I_Ailurophile

I think it's been the better part of twenty years since I last watched this, even though I own a copy on VHS. Especially after watching the so-so, heavy-handed mess that was Ridley Scott's attempt at a sequel in 2024 (with a third movie in development? - good grief), I've been long overdue to revisit 'Gladiator.' How might it hold up after all these years? Happily, I'm of the mind that we have our answer in little time at all. There are odds and ends we can nitpick and scrutinize, sure; for one example, master composer that Hans Zimmer is, his score notably draws significant influence some from recognizable works, and elsewhere his score here would be reused in later films. Yet far more than not this can claim tact and attentive care where its successor cannot, and earnest heart and emotion, and there is strength all throughout that allows the drama to resonate. Gratifyingly, 'Gladiator' really is fantastic, and it's well worth coming back to.

I do not wish to dwell on comparing this with its sequel, for doing so is unnecessary, and after all, the difference is broadly one between the smart film-making we expect of most any picture, and mediocre film-making that is swiftly forgotten. Yet comparison is illustrative. In 'Gladiator II' (and indeed in Scott's 'Napoleon' of 2023), Scott's direction was forced and overcharged, routinely impacting the acting in turn - and with scant exception, in stark contrast, quieter scenes intended for emotional weight were so limp and ineffectual that it was as if we were watching footage of rehearsals instead of a finished product. The writing was just as heedless. None of this is to say that this esteemed 2000 feature is completely beyond reproach, yet it boasts detail, nuance, and subtlety that is most welcome. It presents a world that we can become immersed in, instead of a forthright, imitative, and empty facsimile. Characters have depth and personality; even that dialogue that may have in other hands been bone-headed is poetic and clever; scene writing is resplendent with refined consideration as the narrative is built bit by bit. 'Gladiator II' is hollow spectacle; here, even at the moments of greatest violence and indulgence, every inclusion means something to us. The disparity between the two titles is so glaring as to be painful.

Our villain, Commodus, isn't just power-hungry, bloodthirsty, and cruel (though he is also these things), or a delirious caricature - he's also a creep, he's deeply troubled, and he's unstable and emotionally immature. Lucilla struggles with the many directions in which she is pulled, and the weight she necessarily bears on her shoulders, but is momentously shrewd in her own right. We feel Maximus' exhaustion and pain, managed through his experience, personal fortitude, and determination. Supporting characters like Gracchus, or even a literal child, are portrayed as real people, and not just set pieces. Stunts, practical effects, and fight choreography are truly brutal, ugly, and hard-hitting; where post-production visuals are sparingly employed, the embellishment is flavorful instead of overbearing, and sometimes just as sharp as the tangible coordination. (Just as much to the point, the selective digital wizardry of 2000 holds up better than too much of what we see in abundance in brand new releases twenty-five years later.) Even when Zimmer gives us a theme that makes us stop and say "oh, I know this one," the use is rich and tantalizing, invariably adding to the splendor of the viewing experience. The sets, props, costume design, hair, and makeup are so grand, gorgeous, and meticulously crafted that we wish we could explore every inch for ourselves. And so on, and so on.

Some tidbits remain a bit much, but these are the rare exception, and not the rule. To the extent that some minutiae may grate on us, the incidence is arguably less a fault of this flick itself and more a reflection of how entrenched and iconic it has become in pop culture, and likewise some basic ideas (e.g., a crowd cheering a victor and chanting their name). By and large writers David Franzoni, John Logan, and William Nicholson treat us to an intense, fabulously absorbing saga of substantive themes and roiling emotions, in which every beat and scene strikes hard and true. Nitpick and scrutinize as we may, this is how movies are meant to be made: with drama of weight and import, action that makes us flinch, and biting wit. And that absolutely goes for Scott's direction, too. His record is not impeccable; above all, it bears repeating that I harbor real doubts following on his two most recent credits. When the man is at his best, however, there's no questioning his excellence, and I'm all so pleased that 'Gladiator' easily stands as one of his finer achievements. All the same mindfulness and care we see on paper is echoed in Scott's direction as he brings the screenplay to fruition on film, with some bright, delicate touches so tremendous as to all but inspire awe. The tragedy, the thrills, the defiance, and the triumphs aren't just words on paper; they have real power. There's a reason this picture continues to stand so tall as years go by.

Not to be counted out, the cast benefit just as well from all the hard work that otherwise went into this. Russel Crowe takes center stage, yes, but Joaquin Phoenix, Connie Nielsen, Oliver Reed, Derek Jacobi, Djimon Hounsou, Ralf Möller, and even young Spencer Treat Clark shine with nearly every opportunity they are given. Yes, this feature is ahistorical; do not look to this for an accurate depiction of ancient Rome. Yes, the cast uniformly speak with accents of the vague, airy affectations that we may cynically suppose allow audiences (and/or producers) to say "ooh, they're fancy, and not from around here!" Every now and again there are fragments of these two and one-half hours that don't come off so well, or which come off as a tad too contrived. But it is far more true that the storytelling here, realized through the skill and labor of all involved, is as intelligent as it is potent, with complexity and finely honed elegance that leave a lasting impression. Even the layman can readily distinguish between titles of quantifiable value and those without, and I am so glad and pleasantly surprised that 'Gladiator' still counts among the former. Him and haw we may about the particulars, this is a modern classic that handily surpasses too many more recent flicks, and it's still well worth checking out.

Movies about the Cold War are a dime a dozen, and Cold War spy comedies no less so. Any movies in which non-anthropomorphized rabbits play an important part are far more rare; 'Night of the lepus' comes to mind, and of course 'Monty Python and the Holy Grail,' but that's about it, even as I know there are surely more. So what of this little-known 60s flick, in which a Soviet spy is charged with using a lagomorph to kick off biological warfare in the United States? Concrete information about the production is lacking, and I'd be very curious to know exactly how this came to be; the only reason I came across it in the first place was the involvement of Liz Renay, co-star of my favorite John Waters film, 'Desperate living.' And oh, look, Richard Kiel, I guess? I sat to watch with no foreknowledge and mixed expectations - and unfortunately, it doesn't take long at all before 'The nasty rabbit' begins to make a lasting impression that does not fall in its favor. Frankly, though it's not absolutely rotten, it's so weak, ill-considered, and dull that it's not far off. I can't fathom ever recommending this to anyone, except possibly out of unyielding curiosity. It's not good.

"Spy comedy" is one term to use, but "spy spoof" is a more accurate term. The intent here is as unserious, free-wheeling, and wacky as a comedy could be. One of the problems, however, is that it rapidly leaps so far into outright tomfoolery as to bypass most any of the careful wit that would allow any of the humor to count for anything. Even the first several minutes before the opening credits include cartoonish sound effects and music cues; as the length progresses thereafter, Michael Terr's score continues to be more fit for 'Looney Tunes' than even, say, 1967's 'Casino Royale.' Much the same goes for the outlandish accents and mannerisms that the actors adopt in portraying their characters, and while this applies above all to Terr as our dimwitted Soviet spy Mischa, even American actors playing American characters don't go unaffected. Granted, we can surely also lay blame on producer and co-writer Arch Hall Sr., and director James Landis, but that doesn't change the facts. Why, some scenes are meant to elicit laughs simply from the empty inanity of "Look at this silly man! Haha! Isn't he so silly?" - and there is little in "comedy" more tiresome than that.

So yes, the first readily discerned issue with this picture is how heedlessly it dives into unfettered clowning. But here's another: in writing and in execution, extending from Landis' direction to the sound, cinematography, and editing, the result kind of just comes across as sloppy and poorly considered. It's one thing to say that in a runtime of ninety minutes the feature takes the entirety of the first one-third to begin to gel: somehow every major power in the world is aware of the Soviet plot, you see, and every major power in the world has sent its own spies to intercept Mischa and the pathogen, converging at a dude ranch mostly in utterly transparent "disguises" with equally transparent "false identities." Yet even the characterizations, dialogue, individual scenes, and gags tend to feel all but haphazard and half-cocked, as if everyone were inexperienced, trying too hard, and/or working with material that was whipped up on the fly about an hour or so before shooting began. There is a loose concept here more than any semblance of a steady through-line, and the more a scene leans into that noted abject silliness, the more downright senseless the title becomes.

It at least comes across that the cast were having a good time making this, but how far does that get us? We can say that the stunts and effects were executed well, and that might even occasionally be true, but even at their best they are employed in a fashion so half-baked as to be nonsensical instead of entertaining. To much the same point, I think Hall and credited co-writer Jim Critchfield had some fair, workable ideas here - but to be blunt, none of them were meaningfully developed, let alone usefully exercised. Maybe the crew operating behind the scenes made commendable contributions, including the sets and costume design; again, though, the ends to which their efforts were guided is another matter, and anyway, these get us no further than the seeming enthusiasm of the cast. I entered knowing nothing, expecting little, and nevertheless hoping for the best, and I step away flabbergasted at how floundering and unamusing the sum total is. There are times when 'The nasty rabbit' comes close to being clever and earning a smile, but between the writing and direction in particular - among all else that goes so wrong - this movie just fails to be any fun at all. By the time we're in the third act, it's all but impossible to care about anything that's happening on our screens.

It's still true that there are worse ways to spend your time. I've seen the bottom of the barrel, and this isn't it. I want to like this more than I do, and I'm glad for those who indeed find it more enjoyable. For my part, however, I find the flick to be all too tiresome all too quickly, and all too completely. What arguable value this can claim is very slight, and can be found elsewhere in greater quantities, so unless you have a very specific, driving impetus to watch - and are that sort of cinephile who will watch anything and everything - my recommendation is just to pass on by 'The nasty rabbit' and watch something else instead.

For a production which boasts of having military cooperation, of having access to the very maps and documents involved in the events of 1918, and of having partly been filmed in the very lands in France where the battle raged, it's a weird flex to also proclaim that the servicemen who appear before the camera were not paid. Yet, sure enough, producer Edward A MacManus provides a foreword in which he connotes that the cinematic reenactment includes participation by survivors of the events being depicted, and in the same breath in which he waxes poetic about the honor of these troops, he notes with an air of misplaced pride that these survivors received no compensation for their participation. How patriotic! Indeed, how very American!

Beyond this - believe me, I understand that "the war to end all wars" had concluded only months before this picture was released, and the world was still taking toll of the wreckage. Yet it also strikes me that this bears wisps of unthinking, chest-beating jingoism familiar to modern kindred figures (the sort who would exclaim "support the troops!" in one breath, and in the next, take away veterans' hard-earned benefits). That's to say nothing of passing casual sexism (dismissively and pointlessly referring to women as "the fifty percent" of the population before showing us women only in the context of their relationships with men, or treating them as pretty, frivolous playthings), questionable treatment of non-white people (according to writer Charles A. Logue, all that the Chinese know how to do is fight), and among other things, approving language toward state violence and abuse of power (what else is the draft if not coercion, primarily of those who are already disadvantaged?). And that's still not all, for the first considerable portion of the length is so light and unbothered that very little alteration would have been necessary to make the first half (more than half, really) fit for a comedy starring Buster Keaton or Laurel and Hardy, or a 50s sitcom in that brand new medium for home entertainment, the television.

I sat to watch 'The Lost Battalion' with high expectations, for I love silent movies, this was highly recommended to me, and the nature of the premise and the participation of survivors should surely count for something. Instead of an absorbing war film, however, or a captivating war drama, let alone a prized feature about World War I, a full half of these reels are wasted with uninteresting exposition and characters (some of them literally real people) that the title can't make us care about. Mind you, after taking so much time to introduce these supporting characters in the first place, the feature ultimately doesn't do anything meaningful with them except to show them to us again in the last minutes with an equal lack of import. Now, maybe I've been spoiled, because Abel Gance's 'J'accuse' - released in France only months before this premiered in the U. S. - is such a staggering, haunting, impactful war drama that I've thought about it almost every day in the two years since I first watched it. And don't get me wrong, human drama and tinges of humor and levity are essential for any war film so as to drive home the great cost of the inherent violence; I wouldn't have it any other way. Once the action kicks in here, a little over halfway through, the flick finds more strength as filmmaker Burton L. King aims to capture the ugliness of what the 77th Division endured in Argonne.

Yet because so much of the preceding length was treated so lightly, we're greeted with an inappropriately jarring tonal shift as the violence kicks in. Moreover, though I take issue with the tone and content of that portion, in writing and in execution it can claim cogency and cohesiveness, and a unity of vision that is commendable in and of itself. Truthfully, I don't necessarily think the same can be said for the back end, at least not to the same extent. I love silent movies and I therefore love intertitles, but here the intertitles are especially heavy with text, and the animated maps that appear before us are exercised in place of more fluid, natural storytelling. There are times when these elements so thoroughly break up the visual experience of the battle, and soldiers' struggles, that the artifice of the depiction is reinforced, suggesting college students mimicking combat for a class project. Elsewhere I'm sadly unimpressed with King's direction, and with the editing, if not also Arthur A. Cadwell's cinematography, for scenes of violence feel disjointed to the point of struggling to capture the danger and the stakes of what the soldiers faced. To read by ourselves of the real-life "Lost Battalion," even on paper the scenario is gripping and dramatic as the division fought desperately to survive against incredible odds and grave circumstances. To watch the portrayal in 'The Lost Battalion,' it feels less that the battalion is lost, and more that the ardor and gravity of their ordeal has been. We do technically see these events reenacted, but as we see them in these 100 minutes, they carry no real weight.

I appreciate the work that everyone put into this, by all means. That above all includes the stunts and effects, the artists who created the illustrations for the intertitles - indeed, the fundamental labor of everyone who contributed from behind the scenes - and the troops who effectively relived their ordeal without apparently getting anything for doing so. While limited by the manner in which the whole was shaped, I think the cast give admirable performances. I don't think the sum total is altogether bad. Unfortunately, it does leave me kind of nonplussed at best, and for a story that should be engaging and riveting, that indifference might well be worse than outright disfavor. At the same time that I want to like 'The Lost Battalion' more than I do, I also wonder if I'm not being too kind in my assessment. I'm glad for those who get more out of this than I do, and if nothing else is true, then it deserves to be remembered as a surviving picture of the silent era. For my part, however, I find the end result to be no more than a mixed success, and with so many other works that one definitely could or should be watching, this one becomes a relatively low priority.