‘Gladiator II’ Review: Paul Mescal and a Scene-Stealing Denzel Washington in Ridley Scott’s Entertaining but Imitative Sequel

Few contemporary directors are tackling movies of the scale and muscularity that Ridley Scott, still going strong at 86, brings to Gladiator II. In terms of brutal spectacle, elaborate period reconstruction and vigorous set pieces requiring complex choreography, the sequel delivers what fans of its Oscar-winning 2000 predecessor will crave — battles, swordplay, bloodshed, Ancient Roman intrigue.

That said, there’s a déjà vu quality to much of the new film, a slavishness that goes beyond the caged men forced to fight for their survival, and seeps into the very bones of a drama overly beholden to the original.

The screenplay, credited to David Scarpa (who wrote Napoleon and All the Money in the World for Scott), often seems as close to a remake as a sequel. It follows the template of David Franzoni’s earlier Gladiator script almost beat for beat, most of its characters traceable to direct counterparts from that film.

One of many examples is the small role of master of ceremonies at the gladiatorial games. Last time it was David Hemmings’ campy Cassius, in a curly red wig that made him look like he was auditioning for Annie. This time it’s Matt Lucas, painfully rehashing his Great British Bake Off shtick in a fancy toga. Is Scott telling us that Colosseum announcer was a job for the flamboyant gays of Ancient Rome?

The movie’s vitality gets a boost when it steps out from the original’s shadow, as it does with gusto whenever Denzel Washington is onscreen. He turns in a lip-smacking performance as Macrinus, a Machiavellian former slave now living in high style off the profits of his stable of gladiators and patiently plotting a secret agenda to acquire greater wealth and power.

Resplendent in costumer Janty Yates’ regal, multi-hued robes and dripping in jewelry, Macrinus corresponds to the late Oliver Reed’s memorable Proximo in Gladiator. But Washington brings such blinding charisma, steely authority and sly humor to the role that his self-made man with a devious plan is very much his own character, one almost worthy of a standalone film.

So where does that leave the new lead, Paul Mescal? The Irish actor steps into the strappy sandals of Russell Crowe’s Maximus and — as is indicated in the trailer, but stop reading if you’re spoiler-averse and don’t already know — is revealed to be Lucius, the exiled son of Maximus and Lucilla (Connie Nielsen). Mescal has bulked up for the role, so he’s physically convincing as a fighter with a knack for surviving in the arena. But his performance feels a tad flat at times, its narrow emotional range sticking mostly to the same notes of brooding intensity and simmering rage.

This is probably less the actor’s fault than that of Scarpa’s screenplay, which doesn’t give him much to play when he’s not swaggering out from the bowels of the Colosseum to tangle with brutes and beasts and whip up the bloodthirsty crowd. Or, at least, not much that doesn’t feel familiar or predictable, until the stirring final act. Mescal is a wonderful actor, and magnetic as always. But there’s a nagging feeling that the role of Lucius isn’t a great fit for him, even if he hurls himself into it with formidable strength.

Some of Mescal’s best moments are Lucius’ quiet exchanges with Ravi (Alexander Karim), a soulful former slave and gladiator who earned his freedom but chose to stick around in Hell and serve as doctor to the wounded combatants. Ravi is to Lucius exactly what Djimon Hounsou’s Juba was to Maximus, a trusted friend and confidant. Karim is a superb scene partner and Mescal responds with warmth and gentle humor; their characters’ connection provides more access to the protagonist’s interior life than his seething glares.

By contrast, Lucius’ scenes with his mother are basically replays of Lucilla’s scenes with Maximus. In both films, Lucilla struggles to earn back the trust of an estranged man — one a former lover, the other a son — returned to Rome in chains and hungry for revenge. This is far from the only rote repetition in a narrative constrained by lazy writing.

Sent away by his mother at age 12 to keep him safe from the treachery of Rome, Lucius grew up in the North African province of Numidia. He has a loving wife, Arishat (Yuval Gonen), and is a valued leader in the outpost’s army, in which she also serves as a skilled archer. The movie opens with a thrilling siege sequence in which a fleet of Roman warships led by General Marcus Acacius (Pedro Pascal) descends on the Numidian fortress, capturing the city and claiming many lives.

Lucius is among the survivors taken prisoner and transported to Rome, where he ends up in the hands of Macrinus and his thuggish gladiatorial trainer, Vigo (Lior Raz). The seed of vengeance burning inside him after a devastating loss, Lucius vows to kill Acacius.

The hero prevails in his hair-raising introduction to the Colosseum, where he and the other “barbarians,” including the wounded Numidian chieftain (Peter Mensah), are assailed by a pack of savage baboons (probably the shoddiest CG work in a production that’s generally solid in that department). Macrinus knows a gifted gladiator when he sees one, and encourages Lucius to use the rage that pours out of him to win the crowd — promising that if the slave serves him well, he will have his chance at the general.

Acacius is married to Lucilla, and having served Rome with valor, he wants only to return home to her. But sibling emperors Geta (Joseph Quinn) and Caracalla (Fred Hechinger), whose tyrannical rule is shoving Rome toward a fall, order him to continue until Persia and India are conquered.

Wanting to stop the endless sacrifice of Roman soldiers for the emperors’ vanity, Acacius and Lucilla meet with a handful of trusted senators, including Nielsen’s fellow Gladiator holdover Derek Jacobi as Gracchus. In secret, they plot to overthrow the despots, take back the city and restore it to the people, which was the dream of Lucilla’s father, Emperor Marcus Aurelius (Richard Harris in the earlier film).

Once Lucilla recognizes Lucius as her lost child, she’s caught between aiding her husband’s planned rebellion and protecting her son’s life. This puts her at grave risk as Geta grows more angered by the defiant gladiator’s popularity with the mob and syphilitic Caracalla grows crazier, eventually only trusting his pet monkey.

About those emperors: While Crowe bagged an Oscar, Joaquin Phoenix gave the standout performance in Gladiator as Commodus, the unloved son of Marcus Aurelius who murdered his father to secure his threatened ascent to power. Burdened by the massive chip on his shoulder, Commodus was consumed by bitterness; by his hatred for Maximus, a great military leader who was like a son to the emperor; by incestuous desire for his sister Lucilla; and by paranoia that her son, Lucius, would be groomed to replace him on the throne. It was a juicy, edge-of-madness role for Phoenix to feast on, giving the movie’s hero a worthy antagonist.

Quinn and Hechinger are hilariously unhinged in their diabolical roles, making Geta and Caracalla petulant man-babies as buffoonish as they are vicious. Once you’ve read that Beavis and Butt-Head were among Scott’s reference points, it’s hard to unsee that. But even without the association, making the rivalrous emperors such demented clowns undercuts their danger. They’re almost too stupid to be sinister.

The more nuanced and interesting figure is Acacius, played by Pascal as a man of honor who draws a line at continuing the ceaseless aggression the insatiable emperors require. The fact that Lucius is awakened too late to the integrity of a man he sees as a nemesis gives Acacius a tragic nobility. His depth of character, along with the robust physical presence Pascal brings to the role, creates an absence when he’s removed from the action relatively early.

But the movie fires on all cylinders once Lucius identifies master manipulator Macrinus as his true enemy, culminating in a clash outside the city gates. Washington’s ability to play it cool while savoring the character’s ruthlessness is transfixing, making him a monster of greed and ambition, but also a rich source of humor. Playing opposite him also fires up Mescal as Lucius realizes his destiny is not to destroy Rome but to save it, adding greater dimension to the role that has a retroactive effect.

As in all good historical dramas, there are plenty of contemporary political parallels to be drawn, especially in the wake of the hard-fought U.S. presidential election. Right or wrong, both sides could conceivably see themselves reflected in the story of a fight to serve the people by freeing an empire from corrupt, self-serving rulers. But the plot ultimately feels like a retread of an existing model, its frequent rushes of excitement not quite disguising the faint odor of staleness.

Scott’s greater interest seems to be in creating bigger, bolder action, aided by huge advances in digital technology in the 24 years since Gladiator. This allows him to resurrect an idea deemed impractical in the original, of pitting the men in the arena against a heavily armed gladiator riding a charging rhinoceros.

The filmmaker willingly favors showmanship over historical accuracy, notably so in a nautical battle staged in the flooded pit of the Colosseum, in which wounded men tumble from boats into the jaws of ravenous sharks. While historians say filling the arena with water did happen, there’s no scholarly evidence to support either the bucking rhino or the sharks. But if it dials up the thrills, who cares?

Extravagant directorial flourishes notwithstanding, the period detail is impressive, evidencing major builds in Malta where the movie was predominantly shot. (Both cinematographer John Mathieson and production designer Arthur Max also worked with Scott on Gladiator, as did costume designer Yates, whose work here is complemented by David Crossman’s vast range of military and gladiatorial uniforms.)

No visual here is quite as lyrical as the motif of Maximus’ hand brushing through the wheat field or the visions of his wife and son in the original film, and some of Lucius’ afterlife fantasies are on the clunky side. But there are evocative images that linger, like a shot of men raking the pebbly sand on the arena floor the night before a contest. There’s also a beautiful, painterly animated recap incorporating shots from the first movie that seems almost an extension of the Scott Free Productions logo.

As he demonstrated in the far more uneven Napoleon, Scott is in his element filming massive crowds and blood-soaked battles, the grandiosity accentuated by Harry Gregson-Williams’ high-drama score. Gladiator II might not have a protagonist with the scorching glower of Crowe’s Maximus, but it has plenty of the eye-popping spectacle and operatic violence audiences will want.