Stanley Kubrick's Spartacus remains a proper epic of a film - three hours of cinematic glory, full of desperate rebellion and fleeting love and blatant homoeroticism.
It has been rightly celebrated for some of the great moments in 50s cinema - the 'I'm, Spartacus' moment, which is the natural emotional culmination of the failed slave rebellion; the movement of the armies like faceless ants; the sheer cruelty of the endless crucifixions.
But my favourite part of the whole thing happens incredibly quickly, almost without explanation, and no obvious foreshadowing. It's the sequence when the title character, having endured a lifetime of slavery and degradation, sees the love of his life being spirited away forever, and realises he has just had enough of this shit, and suddenly rebels against the masters.
And he doesn't have to ask for help - his fellow slaves just pile straight into the fight without hesitation, fighting and dying for their freedom. They are not asked for help, they don't make plans, and there are no heroic speeches before the action kicks off, they just all instantly pile in and beat the living shit out of the slavers.
Some of them notably sit it out at first, but then quickly join in to smash the gates, and join the big man's army, all the way to their mutual end.
Watching the film again, there is so much in the glances the gladiatorial slaves give each other, the silent understanding that this is bullshit. And when they get the chance, they're all in, because if they had all stood back and let Spartacus impotently rage on his own, they would never have got another chance.
It's a beautiful piece of cinema, often replicated - Braveheart cheerfully rips off vast parts of the earlier film, including the moment where William Wallace snaps and rebels, and is instantly joined by his clanfolk - but it remains universal. Because we're all in it together sometimes, and might have to join in the fight without being asked.
Posts
No comments:
Post a Comment