I
admit I am a bit of a sword-and-sandal junkie. I was
mesmerized by Gladiator, giggled through Troy,
and even sat through Angelina Jolie’s bizarre turn as
the wicked mother in Alexander. It’s not surprising,
then, that I would be eager to take a look at HBO’s new
epic series Rome, which has famously been six years
in the making at a budget of $100 million.
Besides,
everyone from GLAAD to HBO has been touting the fact that in
Rome, sexuality isn’t limited to the hetero—men
slept with men and women slept with women, though they may not
have identified as “gay."
So
I tuned into the program with interest: What would Rome
have to say about the lives of women? The answer, though disappointing,
wasn’t necessarily surprising. The lives of women, it
seems, revolve around men.
The
12-episode series, which was filmed on five acres of
backlots at Rome’s Cinecitta Studios (reportedly
the largest standing set in the world), is about “Rome
from the street level,” according to executive producer
Bruno Heller. That means a good deal of the series is supposed
to be told from the point of view of two soldiers, Lucius Vorenus
(Kevin McKidd) and Titus Pullo (Ray Stevenson).
But
the majority of the first episode focuses on the political and
military machinations behind the two rulers of Rome in 52 B.C.:
Pompey Magnus (Kenneth Cranham) and Julius Caesar (Ciaran Hinds).
There
are some women, of course. There’s Atia, Caesar’s
niece, played by the scene-stealing Polly Walker (Patriot
Games, Control), who doesn’t hesitate to pimp out
her daughter Octavia (Kerry Condon, Angela’s Ashes)
to the much-older Pompey after his wife dies in childbirth.
Atia’s disregard for her daughter’s reluctance to
bed Pompey is disturbing, but Atia is such a character that
it’s hard to hate her.
Atia’s
main rival for behind-the-scenes power is Servilia (Lindsay
Duncan, Under the Tuscan Sun), who happens to be Caesar’s
favorite lover. Servilia appears on the surface to be a calm
and quiet woman, but it seems that she may have more steel in
her than is immediately apparent in the first episode. Finally,
Indira Varma (Bride & Prejudice, Kama Sutra) plays
Niobe, the wife of soldier Lucius Vorenus.
The
series’ producers have gone out of their way to insist
that women were the “shadow rulers” of Rome, going
so far as to produce a special 15-minute documentary about the
“Women of Rome” (airing on HBO On Demand). In the
short film, even the actresses chime in to insist that though
their characters are wives, sisters, and mothers, they exercise
great power “at the end of the day.”
But
this argument is merely another adaptation of the old saying
“behind every great man is a better woman,” which
was, frankly, a spoonful of sugar to sweeten the bitter taste
of sexism.
But
Rome isn’t simply a tale set during
an undoubtedly sexist period of history. By publicly situating
these women as “shadow rulers,” Rome’s
creators are also inviting us to read a particular allegory
within this series. The official website for the series declares:
“The Republic was founded on principles of shared power
and fierce personal competition, never allowing one man to seize
absolute control. But now, those foundations are crumbling,
eaten away by corruption and excess.”
The
political allegory in this statement is easy enough to read;
if you’re stumped, substitute “U.S.” for “Republic”
and “W.” for “one man.” But considering
the issue of women as “shadow rulers” is much more
interesting.
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