Spartacus

Arguably the most literate and thoughtful Hollywood epic ever. Playing more like a meditation on slavery, warfare, and humanity than the typical spectacles of the times, which were seemingly more concerned with keeping the prop and costume departments very busy, "Spartacus" owes a major debt of gratitude to cinematic auteur Stanley Kubrick. One of the oddest directorial choices ever, Kubrick, who would go on to direct some of the most claustrophobic, cerebral films ever, here cut his teeth in the studio system by "directing traffic" as directors of epics inHollywood frequently refer to the task. Despite being possibly the last person one would expect to helm a period gladiator epic, Kubrick infused the film with plenty of his subsequent trademarks: a conflicted central character fighting against an overarching evil, a distinct lack of morality and a stark depiction of the many shades of gray that humanity can take. At the center of his tale is Kirk Douglas, playing the rebel leader and titular character Spartacus. After clashing with the original director, (the more conventional choice, Anthony Mann), Douglas portrays arguably his most well rounded character, carrying the film and serving as its moral compass amidst the immoral and indifferent Romans. Despite all this talk of the film being "smart" and "cerebral" it still manages to be extremely entertaining, dragging very little considering its 198 minute running time, and for this reason, the film deserves to be celebrated.

As the film begins, Spartacus is a slave working in salt mines which might as well be Hell. The Roman Empire rules the known world and bringing them to their knees, as he eventually will, is the farthest thing from his mind. After attacking one of the guards, Spartacus should have been killed on the spot, but instead he is sold to a shameless Roman named Lentulus Batiatus, who scours the ends of the earth looking for new pupils for his gladiator training school. Batiatus is an interesting character, one who knows his place in Roman aristocracy and is actually closer to the men whose will he breaks rather than the senators and plutocrats that he sycophantically appeases. Instead of a pitiful character Batiatus is instead a breath of fresh air in the otherwise somber proceedings, thanks to a delicious performance byPeter Ustinov. While he does have a sadistic streak (making sport of what would have been Spartacus’ first time with a woman) he is also a shrewd businessman, and one who recognizes the value of his trade, thus keeping the gladiators reasonably well fed, cared for, and, despite watching from hidden doors and windows, provides them with some type of human interaction. Since the men know one day they may have to kill each other in the arena, there is an unwritten rule to not talk to one another, for fear of developing a relationship, making the inevitable that much more painful. Thus it is through Varinia that Spartacus begins to open up. He instantly falls in love with the beautiful slave girl at Batiatus’ school and is heart broken when she is sold to the cold and powerful senator Crassus, played with the perfect combination of intimidation and seduction by Laurence Olivier. Crassus indirectly puts the film’s main conflict in motion, when he kills Draba, a gladiator who refused to kill Spartacus when he had bested him in combat, instead trying in vain to kill his spectators. Compelled by Draba’s dramatic death, Spartacus rallies the other gladiators and they overtake the school, then begin terrorizing the countryside, liberating other slaves as they go, expanding their numbers.

After defeating a Roman garrison, one which sorely underestimated the power of the rebel gladiators and slaves, the army (as it soon becomes) begins to make its way to the sea, hoping to buy passage across the Adriatic via pirate ships. Fighting their way through Italy the legend of Spartacus begins to grow, and Rome grows increasingly more annoyed with this rebel and his mob. Crassus sees this uprising as his opportunity, and uses the civil unrest to assume control of the Senate. Amassing a large army designed to wipe out the slave revolt, but also to keep control of Rome once the rebellion is squashed, Crassus and Spartacus’ armies meet for a final confrontation. In a brilliant, rousing, bloody battle, (one which deserves special mention for having some extremely violent moments, especially considering this was released in 1960) Crassus’ troops are initially defeated, but eventually his numbers overwhelm Spartacus and his men. Forced to engage in a battle he hoped to avoid (the pirates, true to their nature, fell through on their half of the bargain, leaving Spartacus and his followers pinned against the coast without money or escape) Spartacus is shocked when his men, in an amazingly cinematic show of loyalty, refuse to single out their leader to Crassus, each yelling out “I’m Spartacus!”. Crassus avoids the bureaucratic Roman red tape and instead crucifies every surviving member of the rebellion, lining them up along the Appian Way as a demonstration of Roman might, and cruelty.

Much has been made of the film’s perceived homosexual undertones (and overtones in the case of Crassus seducing Tony Curtis’ slave Antoninus in a bath house) but the real “subversive” elements of this film are the statement it makes on Communism. Written by blacklisted screenwriter Dalton Trumbo, the now famous “I’m Spartacus!” scene is actually a plea to keep the solidarity in Hollywood, and not “name names”. Despite its being disowned by Stanley Kubrick later in career due to his dislike of the Hollywood studio system it came from, it is impossible to ignore his imprint on this film, and the fine, and smart, piece of entertainment he created.