It would mean the world to me if you would watch me tomorrow. I am beyond excited, and a little nervous.
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I hope to see you there.
Lucius Aurelius Commodus reigned as emperor during the Roman empire’s apex. At nineteen years old he became the most powerful man on earth. Perhaps nowhere else in history was there more promise. Then when the young emperor first adorned the purple. However bright his beginnings, no one foresaw the tyranny and excesses that later defined his place in history. Remembered as one of Rome’s major villains, his likeness is reimagined across generations through screenplays, art, video games, biographical pieces, theatre, and a plethora of histories. The retelling of Commodus’ deeds has entertained and enlightened many, yet he is often portrayed by inaccurate reimaginations. One example is his depiction in modern cinema, the Gladiator[1] which seen in light of scholarship and his own contemporaries, misses countless complexities that molded one of histories most feared autocrats.
Facts & Fiction
The screenplay Gladiator, not unlike Commodus’ contemporaries with their histories, will build an arc to tell a specific narrative. This is true regardless of a screenwriter’s pursuit to sew tension or a contemporary Roman historian, for example, attempting to justify a later imperial’s position on the throne.[2] History nor art, is rarely if ever told neutrally. Keep in mind every generation’s reimagining has an agenda, some entertainment, often nationalistic, others defacement, et cetera. Ridley Scott, Cassius Dio, Herodian, and many others are no exception to this reality. Understanding this dynamic allows for adequate separating of facts from fiction. Only then is an accurate comparison of portrayals possible.
First, start by separating facts from fiction regarding Ridley Scott’s, Gladiator. The plot begins with Marcus Aurelius, Commodus’ father in the last days of his life. Deep in the Germanic woods he meets his end at the hand of his own son. The jealousy of missing out on the crown because his father favors Maximus, exposes to the watcher Commodus’ first great act of villainy. Powerful, unsettling, and a perfect plot foundation. Only it didn’t happen. Marcus Aurelius was never hostile to the thought of Commodus on the throne.[3] From early childhood Commodus was actively groomed for the imperial purple. In fact, at five years old Commodus was proclaimed a Caesar.[4] Of course when mindful of creating a screenplay arc, it makes sense Gladiator would need to reveal Commodus’ villainy early, even inaccurately to pace the film under say twenty hours. Fact here, Marcus Aurelius did die on the frontier and was succeeded by his nineteen-year-old son.[5] Fiction, Commodus murdered his own father.
Knowing why this is important to analyze is in itself of utmost importance. Commodus is often portrayed as an inept, spoilt, cowardly, and mentally ill man. None of these are true. What spelled disaster for his reign was really a combination of severe complexities. Nearly always overlooked was the fact despite Marcus Aurelius’ reasonable expectations the Senate and his advisors would help guide his son in matters of state; when the time of his death came, internal strife prevented such an ideal arrangement in practice. One example would be how the Senate splintered under Commodus’ decision to not continue his father’s expansionist policies in Germania.[6]
W. Alexander Dunford I will never forget the television’s blue light that night fifteen years ago. Leonardo DiCaprio’s Blood Diamond played. Outside, beneath black skies, rain pelted our windows and the house’s bones braced against high winds. Thunder shook the walls. It was Father’s idea to watch the movie. He loved violence, and I loved…
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However, blighted the young Emperor often was by those meant to help him succeed, Commodus did them no favors. It is well documented that dressed as a gladiator; Commodus threatened Senators sitting front row in the Colosseum by waving the head of a decapitated ostrich.[7] This clearly captures the sadism of a corrupt autocracy and personality of a young emperor who offered little to no respect regarding the institution of the Senate. A grave mistake.
The facts in regard to the screenplay are Commodus was unstable, disrespectful, and a tyrant. Not to mention his lust for the mass’s approval was infectious. The fictions are how Ridley Scott created and completed his arc. Commodus did not kill his father and he himself did not die in the arena. He was assassinated in 192 CE,[8] after only twelve years on the throne. The film accurately caught the ethos of Roman culture during the sadist rule of Commodus, bloodlust and corruption. This in its own right is commendable and should not be overlooked.
Cassius Dio & Herodian
Senator and historian, Cassius Dio is arguably the best firsthand witness to Commodus. His writings paint a vivid portrait condemning the emperor for his lack of devotion to matters of state. Cassius Dio tells that Commodus devoted his life to ease, horses, and combat of wild beasts and men.[9] The emperors disregard for handling matters of state and his perpetual purge of personal enemies filled Rome with terror. When a plague broke out in Rome, and at one point two thousand people were dying a day, Romans feared the emperor’s wrath more than the gods; “Now the death of these victims passed unheeded for Commodus was a greater curse to the Romans than any pestilence or any crime.”[10]
It is important to note that such a damning account will be replete with bias. However, a historian’s lamentation does not make him wholly inaccurate. Having personally lived through the reign of Commodus and taken part in much of what he seen; Cassius Dio is an instrumental witness.
Another historian is Herodian. Sharing with Cassius Dio many similar lamentations regarding Commodus, he reinforces the ineptness of the emperor. One of these complaints was how the emperor simply handed over all communication to go through his chamberlain Perennis.[11]Perennis was cruel, but efficient. Again, proper context should be given. This decision was largely a result of the emperor’s refusal to appear in public in response to his sister’s plot to kill him. Though Perennis was soon replaced by Cleander, who became Commodus’ new chamberlain after exposing Perennis’ own plot to overthrow the emperor.[12] If Herodian is to be believed, Commodus learned of the plot while attending a festival, before an entire audience seated in a theatre.[13] Commodus certainly, if not constantly feared for his life. An event like this would have been humiliating. Circumstances like this perhaps contributed toward his fanatic behavior.
Conclusion
A consistent narrative across scholars, his contemporaries, and screen play writers is the message that Commodus had little to no respect for his duties and unleashed a reign of terror. Though much scholarship has tried to figure out why Commodus was the way he was, history lacks any empirical explanations. Scholars are left asking questions that may never be answered. Was the office too big for him? Was being born into his duty, in itself a corrupting feature? Perhaps it was his love for reading and imitating emperor Nero that drove his excesses?[14] Did he really see himself equal to Hercules? He did erect a colossus depicting himself as much?[15] Was he simply mad? Was the constant threat on his life what drove him mad? The pursuit of these questions has inspired interest into Commodus for generations.
Regardless of what it was that led to the autocratic behavior Commodus exhibited, his legacy is immortalized. Even if it is for negligence, jealousy, and tyranny; Commodus would be pleased he didn’t fall into obscurity. His portrayal from the ancient Senate floor to Hollywood has remained consistently negative. Though facts are often stretched to arc the narrative as the writer sees fit, commonalities in his portrayals help uncover just how difficult ruling Rome must have been. From the start Commodus was manipulated by his own counsel for personal gain. This alone might provide reasonable insight into his personal disdain toward the Senate. Where Gladiator missed Commodus’ bright beginnings, his contemporaries overwhelm history with evidence the emperor was not naturally evil, but a product of circumstances.
Bibliography
“Gladiator.” Ridley Scott. DreamWorks Distribution, (2000).
Mary Beard. “SPQR,” A History of Ancient Rome. (New York, NY: Liveright Publishing, 2015): 43-398
Gary North. “Gladiator,” A Review. (lewrockwell.com, www.lewrockwell.com, 2001).
Allen M. Ward, Fritz M. Heichelheim, Cedric A. Yeo. “A History of The Roman People,” Sixth Edition. (New York, NY: Routledge, 2016): 368-371
Cassius Dio. “Roman History,” Vol IX, Book LXXII. (Cambridge, MA: Harvard University Press, 1927): 94-103
Donald L. Wasson. “Commodus.” Ancient History Encyclopedia. (www.ancient.eu/commodus, 2013).
Mary Beard. “Confronting the classics,” Traditions, Adventures, and Innovations. (New York, NY: Liveright Publishing, 2014): 145
Herodian. “History of The Roman Empire Since the Death of Marcus Aurelius.” Vol I, Book I. (Cambridge, MA: Harvard University Press, 1927): I.IX
[1] “Gladiator.” Ridley Scott. DreamWorks Distribution, (2000).
[2] Mary Beard. “SPQR,” A History of Ancient Rome. (New York, NY: Liveright Publishing, 2015): 43
[3] Gary North. “Gladiator,” A Review. (lewrockwell.com, www.lewrockwell.com, 2001): par III
[4] Allen M. Ward, Fritz M. Heichelheim, Cedric A. Yeo. “A History of The Roman People,” Sixth Edition. (New York, NY: Routledge, 2016): 368
[5] Allen M. Ward, Fritz M. Heichelheim, Cedric A. Yeo. “A History of The Roman People,” Sixth Edition. (New York, NY: Routledge, 2016): 368
[6] Allen M. Ward, Fritz M. Heichelheim, Cedric A. Yeo. “A History of The Roman People,” Sixth Edition. (New York, NY: Routledge, 2016): 369
[7] Mary Beard. “SPQR,” A History of Ancient Rome. (New York, NY: Liveright Publishing, 2015): 398
[8] Allen M. Ward, Fritz M. Heichelheim, Cedric A. Yeo. “A History of The Roman People,” Sixth Edition. (New York, NY: Routledge, 2016): 371
[9] Cassius Dio. “Roman History,” Vol IX, Book LXXII. (Cambridge, MA: Harvard University Press, 1927): 94
[10]Cassius Dio. “Roman History,” Vol IX, Book LXXII. (Cambridge, MA: Harvard University Press, 1927): 103
[11] Donald L. Wasson. “Commodus.” Ancient History Encyclopedia. (www.ancient.eu/commodus, 2013): par IV
[12] Donald L. Wasson. “Commodus.” Ancient History Encyclopedia. (www.ancient.eu/commodus, 2013): par V
[13] Herodian. “History of The Roman Empire Since the Death of Marcus Aurelius.” Vol I, Book I. (Cambridge, MA: Harvard University Press, 1927): I.IX
[14] Mary Beard. “Confronting the classics,” Traditions, Adventures, and Innovations. (New York, NY: Liveright Publishing, 2014): 145
[15] Mary Beard. “Confronting the classics,” Traditions, Adventures, and Innovations. (New York, NY: Liveright Publishing, 2014): 145
Ordinary Genius: A Guide for the Poet Within by Kim Addonizio
My rating: 4 of 5 stars
I found Kim Addonizio’s book fascinating. I had very little knowledge of what made good or bad poetry before reading this. For example, I never knew the rhythm underneath the iambic pentameter and many more meters. I love poetry; I love writing poetry; I love reading poetry. I wanted to appreciate this divine-language-of-the-gods more, because the more you know, the bigger your writer’s toolkit. So, therefore, much of what Kim covers can be adapted to your creative writing pursuits.
This book is a must-read for anyone curious about writing poetry, or like me, who desired a more intimate understanding and relationship with the craft. After reading this book, you will have quite the sophisticated understanding of how poetry works. It is worth buying!
The book is, also, replete with great examples. I do think even the most accomplished poets will enjoy this book.
I definitely recommend it to my fellow creatives, and anyone else who wants to get poetry. In fact, the first poem I wrote after finishing the book was published—link below. Thank you, Kim, for your inspiration, encouragement, and introduction to all things poetry. You changed my life!
Happy Reading,
www.w-alexander.com
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This poem is published in the poetry anthology, Its Not Easy by Poets’ Choice. This is my first published piece.
I do try and keep politics to a minimum. Not because I don’t like politics, but rather I want to spend as much time, as possible, focused on my writing career. However, occasionally, I feel compelled to share with you, my readers and followers, my thoughts on the times.
I have attached a video from Bill Maher. This is powerful, regardless of where you fall on patriotism. Maher speaks the truth, not only on Afghanistan, but on the plight of our American culture.
We have much to be thankful for here.
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What’s the lesson of Afghanistan? Maybe it’s that everyone from the giant dorm room bitch session that is the internet should take a good look at what real oppression looks like. #Wokeistan #WakeUpCall pic.twitter.com/HoNJkucheF
— Bill Maher (@billmaher) August 28, 2021
Again, Bill Maher speaks the sober truth.
A Short Story “…I don’t consider your happiness when I call. You are needed, and you are able, therefore you must go.”
Keep readingHi, friends.
Today, I talk art. I want to share about how much I love to create; that is, I want to show you how writing changed my life.
For those of you who have stumbled on my blog for the first time, here is a quick introduction. My name is W. Alexander, and I am an artist; I am a writer. I am thirty-two, married to a smoking-hot, perfect ten, and I have two kids in diapers. Our family calls New Hampshire home—a writer’s paradise—, and, well, there you have it: I am a writer in New England. However, as you will see, I am also a budding painter and illustrator. As for my day job, I am enrolled full time at University, and I am a stay-at-home modern dad.
Ever since I was a small child, I wanted to be a writer. Perhaps, you too wanted to do something you felt passionate about and naturally drawn toward, but life did not pan out as hoped. That is what happened to me. I spent my entire twenties following the “rules.” I devoted myself to work, and I prided myself on clocking long hours of hyper productivity. I was the poster boy for the disillusioned American capitalist, and there was little room left, within, to spend time on my passion, my beating-heart, my calling, my writing. So, like all things left unused, my skill decayed—I had forgotten, it seemed, everything I ever knew. In order to write, and write well, I would need guidance; I needed to study creative writing. Ultimately, at thirty-years-old, I went back to school, and am earning a degree in Creative Writing. That was two-years-ago, and, now, I am set to finish my degree in March, 2022. So far, it is working out. I published, for the first time, this spring.
Many writers declare you cannot learn creative writing, and I think, for the most part, they are, excuse my French, full-of-shit. The arts are like anything else: if you want to get better, you have to work and selfishly carve out a schedule for your writing and push yourself beyond what you know and what is comfortable.
Yes, you can learn craft, and any writer worth his salt is devoted to craft, period. So, obviously, grammar and syntax are teachable, but what someone means when they say, “you cannot learn writing.”, they are talking about style, voice, and the artist’s attention to detail.
“What I took from this book? Stephen King is not superman, and neither does the aspiring writer need to be. King makes it clear, writers are made in the trenches, and those who put their nose to the grindstone, and never let anything stop their writing, succeed.”
One thing I know well: Art demands all of you. You can have no Plan B’s for life, or as one of my favorite song artist said, “The greats weren’t great, because a birth they could paint. The greats were great because they paint a lot” (Macklemore). The same laws apply to the art of writing fiction; if you want to be a good writer, you have to write. Talent makes you decent, obsession makes you great.
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Once, I dedicated my life to writing, not to become famous or rich, but to do what I love, I have experienced incredible personal growth. Has it been easy? Hell no! Has it been the best experience of my life? Yes. If my wife asks, tell her she is the best experience. I am a writer, and that means, human psychology is my canvas. To write well, you have to write what-you-know, and your knowledge about what motivates, scares, angers, and affirms the individual person are the brushes you will use to paint page after page. The greatest thing about only writing what-you-know is there is always an excuse to keep learning. The bigger your worldview, the richer your work. All writing is autobiographical, it cannot be avoided, so writing helps me stay oriented as a person, neighbor, citizen, and lover.
—W. Alexander
Come back next week. I may speak more on the subject. Again, go ahead and follow me and share my post with those you know it would benefit. Also, feel free to contact me and discuss the writing life.
Trust me…, stopping and noticing the details around you is life’s most generative experience, not only will your writing improve, but so will your mental health.
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The next morning, Agnus and I singed in fields blanketed under heavy-fresh dews. Our hot breaths chimneyed above tilled ground, and sweet-earthy aromas filled the mist. Agnus kept busy practicing a new song he learned from the troubadour. Committed to not forget it, he sang its lyrics, over and over, until a breeze showered us with dew drops from the evergreens above.
“Do you think that troubadour will stay another day?” Agnus asked.
I hoped he would, but I was not so sure. His type never stayed anywhere for long. I scanned a red and orange sky for the village’s skyline. Four chimneys smoked above the tree line. The shortest chimney belonged to the tavern below. The traveler would be staying there.
“He didn’t play the song,” I said.
Agnus shrugged his shoulders and tilled a new row. The mist soon receded, and I began to sweat. By late morning, the earth was dry and hard. Twenty-three new rows later and I could no longer see our breaths.
“That looks like trouble,” Agnus said.
He was right. A black, windowless square block, towed behind six draft horses, emerged. The carriage was not alone: atop of it, a driver whipped the horses; and on the back, two-armed soldiers rode. Twelve-calvary-men followed the carriage, and two-squads of foot-soldiers followed them. A knight headed the column, and six uniformed in their master’s colors, rode in three rows of two behind their leader. Following the entire column: wagons of supplies, groups of artisans, prostitutes, and tradesmen followed much further behind. I counted thirty-three archers assisting the convoy.
I recognized the banners: a red octopus wrapped around a spear, both across a green background. The troops paid no attention to us as they passed. We smelt them before we laid eyes on them. All of them wore black tankards emblazoned with their master’s standard.
“They smell like the sea,” Agnus said.
“Good. We never quarrel with that kind,” I said.
“How would you know?”
“Lords don’t sail to pillage farmers. They are after bigger prizes.”
Back in town, Agnus and I toasted with a couple old pals who planted our lord’s fields further down the road. They stroked their grey beards and remembered a thousand-men at least. Others were more reasonable: they thought three hundred, because they weren’t sure there was one-thousand people in the whole world. Not after the last wave of plague. One farmer’s daughter, a real beauty, shared how her brothers all of a sudden grabbed her and her sisters by the mouth and pulled them into the forest, far from the road, far from the soldiers. All the women agreed, they shared the same experience.
“Did any come into town?” one old pal asked the barmaid.
“The whole town cleared out, but I stayed right behind my bar,” she replied. She handed them their beers. “They never left the road.”
“Has anyone seen Rufus?” I asked.
No one answered. The troubadour stepped out of his room.
“Well, you forgot a bit of news to tell us last night,” Agnus said.
“Ah, the jest is up,” he replied.
The troubadour climbed onto the bar. His blonde hair fell to his shoulders. He smiled and raised an empty cup.
“Cheers, my friends, and forgiveness, for I lied,” he said. “I serve her Lordship, the Countess, the leader of the very army that so peacefully passed through your hamlets today.”
The room erupted. The troubadour sat, ordered a drink, and waited for everyone to cool down. The door swinged open and standing in the midday’s light was Rufus and our Lordship, the Duke. Behind him, the Dutchess and Wet Nurse stood.
