Weekly meditations from your humble messenger
Twilight
of the Republic
(Rome, 2/12/07)
By Nicholas Nicastro
There are plenty of TV shows today broadcast in high definition. HBO's
Rome, however, is the first that seems designed with the immersive
detail of HD in mind. The $100 million HBO/BBC coproduction, now in
its second season, is the most comprehensive portrayal of ancient Rome
put on any screen, big or small. Yet curiously, the program's sprawling
set (built at the Cinecittà studio lot, outside of modern Rome)
is less grandiose than claustrophobic. When the camera swoops through
its streets and alleys, we are treated to a spectacle that seems equal
parts lavish and indigent, like some classical version of Calcutta without
the car exhaust. Best of all, the visual treats don't come at the expense
of quality, for Rome is a worthy descendant of the BBC's legendary
(but bare bones) 1976 adaptation of I, Claudius.
One of the perennial challenges
of telling this kind of story is conveying the sweep of historical events
without losing sight of individual characters. Rome tries to
square this circle by functioning on three levels: at the lowest, on
straight-arrow Lucius Vorenus (Kevin McKidd) and oafish Titus Pullo
(Ray Stevenson), two working-class legionnaries recently returned to
Rome from years on campaign with Caesar's army. The story of their oddball
friendship intersects with the wider world of Roman city politics in
the house of Aitia (Polly Walker), a ruthless, sexual voracious relative
of Caesar himself. She, in turn, gives entrée to the sphere of
contending titans (Caesar, Pompey, Marc Antony, Cicero, Cleopatra, Caesar
Octavian) whose rivalries shook the Mediterranean world. The mechanism
creaks at times, as Vorenus and Pullo manage to turn up at every significant
event. But the confusion of political scales is itself evocative, making
us see how personal and grand politics interpenetrate and motivate each
other.
One can always quibble. Though the
scripts tend to be attentive to actual events, the forces behind the
rise and fall of various characters are not always clear. If anything,
the real history is even darker, with criss-crossing alliances of convenience
and more backstabbing than could ever be accounted. The parallel between
the end of the Roman Republic and our own poisoned politics is wisely
left implicit, but the cynicism about politicians in general seems inappropriate.
Cicero (David Bamber), for instance, was a considerably braver man than
the twitchy prevaricator he seems here.
Still, it is something of a miracle
that Rome, with its ancient subject and a set as its main star,
is on the air at all. Americans have traditionally had little interest
in Romans unless they're about to turn into Christians. Hollywood, meanwhile,
has been busy running away from historical spectacle ever since a string
of box office disappointments like Troy, Alexander, and Kingdom
of Heaven. It's the usual story, blaming the whole genre for the
failures of a few examples.
But cineastes should notice an even
more troubling trend these days: TV has become better than movies. Where
once upon a time the feature-length film seemed a grand enough canvas
to tell ambitious, challenging stories, that doesn't seem to be the
case anymore. Two or three hours at the multiplex simply can't approach
the novelistic depth the best of the modern TV series-shows like The
Sopranos, Six Feet Under, Nip/Tuck, The Shield, Deadwood, Weeds, Battlestar
Galactica—now routinely achieve. For now, movies are the place
to go if you're in the mood for cartoons like Cars or Shrek.
Between a feature-film version of The Sopranos and another season
on the small screen, though, the choice is obvious.
©2007 Nicholas Nicastro
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