Gladiator II: a sequel that effectively doubles as a remake

For a sequel so long in the works and so highly anticipated, there’s something surprisingly utilitarian about its title: Gladiator II, minus any prestigious-sounding subtitles, as if merely churned out onto a rather slow-moving factory conveyor belt. Ridley Scott continues to favour an unusual combination of colossal scale and minimal fuss. For all its absurdly elaborate details and set pieces – sharks in the colosseum! warriors riding rhinos! – Gladiator II arrives on the screen feeling like a pro forma blockbuster, built from parts that have worked proficiently before. 

They work proficiently again, too, give or take the lurching tonal inclinations of David Scarpa’s script: would-be rousing one minute, goofy to the point of self-parody the next, and conspicuously missing the lyrical grandiloquence that upscale script doctor William Nicholson brought to the first. Where Gladiator was an out-of-time phenomenon, in thrall to a school of vintage Hollywood spectacle that had been out of fashion for years, Gladiator II takes only its predecessor as a template. One of those sequels that effectively doubles as a remake, it follows the narrative and character arc of the 2000 film so closely as to safeguard itself against significant failure.  

The hero’s journey of stout-hearted Lucius (Paul Mescal), wrenched from a life of peaceful domesticity to one of enslaved gladiatorial combat en route to vengefully reclaiming his legacy of Roman nobility, neatly mirrors that of his late father Maximus, the doughty protagonist of the first film. The stakes are the same, the obstacles more or less interchangeable, the key battles staged in similar fashion – unless a rabid baboon swapped in for a snarling tiger counts as a significant pivot.  

Any differences in tenor and texture are largely attributable to John Mathieson’s unexpectedly drab digital cinematography – heavier on greys and khakis than the first film’s luridly sunburnt crimsons and golds – and to Mescal, a frailer, more inwardly seething screen presence than Russell Crowe, whose roaringly theatrical, Richard Burton-esque fury gave Gladiator its hot-blooded welly. That Lucius seems a more reluctant heir to the glory of Rome lends Gladiator II an interesting edge of melancholy in its first half, until Scarpa saddles Mescal with the kind of macho speechifying to which the Irish actor feels less naturally suited. Maximus’ rather rudimentary mantra of “strength and honour” echoes with less conviction each time it is repeated here.   

It’s left to Denzel Washington, resplendently bejewelled and scarcely attempting a cod-Anglo-Roman accent as Lucius’ calculating captor, to bring the vigour, broadly chewing and coughing up scenery at arena-filling volume. All hissingly extended syllables and exaggerated eye-rolls that may or may not be in character, it’s a flagrantly gaudy performance, indulgent and eccentric. It sits in stark contrast to Scott’s get-the-job-done professionalism. Delivering repackaged goods with a soldierly sense of duty, Gladiator II could stand to go a little more off-kilter. 

► Gladiator II is in UK cinemas from 15 November.