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Gladiators as Heat Radiators—Spartacus: Blood and Sand

Posted by Chuck, January 19, 2011 08:49am | Post a Comment
Spartacus and cohorts
After the holidays I always find myself watching things I can’t easily explain, like The Sinful Dwarf or the British show As Time Goes By. I’d like to say I came to Spartacus: Blood and Sand on some high-wing of original thought, because I enjoyed creator Steven S. DeKnight’s previous work on Smallville or that I dug the metaphors of maces and swords or some cool shit like that. But the truth is, I don’t care about no Spartacus. I read an interview with New Zealand’s Lesley-Anne Brandt where she was talking about being a sex slave in a Roman ludus wearing little more than cloth drippings and that she was used to fondling co-star Lucy Lawless (Xena) by now because that’s what they do as sex slaves and . . . and I thought, that sounds totally gripping. I know I’m late the party. I often am.
blood spartacus

The show, which was the flagship original program on Starz, as prefaced, had a strong sexual component for sure. But there were other stylish nuances that kind of made it enjoyable beyond fetish intrigue. For instance, the lighting—pale golds, bronzes, cerulean blues and the purple of caked blood from nobody having worshed—has the comic book feeling of ancient times. Smart. The dialogue is excellent, though ladled indelicately with “fucks” and “cocks” as to keep young audiences in high spirits. Come to think of it, there’s surely a drinking game to be had whenever the gladiator ringleader Batiatus (John Hannah – nobody says “fuck” like a Scotsman) goes into a tantrum and starts slanging modern day dirty words—which is every episode, several times per. The arena battles are slow-motion gorefests, with slashing sounds, flapping open wounds with exaggerated blood-spray and comical power-chords pushing it all along. Sometimes the blood hits the lens. It’s a ridiculous effect not meant for 3-D—just meant to soak your screen for the fun of it. And the Spartacus character (played by lucid-eyed Andy Whitfield) can’t fight too well at first unless he’s up against something as tricky as death. Then he roars and slashes throats or decapitates 1000-1 favorites like Theokoles. Later he does this without complaint, like good chattel. Everybody glistens either way. Everyone, it is imagined, has a stench and a pent-up libido. There’s a lot of grape eating. Two-timing. Deceit. Diabolica. Domina and Dominus in lording airs with vertical camera angles to give ybenny hillou that sense.

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