Here’s a striking anecdote from a distinguished don at Cambridge University. He once conducted an interview with a prospective student hoping to study classics, but, in a rather typical turn of events, she seemed utterly uninspired and had little to contribute. In a bid to unveil her intellectual curiosities, he posed the question: “Is there anything about the Roman world that captures your interest?” After a prolonged silence, she finally responded, “Gladiator.” He felt a flicker of hope and seized the opportunity to delve deeper. “And what specifically intrigued you about Gladiator?” he inquired, probing for thoughts on the film’s politics, culture, or the bloody games. “Russell Crowe,” she answered, and with that, yet another application was consigned to the rejection pile.
Last week, I accompanied my mother to witness the spectacle of Gladiator II at the towering Imax in London, where the vast screen practically engulfed us, making me feel as if I were peering directly into Paul Mescal’s nostrils. While Russell Crowe’s absence is felt palpably in the sequel, director Ridley Scott continues to provoke thought. Critics are observing that the sequel embodies a more nihilistic tone compared to its predecessor, which was first released in the year 2000. The original film painted a portrait of a Rome under Marcus Aurelius, the philosopher-emperor—a vision that seemed noble yet flawed due to the excesses of his son, Commodus—implying that such a society could be redeemed by virtuous individuals, all while Crowe humorously likened his armor to a netball uniform.
In retrospect, one could draw parallels between Rome and the pre-9/11 America—full of aspirations and untapped potential. Fast forward two decades, and the tagline for Gladiator II audaciously declares, “Rome Must Fall,” suggesting that the empire was fundamentally flawed from the very start and ripe for destruction. The villains in this iteration are depicted as twin emperors who engage in unyielding conflicts against a melange of barbarian tribes while distracting the disgruntled populace with brutal spectacles. Their faces are grotesquely painted, mirroring the way former President Trump’s visage is sometimes concealed to mask the passing of time, and a particularly salient scene features one emperor appointing his monkey as a consul, striking a disconcerting chord with audiences: “Arise Matteus Gaetus…”
While there are interpretations suggesting that Gladiator II subtly critiques Trump, the connections drawn seem tenuous. Trump’s stance is notably anti-war, diverging from hawkish tendencies, and it is the conservatives—not liberals—who express apprehensions about repeating Rome’s historical blunders.
Advocates of nationalism cite the Roman decision to grant asylum to the Goths, who ultimately contributed to the fall of Rome; Christians lament its rampant sexual permissiveness; while rugged individualists criticize its fading martial vigor. “Rome fell,” as Elon Musk recently articulated to a podcaster, “because the Romans stopped making Romans.” He observes that a flourishing society often sees a decline in birth rates, leading it to rely on foreign labor and mercenaries. Today’s politicians appear mired in short-term fixes, whereas billionaires like Musk adopt a long-term perspective, viewing societies as complex systems liable to collapse when they abandon fundamental principles.
This discourse leads to the central thesis of cultural suicide. Societies inevitably encounter wars and plagues; however, those with resilience endure, while weaker ones disintegrate. Viewed through the lens of these sword and sandal epics, I often find myself anxious for the male concubines—there’s a notable presence of such characters in Gladiator II—pondering what their future holds post-regime change. Simply existing as ornamental figures hardly equips them for new careers.
But fear not, they could find openings at Jaguar. The car manufacturer’s new advertisement has caught the attention of some in the Musk camp as a stark indicator that our version of Rome is nearing its end. Eight vestal virgins, representing a diverse range of ethnicities and body types, including every category except for perhaps a “Mongolian hunchback,” stroll through an empty expanse, vowing to “delete the ordinary” and “break moulds.”
Interestingly, Jaguar neglected to showcase any actual cars; this serves as a classic example of a Western society undermining its own success by disregarding core fundamentals. Yet what struck me most was the emptiness reflected in the models’ eyes—a haunting similarity to the hollow gazes seen among certain Ukrainian pole-dancers (don’t ask how I came to know this) and the male concubines from the original Gladiator, who appeared as if the vitality had been drained away. True wisdom lies in recognizing that absolute hedonism, akin to Rome or Hell, becomes tedious: pleasure evolving into obligation, devoid of fulfilling result. The Jaguar advertisement concludes with the phrase: “copy nothing.” Yet this novelty is hardly groundbreaking; our culture wrestles with the challenge of creating anything genuinely innovative.
When it comes to the political landscape, it mirrors the dysfunction seen in industry. The United States finds itself dominated by a mere handful of powerful elite families. Just as Julius Caesar seized power to safeguard his immunity and avoid incarceration, modern political figures find themselves navigating similar treacherous waters. Perhaps this cyclical pattern is simply the fate of peoples throughout history. Positioning Rome as a cautionary tale tends to overshadow Gladiator’s original message of a society that was once stable and commendable—yet it endured crises almost continuously, and its splendor often thrived on the subjugation of others. Rome did not collapse overnight; its successors endeavored to preserve its more admirable aspects. In the same vein, modern Britain is a more just and equitable society than during its imperial peak, and much of our discontent arises from the persistent belief that we bear an ongoing obligation to sacrifice ourselves on behalf of others. Notably, it appears that while the Treasury extracts £500 million from British farmers, it concurrently allocates the same amount to agricultural initiatives abroad.
In conclusion, Gladiator II fails to provide solutions to the pressing issues it examines. Despite condemning the brutal gladiatorial games, it indulges in them with gruesome exuberance, offering viewers raw depictions of injury in stark close-up. Notably, Mescal’s character suffers a dramatic encounter with a rhinoceros yet emerges with nothing more than a small, inconspicuous scar on his arm, prompting the concubines to exclaim: “Ooo!”
Mescal embodies the archetypal hero—evoking comparisons to Captain Kirk and Batman. Scott’s rendition of Gladiator enshrines the Anglo-American, liberal ideal of the heroic individual, displaying scant regard for the well-being or agency of the masses. The film scarcely addresses the narratives surrounding slavery, the Jewish experience, or Christianity, with its protagonist showing little interest in restoring the republic; his worthiness to lead emerges only because, spoiler alert, he is, in fact, a royal. As for the monkey: “Coco was one of the better consuls of Rome.” This observation, I recount, is attributed to Edward Gibbon.
**Interview with Dr. Lydia Thompson, Cultural Critic and Classicist**
**Host:** Thank you for joining us today, Dr. Thompson. You’ve recently been reflecting on the release of “Gladiator II” and its thematic implications regarding our current society. Can you share your overall thoughts on how this film portrays the fall of Rome?
**Dr. Thompson:** Absolutely, and thank you for having me. “Gladiator II” resonates as a stark reflection on the flaws of empires, both ancient and modern. The tagline “Rome Must Fall” suggests an inherent weakness within the empire that leads to its inevitable collapse. The twin emperors, who are ensconced in conflict and spectacles, serve as a metaphor for today’s political leaders, perhaps not just in the U.S., but globally. Their grotesque portrayal can be interpreted as a commentary on how some leaders might distract the populace while neglecting fundamental issues.
**Host:** Interesting! There’s been speculation that the film subtly critiques contemporary figures, including former President Trump. Do you think those interpretations are valid?
**Dr. Thompson:** While the connections between the film and Trump appear tenuous at first glance, they do provoke thought. Trump’s anti-war stance contrasts with the hawkish nature of the characters in “Gladiator II.” The film might suggest broader concerns about leadership and governance rather than directly pointing fingers. It hints at the cyclical nature of power, echoing concerns raised by activists across the political spectrum.
**Host:** Speaking of cyclical patterns, Elon Musk’s comments about the decline of Romans due to decreasing birth rates add another layer to this conversation. How do you view the relationship between societal resilience and the themes presented in the film?
**Dr. Thompson:** Musk’s perspective highlights the importance of cultural continuity, suggesting that a flourishing society needs the vitality provided by its populace. “Gladiator II” can be viewed as a cautionary tale about cultural suicide—the notion that societies can wither when they lose connection to their core principles. The resilience of a society must come from a commitment to its foundational values, rather than relying on external influences.
**Host:** You also mentioned the evolving nature of pleasure and its consequences. In the context of both the film and current culture, how do you see this playing out?
**Dr. Thompson:** Pleasure as an obligation resonates strongly today. The film’s depiction of male concubines, reduced to mere ornamental roles, speaks volumes about the risks of superficiality. Additionally, the recent Jaguar advertisement symbolizes this same emptiness—lots of aesthetic appeal but lacking substance. When a culture prioritizes novelty over meaningful contributions, it risks becoming stagnant, reminiscent of the excesses that led to Rome’s downfall.
**Host:** That’s a compelling analysis. Lastly, you hinted at the political landscape mirroring the dysfunction within industry—could you elaborate?
**Dr. Thompson:** Certainly. Just as power in the Roman Empire became increasingly centralized, we see a similar trend in today’s political environment, where a small number of elite families dominate. The precariousness of this power dynamic fuels a sense of vulnerability reminiscent of the late Roman Republic. The cyclical nature of history compels us to reflect on these patterns—to learn, adapt, and hopefully avoid repeating past mistakes.
**Host:** Thank you, Dr. Thompson, for such illuminating insights. It seems that “Gladiator II” serves not only as entertainment but as a rich canvas reflecting our contemporary struggles and historical lessons.
**Dr. Thompson:** Thank you. It’s crucial to engage with these narratives thoughtfully as we forge the future from the lessons of the past.
Gladiator II: A Nihilistic Take on Rome’s Fall and Modern America
Here’s a striking anecdote from a distinguished don at Cambridge University. He once conducted an interview with a prospective student hoping to study classics, but, in a rather typical turn of events, she seemed utterly uninspired and had little to contribute. In a bid to unveil her intellectual curiosities, he posed the question: “Is there anything about the Roman world that captures your interest?” After a prolonged silence, she finally responded, “Gladiator.” He felt a flicker of hope and seized the opportunity to delve deeper. “And what specifically intrigued you about Gladiator?” he inquired, probing for thoughts on the film’s politics, culture, or the bloody games. “Russell Crowe,” she answered, and with that, yet another application was consigned to the rejection pile.
Last week, I accompanied my mother to witness the spectacle of Gladiator II at the towering Imax in London, where the vast screen practically engulfed us, making me feel as if I were peering directly into Paul Mescal’s nostrils. While Russell Crowe’s absence is felt palpably in the sequel, director Ridley Scott continues to provoke thought. Critics are observing that the sequel embodies a more nihilistic tone compared to its predecessor, which was first released in the year 2000. The original film painted a portrait of a Rome under Marcus Aurelius, the philosopher-emperor—a vision that seemed noble yet flawed due to the excesses of his son, Commodus—implying that such a society could be redeemed by virtuous individuals, all while Crowe humorously likened his armor to a netball uniform.
In retrospect, one could draw parallels between Rome and the pre-9/11 America—full of aspirations and untapped potential. Fast forward two decades, and the tagline for Gladiator II audaciously declares, “Rome Must Fall,” suggesting that the empire was fundamentally flawed from the very start and ripe for destruction. The villains in this iteration are depicted as twin emperors who engage in unyielding conflicts against a melange of barbarian tribes while distracting the disgruntled populace with brutal spectacles. Their faces are grotesquely painted, mirroring the way former President Trump’s visage is sometimes concealed to mask the passing of time, and a particularly salient scene features one emperor appointing his monkey as a consul, striking a disconcerting chord with audiences: “Arise Matteus Gaetus…”
While there are interpretations suggesting that Gladiator II subtly critiques Trump, the connections drawn seem tenuous. Trump’s stance is notably anti-war, diverging from hawkish tendencies, and it is the conservatives—not liberals—who express apprehensions about repeating Rome’s historical blunders.
Advocates of nationalism cite the Roman decision to grant asylum to the Goths, who ultimately contributed to the fall of Rome; Christians lament its rampant sexual permissiveness; while rugged individualists criticize its fading martial vigor. “Rome fell,” as Elon Musk recently articulated to a podcaster, “because the Romans stopped making Romans.” He observes that a flourishing society often sees a decline in birth rates, leading it to rely on foreign labor and mercenaries. Today’s politicians appear mired in short-term fixes, whereas billionaires like Musk adopt a long-term perspective, viewing societies as complex systems liable to collapse when they abandon fundamental principles.
This discourse leads to the central thesis of cultural suicide. Societies inevitably encounter wars and plagues; however, those with resilience endure, while weaker ones disintegrate. Viewed through the lens of these sword and sandal epics, I often find myself anxious for the male concubines—there’s a notable presence of such characters in Gladiator II—pondering what their future holds post-regime change. Simply existing as ornamental figures hardly equips them for new careers.
But fear not, they could find openings at Jaguar. The car manufacturer’s new advertisement has caught the attention of some in the Musk camp as a stark indicator that our version of Rome is nearing its end. Eight vestal virgins, representing a diverse range of ethnicities and body types, including every category except for perhaps a “Mongolian hunchback,” stroll through an empty expanse, vowing to “delete the ordinary” and “break moulds.”
Interestingly, Jaguar neglected to showcase any actual cars; this serves as a classic example of a Western society undermining its own success by disregarding core fundamentals. Yet what struck me most was the emptiness reflected in the models’ eyes—a haunting similarity to the hollow gazes seen among certain Ukrainian pole-dancers (don’t ask how I came to know this) and the male concubines from the original Gladiator, who appeared as if the vitality had been drained away. True wisdom lies in recognizing that absolute hedonism, akin to Rome or Hell, becomes tedious: pleasure evolving into obligation, devoid of fulfilling result. The Jaguar advertisement concludes with the phrase: “copy nothing.” Yet this novelty is hardly groundbreaking; our culture wrestles with the challenge of creating anything genuinely innovative.
When it comes to the political landscape, it mirrors the dysfunction seen in industry. The United States finds itself dominated by a mere handful of powerful elite families. Just as Julius Caesar seized power to safeguard his immunity and avoid incarceration, modern political figures find themselves navigating similar treacherous waters. Perhaps this cyclical pattern is simply the fate of peoples throughout history. Positioning Rome as a cautionary tale tends to overshadow Gladiator’s original message of a society that was once stable and commendable—yet it endured crises almost continuously, and its splendor often thrived on the subjugation of others. Rome did not collapse overnight; its successors endeavored to preserve its more admirable aspects. In the same vein, modern Britain is a more just and equitable society than during its imperial peak, and much of our discontent arises from the persistent belief that we bear an ongoing obligation to sacrifice ourselves on behalf of others. Notably, it appears that while the Treasury extracts £500 million from British farmers, it concurrently allocates the same amount to agricultural initiatives abroad.
In conclusion, Gladiator II fails to provide solutions to the pressing issues it examines. Despite condemning the brutal gladiatorial games, it indulges in them with gruesome exuberance, offering viewers raw depictions of injury in stark close-up. Notably, Mescal’s character suffers a dramatic encounter with a rhinoceros yet emerges with nothing more than a small, inconspicuous scar on his arm, prompting the concubines to exclaim: “Ooo!”
Mescal embodies the archetypal hero—evoking comparisons to Captain Kirk and Batman. Scott’s rendition of Gladiator enshrines the Anglo-American, liberal ideal of the heroic individual, displaying scant regard for the well-being or agency of the masses. The film scarcely addresses the narratives surrounding slavery, the Jewish experience, or Christianity, with its protagonist showing little interest in restoring the republic; his worthiness to lead emerges only because, spoiler alert, he is, in fact, a royal. As for the monkey: “Coco was one of the better consuls of Rome.” This observation, I recount, is attributed to Edward Gibbon.
**Interview with Dr. Lydia Thompson, Cultural Critic and Classicist**
**Host:** Thank you for joining us today, Dr. Thompson. You’ve recently been reflecting on the release of “Gladiator II” and its thematic implications regarding our current society. Can you share your overall thoughts on how this film portrays the fall of Rome?
**Dr. Thompson:** Absolutely, and thank you for having me. “Gladiator II” resonates as a stark reflection on the flaws of empires, both ancient and modern. The tagline “Rome Must Fall” suggests an inherent weakness within the empire that leads to its inevitable collapse. The twin emperors, who are ensconced in conflict and spectacles, serve as a metaphor for today’s political leaders, perhaps not just in the U.S., but globally. Their grotesque portrayal can be interpreted as a commentary on how some leaders might distract the populace while neglecting fundamental issues.
**Host:** Interesting! There’s been speculation that the film subtly critiques contemporary figures, including former President Trump. Do you think those interpretations are valid?
**Dr. Thompson:** While the connections between the film and Trump appear tenuous at first glance, they do provoke thought. Trump’s anti-war stance contrasts with the hawkish nature of the characters in “Gladiator II.” The film might suggest broader concerns about leadership and governance rather than directly pointing fingers. It hints at the cyclical nature of power, echoing concerns raised by activists across the political spectrum.
**Host:** Speaking of cyclical patterns, Elon Musk’s comments about the decline of Romans due to decreasing birth rates add another layer to this conversation. How do you view the relationship between societal resilience and the themes presented in the film?
**Dr. Thompson:** Musk’s perspective highlights the importance of cultural continuity, suggesting that a flourishing society needs the vitality provided by its populace. “Gladiator II” can be viewed as a cautionary tale about cultural suicide—the notion that societies can wither when they lose connection to their core principles. The resilience of a society must come from a commitment to its foundational values, rather than relying on external influences.
**Host:** You also mentioned the evolving nature of pleasure and its consequences. In the context of both the film and current culture, how do you see this playing out?
**Dr. Thompson:** Pleasure as an obligation resonates strongly today. The film’s depiction of male concubines, reduced to mere ornamental roles, speaks volumes about the risks of superficiality. Additionally, the recent Jaguar advertisement symbolizes this same emptiness—lots of aesthetic appeal but lacking substance. When a culture prioritizes novelty over meaningful contributions, it risks becoming stagnant, reminiscent of the excesses that led to Rome’s downfall.
**Host:** That’s a compelling analysis. Lastly, you hinted at the political landscape mirroring the dysfunction within industry—could you elaborate?
**Dr. Thompson:** Certainly. Just as power in the Roman Empire became increasingly centralized, we see a similar trend in today’s political environment, where a small number of elite families dominate. The precariousness of this power dynamic fuels a sense of vulnerability reminiscent of the late Roman Republic. The cyclical nature of history compels us to reflect on these patterns—to learn, adapt, and hopefully avoid repeating past mistakes.
**Host:** Thank you, Dr. Thompson, for such illuminating insights. It seems that “Gladiator II” serves not only as entertainment but as a rich canvas reflecting our contemporary struggles and historical lessons.
**Dr. Thompson:** Thank you. It’s crucial to engage with these narratives thoughtfully as we forge the future from the lessons of the past.
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