All the World’s America’s Stage — Even Ancient Rome

“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.” So says the dying Emperor Marcus Aurelius at the beginning of the 2000 film “Gladiator.” 

Played by a regal Richard Harris, Marcus Aurelius is as much a wise sage as he is a Roman general. He longs to restore the Roman Empire to a republic, where there will be no need for emperors, and power will be shared among the Roman Senate. To achieve this dream, he decides that he cannot let his corrupt son Commodus succeed to the throne. Instead, he asks the heroic General Maximus Decimus Meridius (played by Russell Crowe) to succeed him and restore the Senate to a position of power.

But the Republic had ended more than 200 years earlier, and there is no evidence that Marcus Aurelius was interested in the return of a historical past. By the time of his death in 180 C.E., he had already made Commodus his co-emperor. That had taken place in 177 C.E., when Commodus was just 16, to ensure the smooth transition of power from one emperor to another. When Marcus Aurelius died, Commodus would move seamlessly from co-emperor to sole emperor, keeping the line of succession securely within the Aurelian family.

Marcus Aurelius is perhaps one of the most well-known emperors of ancient Rome, with his “Meditations” being among the most popular philosophical works in history, particularly in the United States. The work was a favorite of several prominent U.S. politicians, including President Bill Clinton and James Mattis, the former U.S. secretary of defense, who reportedly carried a copy with him during his deployments. Theodore Roosevelt supposedly took two copies with him on his expedition to the Amazon in 1913. The appeal no doubt lies in the moral lessons of the work, providing guidance on how to live a virtuous life, develop strength of mind and manage difficult situations.

What “Meditations” does not provide is a guide to restoring the Roman Republic. We can find nothing in “Meditations” that calls for the end of Roman imperialism, nor any indication that Marcus Aurelius was opposed to his son becoming the next emperor. Instead, “Meditations” provides a guide to successful rulership. If you can govern yourself, then you can govern others effectively.

The Marcus Aurelius we see in “Gladiator” is in many ways a reflection of modern American political ideals. He is wise, powerful, militaristic, educated and set on trying to prevent corruption. As he tells Maximus at the beginning of the film, his dream for Rome is a political system where power belongs to the many, not the few. It is a description that is much more pertinent to an idealized version of modern America than the established one-man rulership of the Roman Empire. 

This Marcus Aurelius and his fictional dreams for ancient Rome are a key component of the newly released “Gladiator II,” which credits its script and story to American screenwriters. As the film begins, text appears on the black title card reading: “16 years after the death of Marcus Aurelius, his ‘Dream of Rome’ has been forgotten. Under the tyranny of twin Emperors Geta and Caracalla, corruption flourishes. Their ruthless aggression spread like a plague throughout the Empire. The fall of the great city is imminent. Only the hopes of those who still dare to dream remain.”

With this premise established, we meet our hero, played by Paul Mescal. He has been on the run from Rome for many years and is living in a coastal city in Numidia in Northern Africa. When the Romans attack, he is captured and taken to Rome to be a gladiator in the Colosseum, where we discover that he is Lucius Verus, the son of Lucilla, Marcus Aurelius’ daughter (played by Connie Nielsen) and General Maximus, Marcus Aurelius’ chosen successor. Lucius is therefore Marcus Aurelius’ grandson, the rightful heir to the Roman Empire, and the only hope for bringing about his grandfather’s “dream that was Rome.”

That this is Lucius’ role is made abundantly clear throughout the film. Although it is not particularly clear why, Lucius is fervent in his adherence to his grandfather’s dream of a Republican Rome, seldom missing an opportunity to extol its virtues. As he tells the doctor he befriends while enslaved as a gladiator, he yearns for “a Rome where all could live under fair law and be protected. A Rome of the Senate. A Rome of hope.”

He repeats this idea later, after the film’s final battle outside the walls of Rome, when he crawls exhausted out of a river to face the assembled Roman legions:

We have all known too much death. Let no more blood be spilt in the name of tyranny. My grandfather Marcus Aurelius talked of a dream that would be Rome. A dream that my father, Maximus Decimus Meridius, died for. An ideal. A city for the many and a refuge for those in need. A home worth fighting for.

To the Roman legions he is addressing, this dream of returning Rome to a republic would have been entirely redundant. It was a system that had little relevance to the political system at the height of the Roman Empire.

But Lucius’ speech is directed to the modern audience gathered in a darkened cinema. His words are less reminiscent of a Roman dream than the American dream, with its promise of freedom and opportunity, or as Lucius puts it, a land that promised “a refuge for those in need,” “where all could live under fair law and be protected.” Lucius could just as well have recited the inscription on the Statue of Liberty: “Give me your tired, your poor, Your huddled masses yearning to breathe free.” The effect would have been the same.

“Gladiator II” is not the first, and is unlikely to be the last, Hollywood film to use ancient Rome to play out these American ideals of liberty. In the 1960 film “Spartacus,” we see the gladiator Spartacus (played by Kirk Douglas), leading a band of escaped gladiators out of slavery to challenge the might of Imperial Rome.

While the real-life Spartacus and his men certainly threatened Roman order, requiring several Roman military campaigns to defeat them, there is no evidence that their revolt aimed to abolish slavery and create a new non-imperial government in Rome. But the story of an escaped gladiator provides an excellent opportunity for Hollywood filmmakers to present modern American ideals of freedom — and relitigate the particulars of U.S. history. 

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But do these inaccuracies matter? Over the years, historians have tended to have very different opinions. Professor Kathleen M. Coleman at Harvard University, the historical consultant for the first “Gladiator” film, asked to have her name removed from the end credits after seeing the final edit. As a professor of Roman history, she felt, quite understandably, that she could not lend her name to the rampant historical inaccuracies. 

The problem with historical inaccuracies in films such as “Gladiator” is that they present the audience with what appears to be an authoritative version of the ancient world. Rather than drawing out elements of the ancient past that speak to and give nuance to the problems of modern politics, Scott’s anachronisms forcibly superimpose modern ideas and ideals onto the ancient world.

For me, these anachronisms exist on a sliding scale. In a creative endeavor, when you have limited time to communicate to the audience the complexities of a historical context, it is necessary to cut some corners. When done right, this can be extremely helpful for an audience. Take for instance the motto of General Maximus in the first “Gladiator” film: “Strength and Honor.” This was not the motto of the Roman legions, but it was the motto of Russell Crowe’s boys’ school. He suggested it to Ridley Scott on set and Scott liked the idea. Both Scott and Crowe reportedly hated the official script for “Gladiator” — the one Coleman had provided historical context for — and were keen to make alterations and adaptations as they went along. The motto “Strength and Honor,” while being historically inaccurate, had the advantage of being both pithy and evocative of the military atmosphere.

Similar examples can be found in “Gladiator II.” The emperors Geta and Caracalla are twins in the film, rather than simply brothers. This change makes it much easier for the audience to understand why they are sharing power. In 211 C.E., when their father Emperor Septimius Severus died, he left his two sons as co-emperors, expecting them to share power. By making the two brothers twins, the film avoids having to deal with this historical complexity and effectively explains why there are two emperors rather than one.

Other anachronisms, however, have the opposite effect. Rather than helping the audience understand the historical context, they abruptly take the audience out of the film’s ancient setting. A good example is the terminology in “Gladiator II,” which is wildly inconsistent. The emperors are referred to as “your majesty” or “sire,” instead of “Caesar” or “Imperator,” and we hear references throughout the film to “gods” in the plural and “god” in the singular. Are we in ancient Rome with multiple gods or modern America with a monotheistic religion?

The pronunciation also wanders around the globe. Sometimes we hear the character Macrinus (played by Denzel Washington) greeted as Mac-ee-nus sometimes as Macr-i-nus. You say G-e-ta and I say G-ee-ta. These are not particularly problematic inaccuracies, but they lend the film a feeling of inconsistency.

This is also the case when a character suddenly uses pieces of Latin. At an emotionally climactic moment of the film, the Emperor Geta accuses the disloyal (and fictional) General Acacius (played by Pedro Pascal) of usurping “the dignitas” that has been bestowed upon him. This is a correct piece of Latin terminology, but it jars as one of the only times we hear Latin in the film.

These anachronisms are mostly harmless, but other anachronisms deserve more attention: in particular, the casting of the emperors Geta and Caracalla (played by Joseph Quinn and Fred Hechinger). Their father, Septimius Severus, was born in Leptis Magna, in present-day Libya, and their mother, Julia Domna, was born in Syria and belonged to the vastly wealthy Emesene dynasty. Indeed, her name, Domna, is an archaic Arabic word meaning “black,” perhaps a reference to the sun god Elagabalus, who took the form of a black stone, and to whom Domna’s ancestors were priest-kings.

When the two brothers appear on the screen in “Gladiator II” we are faced with a pressing question. Why are the children of a Libyan man and a Syrian woman being played by white actors wearing ginger wigs?

While anachronisms such as rhinos being ridden by gladiators and sharks in the Colosseum are relatively inoffensive — and are quite fun interpretations of gladiatorial combat for a modern blockbuster — the misrepresentation of race has significant ramifications. Whitewashing is a frequent problem in representations of ancient Rome, which we can trace back to films such as 1963’s “Cleopatra,” with Elizabeth Taylor playing the Egyptian queen, and Kirk Douglas playing the Thracian Spartacus — with Thrace being an area that is now Turkey and Bulgaria.

The miscasting of the mixed-race emperors Geta and Caracalla only perpetuates the misconception that the Roman world was ethnically uniform. Indeed, with this whitewashing, we can see the bleaker elements of the American Dream creeping into the film. We no longer have simply a quest for the ideals of freedom and opportunity. We also have the continual exclusion of non-white historical narratives. Unhappy modern realities, placed in an ancient setting.

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When asked his opinion on the historical inaccuracies in his films, Ridley Scott dismissed the criticism. Scott told the Times of London after the release of his controversial film “Napoleon” in 2023 that “there’s a lot of imagination” in history books. “When I have issues with historians, I ask: ‘Excuse me, mate, were you there? No? Well, shut the fuck up then.’ ”

It seems that, for Scott, unless you were present at a historical event, there is no way of knowing what took place. The implication is that Scott is only interested in using the past as a wardrobe of characters and events waiting to be borrowed from for his own purposes, rather than something worth adhering to and learning from in its own right. Scott is not alone in this attitude, as films such as “Spartacus” and “Cleopatra” indicate, but he is certainly one of the most strident in the defense of twisting history to fit Hollywood narratives. 

Perhaps one of the most striking examples in “Gladiator II” is Scott’s handling of the character Macrinus. Played by Washington, the role is one of the few instances where the casting adheres to historical realities. Born in Caesarea, in present-day Algeria, Macrinus rose to power in ancient Rome under Emperor Caracalla. He was not, however, as the film presents him, a gladiator trainer and arms dealer. He was a Praetorian prefect in charge of the Praetorian Guards who acted as the emperor’s bodyguards. 

In reality, Macrinus became the next emperor of Rome. In 217 C.E., he ordered the assassination of Caracalla and was declared emperor by the Praetorian Guard and the Senate. In “Gladiator II,” however, Macrinus is killed in a final conflict with Lucius in the last moments of the film. Rather than the succession of a black emperor, we have the sudden death of a historical figure at the hands of the fictional Lucius.

That serves the narrative of the film very well. Throughout, Macrinus is the only character who explicitly opposes Marcus Aurelius’ dream of Rome. As Macrinus tells Lucius, in a cell in the depths of the Colosseum: “There is no other Rome. The dream? The dream of Rome? It’s an old man’s fantasy.”

But it is the old man’s fantasy that wins the day. While Macrinus and his ambitions for power sink into the river to be washed away from Rome, it is Lucius who survives to address the assembled Roman legions. We can only assume that after the close of the film, Lucius leads these troops back into Rome to enact his grandfather’s fantastical American dreams for the ancient city. Indeed, perhaps it is only in these historical settings that it is possible to play out such fantasies of a fair and equitable America.