, commanded by General Acacius, conquering Numidia, the north African kingdom where Lucius lives as Hanno. Lucius is a refugee from Rome after being sent away by Lucilla (Connie Nielsen), his mother and the daughter of Marcus Aurelius, at the end of Gladiator in an attempt to protect him from her political rivals. He had built a life in Numidia as Hanno, marrying a Numidian woman, Arishat (Yuval Gonen1), who was killed by the Romans. The death of his wife leaves him hellbent on exacting revenge by murdering Acacius, even as he is enslaved by the Romans.
Meanwhile, General Acacius returns to the emperors to deliver the news of his successful conquest. He requests to take leave from military service so that he can spend time with his wife, Lucilla, and have a reprieve from the gratuitous violence of imperial war. It is clear that Acacius has become disillusioned with imperialism, disgusted by the violence he enacts in the name of the state.
Geta and Caracalla, however, know only boundless greed. They begin making plans to conquer Persia and India, and they expect Acacius to lead the army—but first, there must be gladiator games held in his honor.
Throughout the rest of the film, we see the ripple effect of Geta and Caracalla’s vicious, fascist rule, which they believe is ordained by the Gods. Roman elites hold lavish parties, often with violence as entertainment. Gladiators are treated as disposable labor—their lives on the line to make money for their enslavers whether by being sold to other Romans or being the subject of wagers. And the Roman populace are miserable, begging soldiers for basic human needs.
Rampant greed only causes problems for the twin emperors, though; their positions of power are highly precarious, with so many in pursuit of the throne. Indeed, Acacius and Lucilla are scheming to overthrow the emperors themselves.
“is this how Rome treats its heroes?”: Acacius and the consequences of fighting the system from within
Acacius and Lucilla long to restore Marcus Aurelius’s “dream of Rome,” for which Maximus fought in the original Gladiator. Marcus Aurelius himself never seemed certain of the dream’s ability to be made a reality:
“I am dying, Maximus. When a man sees his end... he wants to know there was some purpose to his life. How will the world speak my name in years to come? Will I be known as the philosopher? The warrior? The tyrant...? Or will I be the emperor who gave Rome back her true self? There was once a dream that was Rome. You could only whisper it. Anything more than a whisper and it would vanish... it was so fragile. And I fear that it will not survive the winter.”
As we see at the beginning of Gladiator II, the dream did not survive the winter. Acacius, like Maximus before him, is a Roman general who believes he serves Rome not as it is, but as it could be. The political systems in which they work are corrupted by exploitative, power-hungry leaders, which they must come to learn on their own—Maximus by being enslaved by Commodus, Marcus Aurelius’s son, and forced to fight as a gladiator; Acacius by witnessing the suffering of the Roman people even as the elites grow wealthier and more powerful.
Acacius and Lucilla aspire to overthrow the emperors through a military coup, which would ultimately place themselves in power. They are unable to imagine a path toward liberation that does not require the master’s tools.
As Audre Lorde tells us, “the master’s tools will never dismantle the master’s house.” This proves true as Acacius and Lucilla are betrayed by Senator Thraex, who is in debt to Macrinus and reveals the conspiracy. Macrinus in turn shares this information with the emperors to ingratiate himself to them; Geta and Caracalla have Acacius and Lucilla arrested for treason.
“you will be my instrument”: Macrinus and the dangers of coveting the power of your oppressor
Gladiator “stable master” Macrinus is Lucius’s enslaver, having purchased him after watching him fight baboons and deciding he would make a good gladiator. From the beginning, it is clear that Macrinus has strong ambitions and a keen intellect. He uses Lucius’s skill to gamble with Thraex until, as he points out in an incredibly delivered line, he owns Thraex’s house. (As an aside—Denzel Washington clearly had a lot of fun with this role.) The film thus draws a direct connection between the inherent violence in the labor of gladiators and the economic prosperity of the Roman elites.
That violence is fueled by rage; Macrinus asserts it is Lucius’s rage that compelled him to purchase Lucius. With no choice but to fight in the arena, the gladiators’ hatred for their abysmal conditions is directed toward one another.
Time and again, Lucius tries not to kill his fellow gladiators, but many of them have bought into the belief that they can fight their way to freedom if they just make their enslavers enough money. They make a compelling parallel to the working class white base of MAGA Republicans, who have bought into the mythology of white supremacist capitalism: that racial minorities have cut in line but that if they just work hard enough, they can achieve success like Donald Trump or Elon Musk. They vote against their own interests because they have a cultish emotional dependence on the bootstraps story—they believe not only that they can fight their way to the top but that they must do so individually, for they’ve been taught that there is no other way.
Macrinus sells that story to the gladiators, promising them that if they fight well enough, he will help them get what they want and they will eventually be able to buy their own freedom. Macrinus reveals that he himself was a slave under Marcus Aurelius’s rule but that he was able to build a successful life in Rome.
Lucius tells Macrinus that he wants the opportunity to kill Acacius to avenge Arishat. Macrinus says he will orchestrate that opportunity. But Lucius will be his “instrument” in exchange, helping him achieve his dream of becoming emperor. Macrinus believes—based on his own experience, surely—that slaves do not dream of freedom, they dream of having someone to enslave. This philosophy drives him to work within the systems of power in Rome for his own benefit, striving to place himself in the position of his oppressors.
Exposing Acacius and Lucilla’s coup brings Macrinus closer to Geta and Caracalla while removing the couple as competition for the throne. He convinces the emperors to have Acacius fight and be killed in the arena, which will serve to eliminate Acacius and appease Lucius, which Macrinus believes will keep his instrument complacent.
“where death is, we are not”: Ravi and the importance of healers in times of war
As political conflict brews outside the arena, Lucius fights in one battle after another, gaining popularity with the Roman commoners who attend the games. He slowly gains the trust of the other gladiators, devising strategies to keep as many of them alive as possible through each battle.
He also gains the trust of Ravi, the gladiators’ physician. Ravi himself was a former gladiator who fought his way to freedom, then dedicated his life to caring for the enslaved warriors. We see him stitch up wounds and dispense medicine. He even goes as far as to give the gladiators opium as pain relief during these procedures, a kindness that is hard to imagine someone like Macrinus providing.
Ravi tells Lucius about Maximus and brings him to the gladiators’ shrine to Maximus, which has his armor and sword. He tells Lucius about Maximus’s bravery and dignity, his popularity with the Roman people and his fellow gladiators, and the strength and honor with which he fought. Though the gladiators’ enslavers have tried to erase the memory of Maximus, his legacy—one defined in part by his epithet, “Maximus the merciful,” given to him by his audience—lives on.
More importantly, Ravi demonstrates to Lucius that there are alternative ways of life, that violence is not the only way to fight oppression. Lucius brings these lessons with him into the arena to fight Acacius.
“strength and honor”: Lucius and the gladiator’s creed
Throughout his time in the arena, Lucius has been consistent in both his efforts not to kill his fellow gladiators and his desire to murder Acacius. Lucilla’s initial attempt to reconnect with her son fails—he despises having been sent away from Rome only to have Romans destroy the life he built for himself and kill his wife. Still, Lucilla insists that she loves Lucius. She reveals that Maximus was his father and implores him to draw on his father’s strength to survive, prompting his curiosity about Maximus and his resulting conversation with Ravi.
Geta, Caracalla, Acacius, Macrinus, Ravi—Lucius has witnessed the impact of state violence on men of various social classes in Rome, has learned their philosophies about power. So, too, has he learned Maximus’s belief in “strength and honor,” which the gladiators use as a battle cry. And now, the time has come for him to fight Acacius.
The two men battle before Acacius surrenders to Lucius. Awaiting the death blow, Acacius declares his love and respect for Lucilla and Maximus. In this moment, Lucius seems to realize that his participation in these cycles of violence and greed won’t affect meaningful change, that murdering Acacius won’t undo the deaths of Arishat and the Numidians. He refuses to kill Acacius despite Emperor Geta’s insistence that the Gods demand it. Enraged, Geta orders the Praetorian Guard to kill Acacius, and he is slaughtered by a volley of arrows.
Macrinus is angry that Lucius has released his desire to kill Acacius and questions him. Lucius insists that Rome can be better than this, which Macrinus immediately sees as a threat—after all, he is taking advantage of these systems to improve his own position, and the power he craves is dependent upon these systems being upheld.
Macrinus and Lucius both make plans for their own endgames. Macrinus manipulates the mentally unstable Caracalla, helping Caracalla kill Geta and convincing Caracalla to appoint him consul (alongside Caracalla’s pet monkey). As consul, he tells the senators, he will be able to control Caracalla and restore order to Rome. To Caracalla, he insists that Lucilla should be put to death in the arena with only Lucius to defend her. He hopes the deaths of Lucilla and Lucius will lead to riots that the senate will defuse by killing Caracalla; in the resulting power vacuum, Macrinus plans to take the throne.
Lucius, meanwhile, accepts Acacius’s ring from Lucilla and gives it to Ravi, urging him to seek out Darius (Alec Utgoff) and tell him to bring Acacius’s legions to Rome to help the heir to the empire, Lucius, revive Marcus Aurelius’s dream of Rome. Ravi rides off while Lucius rallies the gladiators to his cause, convincing them to revolt against their enslavers and fight by his side to save Lucilla.
The gladiators’ creed, “strength and honor,” echoes through their ranks as Lucius dons Maximus’s armor and rallies his fellow gladiators for battle. Earlier in the film, this motto is little more than an empty phrase shouted before committing gratuitous, senseless—albeit defensive—violence that serves only to grease the wheels of the fascist regime. Here, though, it serves to unify the gladiators under the banner of liberation. Lucius has succeeded in building solidarity with men who at one point were willing to kill him for the sake of surviving under the empire, maybe hoping they could someday earn their freedom (an oxymoron) and find a new role within the state—perhaps a stable master like Macrinus, perhaps a healer like Ravi. Lucius calls on the gladiators not to put down their arms—the men all recognize that violence is necessary to overthrow fascism—but to pick them up and fight for a better future, the dream of Rome.
Macrinus succeeds in killing Caracalla (fortunate) and Lucilla (unfortunate). Lucius pursues him, and they come to blows just outside the city, where the Praetorian Guard and Acacius’s legions have arrived to face off. Lucius and Macrinus duel for the throne, and Lucius kills Macrinus. Then, he reveals his identity to both armies and implores them to lay down their arms and join him in restoring Rome to Marcus Aurelius’s dream of a republic.
While Lucius is able to prevent further bloodshed, the film ends with him returning to the arena mourning his parents. His final line, “Speak to me, Father,” conveys Lucius’s uncertainty about Rome’s future. In a time when he is set to rule, what Lucius wants most is guidance.
Gladiator II comes at a time when the future of our own empire is uncertain. We stand on the precipice of great change, rife with the potential for catastrophe.
What is our dream of Rome? The film asserts that we must reject the master’s tools, the master’s house. We have to dream of something different—something better. The path to liberation, the revolution that it requires, will almost certainly involve a degree of violence. You don’t need me to tell you all the violence we’re witnessing from both the oppressors and the oppressed now or to predict the violence that is yet to come. Gladiator II asks us to consider the extent of that violence: what is necessary, and what is gratuitous? And as we imagine our own dream of what this world could be—and what we will do to fight for that dream—the film reminds us of the importance of healers. Because even if (and when) violence is necessary, it is vital to prioritize care. Our dream can and should be one free from violence, so we must stay anchored in the act of healing as we fight the bloody fight for that dream.
The revolution has a place for all of us.
There is some controversy surrounding the role of Egyptian-Palestinian actress May Calamawy, who was originally announced to have an important role in the film, but whose role was ultimately reduced to a background character with no dialogue. A promotional still from the summertime showed Paul Mescal and May Calamawy embracing and kissing—while Mescal appears to be dressed as Hanno—which has sparked a theory that Calamawy was replaced by “israeli” actress Yuval Gonen for the role of Arishat. Interestingly, both Calamawy and Gonen were both cast before filming, were photographed together during filming, and are following each other on Instagram. It is unclear whether Gonen replaced Calamawy (perhaps because Calamawy has been vocally pro-Palestine) or Calamawy’s scenes were cut for runtime. You can read the Middle East Eye article about it here, though it doesn’t say much more than this summary. Gonen lives and works in Tel Aviv and is explicitly pro-“israel.”