It’s taken exactly twice as long as real-life Emperor Commodus’ reign to get another Gladiator movie. But finally, 24 years since Russell Crowe, Joaquin Phoenix, and the dog that played Well’ard in Eastenders taught us there’s no place like Rome, it’s here. Almost.
The swelteringly anticipated sequel to Ridley Scott’s sword-and-sandle epic hits cinemas this autumn. The original, about an all-conquering general betrayed and sold into slavery by a jealous new emperor, proved box office magic in 2000. It not only raked in USD 460 million worldwide, but won five Oscars, including Best Picture and Best Actor.
So big sandals to fill.
Beyond what we can glean from the trailer, the plot of the film is as closely guarded as an imperial bedchamber. Pretty much all we know is who’s in it – Pedro Pascal, Paul Mescal, Denzel Washington and Connie Nielsen. And, of course, Scott is again in the folding chair. We also know that it picks up the same story some 20 years later, following the (familiar-sounding) trajectory of Lucius (Mescal) – the cherubic boy in the first film, now with stubble and muscles – as he transforms into a ruthless gladiator.
As for the plot, here's what we know: Lucius, now an adult, has traded life at the top table (along with his mother) for one in the fields of Numidia, northern Africa. Now with a wife and child, he finally appears to have found inner peace. But then the armies of co-emperors Caracalla (Fred Hechinger) and Geta (Joseph Quinn) invade Numidia, led by general Marcus Acacius (Pascal). Lucius is captured and finds himself in the shackles of the very empire he was once meant to rule.
Washington’s character is completely new – a former slave turned wealthy merchant called Mercius with his own grudge against the emperors. Cut from a similar cloth as the late-Oliver Reed's Proximo, most certainly.
So what can we expect? A lot more of the same, probably, and more. It’s being touted as the blockbuster of 2024. But how close to historical truth does it tread, and who were the real-life Romans who inspired this epic?
Played in the movie by Fred Hechinger and Joseph Quinn, these brothers gave off strong Cain and Abel energy throughout their lives, the former now recognised as one of the most bloodthirsty tyrants in Roman history.
Upon his deathbed in AD211, their father Septimius Severus, made them co-emperors – surely one of the greatest errors in judgment of the Roman era, in a crowded market. Trouble was, Severus didn’t set out a division of rule for the brothers, who engaged in a bitter tug-of-war for the best parts of the empire.
For two years they ruled miserably together, the time in which Gladiator II is set. But in the end, their fragile egos could no longer contain their jealousies, and Caracalla had Geta murdered by his own guardsmen. Geta is said to have died in their mother’s arms. Caracalla then went full-Stalin on Geta’s memory, having his image removed from every painting in sight, and ordering the wholesale deaths of his supporters.
Caracalla was also known for a face as ugly as his soul. He earned the nickname Tarautas, after one of the most famous gladiators of the time, who also had a reputation for being offensively ugly and violent.
He did some good things, like grant Roman citizenship to all free men throughout the Roman Empire, and build the great public Baths of Caracalla in Rome. But most of that was overshadowed by the trail of death and destruction he left in his wake. Once, after a satirical play mocked him in Alexandria, Egypt, he ordered the indiscriminate massacre of thousands of Alexandrian citizens as payback. He had senators murdered, slaughtered entire populations of cities he conquered, and ultimately left the empire’s economy in tatters.
He was said to have studied Greek and could quote long passages from the Greek playwright Euripides but also that he strongly despised education and educated people.
In some way Caracalla died as he lived – urinating on whatever he saw before him. While travelling through southern Turkey to visit a temple, he stopped for a toilet break by the side of the road. There, as he relieved himself in the mud, a disgruntled soldier named Justin Martialis, ran over and stabbed him to death. He was 29 years old.
You’ll remember Lucilla from the first film – the beautiful emperor’s daughter caught in an uncomfortable love triangle between her brother (Commodus) and former lover (Maximus).
First minor discrepancy between fact and fiction: Lucilla died six years before Caracalla was born. But still, details.
Born into the purple of imperial Rome, Lucilla was no stranger to power and privilege. As the daughter of Emperor Marcus Aurelius, she was groomed for a life of political significance. At the age of (ahem) about 11, she was married off to her father's co-emperor, 29-year-old Lucius Verus. It was a union designed to cement their alliance. As empress, she enjoyed the trappings of her position, but fate had a cruel twist in store.
Verus' untimely death left Lucilla a widow, her power and influence diminished. Yet, her lineage made her a valuable pawn in the game of empires. A hasty remarriage to a senator followed, but she yearned for the power she once held.
When her brother Commodus ascended the throne, Lucilla watched in dismay as his erratic rule threatened to unravel their father's legacy. Driven by ambition and a desire to protect Rome, she became entangled in a daring plot to assassinate the emperor. However, the conspiracy was foiled, and Lucilla faced the wrath of her brother.
Exiled to the picturesque island of Capri, Lucilla's fate was sealed. Isolated and disgraced, she met her end at the hands of an assassin sent by Commodus.
Probably the biggest creative liberty, this, given that the real Lucius died before Commodus even became emperor. His full name was Lucius Verus II, the son of Lucilla and Lucius Verus (Marcus Aurelius' co-ruler). He had two sisters: Aurelia Lucilla and Lucilla Plautia and a little brother named Pompeianus from his mother's second marriage.
Lucius and his two sisters all died in childhood, most likely of illness, which was common for children of the time. Pompeianus, however, did survive childhood to become a soldier and, later, a senator. He was five when his mother was executed, and in his early 30s when he was murdered by bandits on the orders of emperor Caracalla.
While the plot for Gladiator II is shrouded in secrecy, the historical backdrop of Emperor Caracalla's reign offers a glimpse into the potential brutality and political intrigue that could unfold on screen. Caracalla's reputation for violence and ruthlessness, coupled with the power struggles and betrayals that characterised his rule, provides fertile ground for a compelling and action-packed sequel.
Whether the film delves into the darker aspects of Caracalla's reign, such as his penchant for massacres and purges, remains to be seen. However, the historical context suggests that the gladiatorial arena could be a fitting stage for a tale of vengeance, survival, and the struggle for power in a corrupt and decadent empire.
Originally published on Esquire UK
Genuinely, I'm sorry to do this, but you really need some context before we dive into my experience watching Napoleon. In freshman year history class, Mr. C demanded that I memorise the capital city of each and every state in this damned country. For reasons that amounted to "fuck this weird-baseball-coach-slash-history-teacher" and "fuck Little Rock and Topeka and Bismark and Montpelier," I made a clear-eyed decision to cheat my way through the next four years of high school history. When we hit Napoleon and the French Revolution, I think, I was copying tests from Frank and Gage. (If you're reading this, Frage... thank you.)
It's a long way around to telling you that, last week, I saw—or, bore witness to—director Ridley Scott's Napoleon. There I was, a 30-year-old man with popcorn butter stains on his sweatpants at the Times Square Regal E-Walk, wondering if there's any historical basis for Napoleon oinking at Joséphine when he wants to get nasty. Could this be history? I mused.
Reader, Napoleon is really fucking weird. It's easy to understand why critics seem so confused. A film that was advertised as the "Dad Movie of the Century" sways between tones like a boozy night on the Atlantic! To give you an idea of the experience, Napoleon is two hours and 38 minutes long. First act: We're introduced to the Napoleon your girlfriend tells you not to worry about. When his horse gets a cannonball to the chest, he asks someone to dig out the cannonball so he can keep it as a memento. Second act: Napoleon done in the style of a Bowen Yang-led Saturday Night Live! skit where the quippy, wounded emperor oinks when he's horny. Third act: Waterloo.
At different points in the film, my fellow audience members were either cackling or hush-quiet. They giggled at Bonaparte's takedown of the Austrian emperor or in awe of Scott's signature historical set-pieces. After seeing the long, yet hyper-focused Killers of the Flower Moon and The Holdovers's uncomplicated mushiness, Napoleon baffled me. I can't stop thinking about it, in a men-are-always-thinking-about-the-Roman-Empire kind of way. Of all the films I've seen this year, it was the one I couldn't stop myself from recapping around Esquire's offices to anyone who would listen.
The next day, I paid a visit to our managing editor—and noted reader of historical biographies—John Kenney, and brought up a number of questions I have for Napoleon, all of which haunted my eighth-grade-level history chops:
John, bless his soul, politely watched me blabber on. He didn't offer much background either way, because either I wasn't making sense, or Napoleon didn't make sense. (If we're being honest, probably both.)
It's possible—maybe even likely—that Scott intended Napoleon as one big roast of one very little man. This man, who (as we are reminded at the end of the film) ignited wars that caused millions of casualties. So he leaned into the creepo Napoleon (Creepoleon? That something?), who was most vulnerable when he was with Joséphine. Especially the letters: "I write you, me beloved one, very often, and you write very little. You are wicked and naughty, very naughty, as much as you are fickle."
Maybe Scott thought that going full Band of Brothers on the Napoleonic Wars would reach hero-worship territory. But that doesn' explain why the last hour or so, Napoleon is exactly that. Replete with an epic Ridley Scott battle, with plenty of guns, formations, stabbing, and death. Or, perhaps Napoleon's unevenness must thank Phoenix's take on the Frenchman, which has a little bit too much Joker and Beau in the alchemy. (Another hilarious, if dubious delivery from Phoenix, delivered at top-of-lungs decibels: "YOU THINK YOU'RE SO GREAT BECAUSE YOU HAVE BOATS!")
If you're looking for a neat, tidy takeaway for this one, I don't have it. All I know is that in between bites of turkey during this Thanksgiving, I'll wonder if Bonaparte actually needed a stepladder to properly view a mummy, and secretly wish that the turkey was a lamb chop. Ask me again next year, folks.
We love a comeback. And 2023 has played host to so many of them in fashion. Highlights include: Mowalola coming home from Paris to show at February London Fashion Week; Skepta shutting down September London Fashion Week with the relaunch of his marque Mains; the grand return of cult label ASAI, brainchild of Woolwich-raised designer A Sai Ta.
All stellar moments in their own right, but what's most fascinating is that, location aside, the throughline of these comebacks is another comeback—one of the American fashion kind. With a leg up from London, Timberland's boots have been stomping back into our lives (and onto our social feeds) in the very year it's celebrating its 50th anniversary.
Not that it ever really went away. The nubuck leather stomper—invented by the brand's Ukrainian-born founder, Nathan Swartz, with the help of his son, Sidney, in Boston, Massachusetts, in 1973—is the mainstay of many a shoe rack. In its early years, the Timberland boot was espoused by the very people that it was designed for: the blue-collar workers of New England and beyond. Said labourers appreciated that the design was resilient, protective, warm, and, thanks to Swartz’s employment of injection-moulding technology, waterproof. But it wasn’t long until the versatile footwear option transcended its target market.
In Milan in the Eighties, the tread was pivotal to the Paninaro. (Paninaro: a social phenomenon that saw the young bourgeois of the Italian metropolis forming cliques in and around sandwich shops and fast-food restaurants, yielding to Americanisation in response to the social unrest of the city in the seventies.) Alongside a Moncler puffer, a pair of Timberlands was a requisite part of their Italian-American uniform.
And in the early nineties, British ravers and Japanese Yankophiles embraced the traditionally-wheat-coloured kick. But, in retrospect, such events were mere build up to the brand's defining moment: the NYC hip-hop scene's adoption of "The Original Yellow Boot" in the mid-nineties.
“Seemingly overnight, Timberland and companies like Carhartt Inc and North Face, which have made their reputations on manufacturing authentic outdoor and work apparel, have, in the parlance of the street, become ‘dope’ and ‘phat’,” wrote Michel Marriott for The New York Times in 1993.
It is said that the city's rappers were put onto 'Timbs' by the hustlers of Harlem who would cop the formidable shoes from the brand's Madison Avenue flagship and wear them whilst doing business throughout the night. Ostensibly, they affiliated the boot with the hood that they sought to symbolise.
Timberland boots have been indivisible with hip-hop—and, by extension, streetwear—ever since. To celebrate the Timbnaissance—as well as the brand's 50th anniversary documentary titled This is Not a Boot: The Story of an Icon, which dropped this week—we've collated the top moments when Timberland left a footprint on culture through the agency of the hip-hop community.
In 1993, Tupac Shakur presented the Timbs 'fit blueprint: baggy denim + streets-approved accessories + The Original Yellow Boot.
Raekwon and the rest of the Wu-Tang Clan have been sporting Timberland boots ever since the collective was formed in the early nineties.
The man who once rapped, “Timbs for my hooligans in Brooklyn” performed in a chocolate brown pair of Timberlands, in addition to his other style essential, Versace shades, at ‘95's KMEL Summer Jam.
Stylist June Ambrose recently revealed to Footwear News that after Hype Williams' zeitgeisty music video for Busta Rhymes' 1997 hit 'Put Your Hands Where My Eyes Could See', the rapper “would not go on stage without the matching Timberlands to every customised look”.
“It was disruptive and sexy and provocative and very hip-hop.”
A decade after Timberlands began to pop-up on the feet of hip-hop's greatest, Sean Combs rocked some wheat-hued Timbs with a get-up typical of the rap set at the time.
Pink has always been Cam'ron's trademark colour. 14 years prior to the release of his song with blackbear, 'bright pink tims', the Harlem-born rapper wore a pair of pink bandana-print Timberland boots in the "Dipset Anthem" music video.
Hip-hop fanatic LeBron James paid homage to the music genre at the 2003 VMAs via an archetypal Timberland boot.
In 2012, Tupac's estate decided a pair of Timberlands is elemental to the late rapper's quintessential attire, as evidenced by the shoe's presence in his posthumous hologram.
A Watch the Throne-era Ye captured in a seminal ensemble that is largely responsible for Timberland's ubiquity during the early tens.
Drizzy kept the legacy afloat in the mid tens by teaming a pair of six-inch Timberlands with a turtle neck and joggers in Director X's indelible music video for 'Hotline Bling'.
Pharrell Williams—founder of Timberlands' regular collaborator, Billionaire Boys Club—put a bohemian twist on a Timbs 'fit in 2017, serving the world with a reminder of the boot's versatility.
Bellwether Rihanna ushered The Timberland Boot into yet another decade earlier this year, updating a nostalgic vest/baggy jeans/Timbs combo by pairing it with modish accessories.
Rihanna's other half, A$AP Rocky, verified the 2023 Timberland resurgence in his ad for Beats by Dr Dre's Studio Pro headphones. In it, the trendsetter is clad in some Timbs whilst running across a NYC neighbourhood to grab some diapers.
