In the ever-churning arena of Hollywood sequels, few seem to capture the elusive glimmer of the original, yet “Gladiator II” teeters on the edge of that rare magic. While the steadfast populist thread—a solitary warrior defying the entrenched powers—may harken back to its predecessor, the narrative echoes are sculpted with such dexterity that a fresh tapestry unfolds, vibrant and invigorating.
But wait, there’s more! Ridley Scott’s cinematic opus inadvertently weaves a compellingly timely allegory about Donald Trump’s own political journey—a sequel that is sailing smoother than its forerunner. The former president clinched the popular vote, marking a significant shift as he glides through a series of high-profile engagements. Behold his rapturous return to Paris, the strategic rise of Kash Patel within the FBI, and the fawning visit of Canadian Prime Minister Justin Trudeau to Mar-a-Lago.
This, my friends, is the tableau of Trump’s “revenge.” In contrast to the raucous revolt inspired by gladiatorial valor, it is painted with genteel strokes, a satisfying spectacle: Who amongst the red-blooded American populace doesn’t thrill at the sight of Trump grappling with Macron once more, or witnessing Trudeau bow before this titan of tenacity? Moreover, the appointment of bold breachers like Patel and Bobby Kennedy Jr., together with the fearless Tulsi Gabbard—transformers of the very institutions that conspired against him—only heightens the intrigue.
Throughout history, Ancient Rome has served as both muse and caution for America’s leaders. From George Washington, who relinquished his military command, drawn in part from the ideals of Cincinnatus, to the poignant lessons echoed by the Founders—an eagle, their emblem, derived from the power of the Roman Jupiter, symbolizes this intertwining of legacies. Both John Adams and his progeny, John Quincy, revered the oratory of Cicero.
Yet, not all reflections on Roman history are celebratory: consider John Wilkes Booth, who played a fateful role as Mark Antony in a 1864 performance of “Julius Caesar,” and yelled out “Sic semper tyrannis” as he enacted his tragic betrayal.
Indeed, through the annals of time, parallels between the United States and ancient Rome have been steadfast, particularly observations surrounding Rome’s decline, serving as stark warnings against financial mismanagement and overreaching military endeavors. The persisting concern is nothing novel; lessons from Rome’s history resonate through the ages.
Yet, in a delightful twist, Ridley Scott himself posits that his film engages with contemporary politics in a manner that, while bold, is fundamentally misguided. He casts the film’s antagonist—a sinister opportunist brought to life by Denzel Washington—in the light of Trump. “He evolved into a very rich merchant selling sh– to the Roman armies—food, oil, wine, cloth, weapons, everything,” Scott contended. “He was a billionaire of the time, motivated by ambition for the throne.” A crafty rogue, paving chaos from which he could flourish, could easily be likened to the former president.
However, isn’t it rather predictable that a Hollywood auteur unravels the narrative thread in such an inverted manner? Scott misjudges profoundly: Trump does not mirror the conniving elements of Roman politics; rather, he embodies the heroic essence—a resilient leader unyielding in the face of oppressors. It’s his adversaries, with their duplicitous ambitions and schemes, that echo the depravity within the Senate’s shadows.
What ignites the young prince to rise as a rallying figure for Rome? As he nears the fateful climax of mortal combat, he evokes the enduring dream of “what Rome could be”—a delicate vision of a republic that thrives under the weight of virtuous governance, freed from the clutches of corruption and cunning.
This gladiatorial perspective resonates with the current American zeitgeist, yearning for a renewal of the American dream—a government committed to the ideals of the overlooked masses, rather than the elite few. These ideas resonate profoundly at Trump rallies, where the populace sees a reflection of their own aspirations.
Consider the wisdom attributed to Marcus Aurelius, as echoed by both the hero and the antagonist in the film: “The best revenge is to be unlike him who performed the injury.” This notion encapsulates Trump’s approach—his drive to transcend the vindictiveness of his foes, who misconstrue his intentions amidst fears of tyrannical power similar to that wielded against him.
For Trump, true revenge lies in empowerment—uplifting allies to unmask and rectify corruption, diminishing governmental overreach instead of amplifying it. His vision is clear: nothing will reverberate louder against his adversaries than presiding as an exceptional leader. “I’m focused on making our country successful,” he declared emphatically. “Retribution will be through our achievements. If we steel our success as a nation—that will be my most significant accomplishment.”
As the curtain rises on the dramatic second act of his saga, Trump’s 2024 resurgence against an array of formidable forces merely preludes the captivating narrative ahead. Ultimately, as our cultural lens sharpens, Hollywood may one day grasp what many Americans already perceive: Donald Trump stands as a modern-day gladiator, championing the enduring dream that is America.
