Gladiator owns the sorely coveted title of First Big Summer Movie of the New Millennium, and Scott has crammed the film full of spectacle and pomp and circumstantial evidence that he’s misplaced his craft somewhere. There’s a thread of a nifty story here – Crowe plays Maximus, a general who seeks revenge after being busted down to slave by the Caesar’s cunning offspring Commodus (Phoenix) – but that story seems cribbed from previous, better tales. Much of what is good about Gladiator stems from a stoical Crowe and the wild-eyed, tongue-flicking Phoenix. Much press has been given to the film’s swollen CGI effects, but sadly, the small plaster model of the Coliseum that Commodus keeps fingering in his lair is more realistic-looking than the multimillion-dollar effects version, which appears about as bogus as Oliver Reed’s liver and only half as useful. There are electrifying moments in Scott’s film, but not enough by half. It’s a loud, obnoxious, and pleasant-enough entertainment, but hardly the soaring tale of one man’s struggle that it was so clearly envisioned to be. Better luck next time, Rid.
This article appears in May 12 • 2000.