The movie Troy (2004) opens with a voiceover by the wily warrior Odysseus in which he asks if the names and deeds of Homeric heroes will endure for centuries to come: “Will our actions echo across the centuries? Will strangers hear our names long after we’re gone and wonder who we were?” Likewise the film ends with another voiceover, again by Odysseus, in which he states that “If they ever tell my story, let them say that I walked with giants. Men rise and fall like the winter wheat, but these names will never die. Let them say I lived in the time of Hector, tamer of horses, let them say I lived in the time of Achilles.” This metatheatrical moment, thousands of years after the supposed occurrence of the action of the film, connects the modern viewers quite clearly to the stories of these ancient epic heroes. The voiceover brings the film full circle, from the questioning of the immortality of the heroes to the solidification of their names in our current memory. But Odysseus’ statement can be applied to far more than the Homeric heroes of Troy. Before there was Odysseus and Achilles in Troy, there was Maximus in Gladiator (2000), whose success ushered in an active age of the ancients on screen. While the cinematic tradition has included heroic figures from the ancient world since the early days of cinema, the beginning of the twenty-first century until very recently has proved to be prime time for recreating the heroes of the ancient world and immortalizing them on screen. Even if we are unable to determine the precise reason for the rapid release of so many onscreen ancient heroes in a short time (as it is a complicated dance of filmmakers, audience, marketing, and money), we can note that there has been a clear uptick in their sheer numbers in recent years. Sometimes the characters have been reinvented versions of earlier ones, remade in new costumes for new audiences with new values and taste. In other cases, they have been characters newly invented but with the veneer of antiquity lending a setting or backstory to a greater effect.

The villa and ludus of Batiatus and Lucretia. The streets of Capua. The arena. The house of Crassus. The battlefields. The slopes of Mt. Vesuvius. The tents of Roman soldiers. These spaces, among others, in STARZ Spartacus may seem at first glance like mere background to viewers – the passive settings for the action of the series. But as film scholars have long shown, spaces are imbued with meaning and can provide a glimpse into the world of characters. As Myrto Konstantarakos notes, “Space is not merely the setting of stories but actually generates the narrative both in prose and films, assuming the status of a character and becoming the fabric of the narrative itself.” While all the spaces in Spartacus hold significance, this chapter will focus on liminal spaces and argue that they make visible the power struggles of the series’ main characters. Concrete physical thresholds, such as cliffs, balconies, or gates, are obvious liminal spaces, but so are spaces that function as gateways to change while being physically more self-enclosed. In the Spartacus series, these spaces in-between and at the margins reveal and aid acts of transgression, transformation, and resistance.

SPACE IN SPARTACUS

In film studies, scholars have considered how space affects viewers’ perceptions of what is onscreen. The same cinematic action would not have the same meaning if set in a different space. Obviously, the arrangement and use of sets and space in a production can provide context, such as temporal and geographical information. Yet if we merely consider space as a “container” for information, then we are neglecting its other roles. In addition to being a passive display of context, space can be the creator of mood and the set-up for psychological and emotional moments on screen, it can provide characters with distinct opportunities, and it can suggest to the audience the significant ideas in a scene.

The onscreen spaces may also serve as points of engagement for the viewer. Robert Burgoyne, in his work on the epic in film, discusses ways in which the “physicality” of a film, including “imposing sets and the accumulations of detail,” may give the audience a feeling of “being in history.” While the spaces in Spartacus do contain much detail, they do not have the veneer of reality of other series, as in the case of the HBO-BBC production Rome (2005–7).

INTRODUCTION: REEL REVENGE

“I will have my vengeance, in this life or the next.” This line is perhaps one of the most memorable in the film Gladiator (2000), as it comes at a pivotal moment and focuses on the main character's principal motivation: revenge. In this crucial scene, Maximus Decimus Meridius (Russell Crowe), by this point a celebrated gladiator, stands opposite the Emperor Commodus (Joaquin Phoenix) in the arena and removes his helmet to reveal his face, as music swells in the background. Commodus gasps at the shocking sight of him alive, and Maximus announces that he is “father to a murdered son, husband to a murdered wife” and he will have his revenge. While this line is now legendary among fans, the general theme of vengeance has long been a mainstay of the sword and sandal genre, often providing the driving motivation for the male hero, as well as overall narrative stimulation.

Hence it is not surprising that revenge is also a major force in the action of the second season of Rome, picking up on and augmenting a minor theme from the first season. While the instances of revenge in the series are clearly inspired by antiquity, the purpose of this chapter is not to trace their historical roots, but to consider them within a larger modern cultural and cinematic framework, in particular examining how the series has moved revenge out of the domain of men into that of women.

The involvement of women in intrigues is not a novel take on ancient Rome. One need only think about the scheming women of I, Claudius (1976), such as Livia (Siân Phillips) and Messalina (Sheila White), to see a pattern. But the sword and sandal genre typically has not depicted female revenge as the main focus of these schemes. Even a major theme of its second season. The cover art for the DVD box of the second season sets up the theme of female revenge, even before the viewer watches an episode. On the cover there is a woman in profile view with long hair, wearing a flowing white dress and gripping a dagger at her side: the dagger faces outwards toward the viewer. Blood covers the ground near her feet, while blood drips from the “e” in the series title.