I will kill each and every person who recommended that I see Gladiator.

From the first minute that I saw the first preview I had no interest in this movie. "My name is Gladiator." You've got to give Russell Crowe credit for saying it with a straight face. I know I couldn't have.

And even when it came out, I still remained detached and disinterested. It was in the same need-to-see class as I Dreamed of Africa.

"Hey man, when are we going to see a review of Gladiator up on misinformer?"
"NEVER! Are you kidding? I'm not gonna see that crap."

But then people started recommending it. Not just one or two, but everybody. Every person who saw this movie felt the need to tell me how good it was. I became curious, but still uninfluenced.

Then my friend Robyn told me that she liked it. Robyn, the trail-mix eatin', dream-catcher usin', grassy-hillside rollin', model Sierra Club member. I mean, I can pass on Frank in his beer stained wife-beater saying, "Awesome flick, lots of blood, coulda used more titties though," but when a movie centered around large sweaty men who kill each other to death for sport is recommended to me by a hippie chick, that's when I have to wonder if there really is something to it after all.

There isn't. Robyn, lock your windows tonight. I know where you live.

I don't know what kind of crack all of you are smoking, but as far as I could tell, there was only one good thing about Gladiator: There were no Celine Dion songs in it. I mean, I guess there's no reason why there should have been, but that doesn't discount the fact that there weren't any. It's still a good thing.

Gladiator is the incredibly long and arduous tale of Maximus, a man who is bound by his name to be the star of an historical epic. Guys named Maximus don't work at Starbucks for five bucks an hour plus tips, you know? Now I admit, I'm no expert on Roman generals, but his name just bugged me. Why not just call him "Supremo Awesomeus Largetesticles"?

"Of course the men respect me! I'm MAXIMUS for the God's sake!"

At least when they called the leader of the Autobots "Optimus Prime" they were shooting for a seven-to-ten year old audience.

On the other hand there's the sniveling little wussy Commodus. Yes, like commode-us. Like "I'm a big toilet head."

"Hey men! Listen to me! Wussy Prince Toilethead!"

It just doesn't work.

Is it any wonder that on his deathbed, the reigning Caesar lobs his tennis ball of ultimate power into Maximus's court?

"Hmm, lemmie see. In a couple thousand years, do I want the history books to say, 'Marcus Aurelius passed his throne on to Maximus, the pillar of strength, virtue, and largecockitude,' or 'Marcus Aurelius passed his throne on to Prince Toilethead the jelly-like and sister-humping.' Hmm, tough call."

So Maxi gets the nod from the oldster. Naturally. But of course, Toilethead can't let this stand, he's the rightful heir, yadda yadda yadda, next thing you know Toilethead takes power and Maximus is down the proverbial shit aqueduct without a paddle.

But the thing is, it's NOT the next thing you know. You know several things before that. First you know it's going to happen. Then you know it's going to happen soon. Then you know it's probably going to happen really soon now. Then you know it can't possibly happen very long from now. Then you know you want some popcorn. Then you know the popcorn is too expensive. Then you know that you should have specified "no butter." Then you know it's hard to find your seat in the dark theater. Then you know you should have picked up a Coke too. Then... THEN, next thing you know is the business with the shit aqueduct.

And that's the way it is for the whole freakin' ten-hour movie. After a while you want to give the projector a laxitive.

This is the slowest, most molassesy piece of high-friction cinema this side of Magnolia. It's the kind of movie that makes you wish that you had a Universal Remote that actually controlled the entire universe so that you could fast forward until you get to the part where what you already know is going to happen actually IS happening.

I reiterate my vow from my review of Magnolia: "I vow never to see a movie longer than ninety minutes again. If this limits me to Fox Animation Features, so be it."

If you're going to make a movie that's kissing three hours long, you really need three hours worth of story. Honestly. You can't have an hour and forty-five minutes worth of story and try to fluff it up with lots of dramatic pauses and fight scenes with an impossible-to-watch flying camera and an "artsy" frame drop effect and expect it to keep my attention.

If I ever meet Ridley Scott, I'm going to tell him how cool I thought Alien and Blade Runner were, and then when he's feeling good about himself I'm gonna kick him in the nads and say, "My name is Gladiator."

Spoilers? Spoilers? Are you kidding?

Let's look at the trailer from four months ago.

The General, who became a slave.
The slave, who became a Gladiator.
The Gladiator, who defied an Empire.

What, and lost? I mean, come ON!

"In this life or the next, I will have my vengeance."

Uh huh. Oooh, that's suspenseful. I wonder if he's gonna get that vengeance or not. Better watch and see. That's a spoiler!

A Hero Will Rise.

... and then will be killed brutally by an unjust Emperor who then continues to rule unjustly for ever and ever.

The End.