Ridley Scott’s Gladiator provides an example of the use of male body as indicative of traditional heterosexual masculinity. The first visual introduction to the Roman general Maximus actually displays only a small, but very representative, part of his body as a whole. Gliding across a robust field of grain is a weathered, callused, yet strong male hand. The subsequent cut introduces the lined and bearded face of Maximus himself, the presumptive “owner” of the hand, looking wistfully at a small colorful bird in the midst of a landscape made barren by both winter and the destructively efficient Roman army. The scene
“To do or die manfully” (Pierce) 43
ends with the heavily armored Maximus grimly returning to the bleak and col-orless present, dutiful yet reluctant. These few seconds of screen-time immediately identify Maximus as strong, determined, and grounded. The hand passing over grain signifies not only strength, but also a power that is tied to the land and manual (agricultural) labor, a trope indicating Maximus’ simple and uncomplicated nature. His grizzled features reinforce his agrarian hardiness and are augmented by his soldier’s attire. As Monica S. Cyrino explains, the character of Maximus is thus appealing to viewers because he “reaches back to an idea of masculine bravery and goodness that is old-fashioned by both modern and ancient standards” (131).
All subsequent physical depictions of Maximus reinforce his strong (and thus normative) masculinity. First, as a general personally leading his troops to battle against Germanic barbarians, Maximus actively engages in brutal hand-to-hand combat, ultimately conquering this last stronghold of resistance.
This show of masculine force and aggression is repeated several more times, from his fight with and escape from the Praetorian Guard, to his swift killing of opponents as a gladiator, to his final duel with the emperor Commodus (Joaquin Phoenix) where he gruesomely dispatches his nemesis, despite being mortally wounded.7 Another demonstration of Maximus’ physical prowess is the stripping and display of his toned and muscular body, alongside those of all the newly acquired slaves, at Proximo’s (Oliver Reed) gladiator training facil-ity in North Africa. As Lynne Segal has argued, “The contemporary guardians of true manhood still believe that living one’s life as a man involves toughness, struggle and conquest” and an “increasing glorification of a more muscular, militaristic masculinity,” creating “a new ideal of manhood based on physical fitness, courage and audacity” (89, 91, 92).8
The display of Maximus’ body, along with those of the other gladiators, is safely heterosexualized in part because these scenes never allude to any potentially homosexual or even homoerotic activities. This safely heterosexual zone of display is crucial because, as John M. Clum explains, “the point at which intense male-male relationships become a threat to that homo-hetero boundary becomes a place of extreme anxiety” for the viewer (xix). Therefore, the slaves are almost universally shown in sleeveless, knee-length tunics or smocks, and there is nary even a bare chest to be seen. Gladiator has no bathing scenes, no partially clothed gladiators sleeping in the same cell, and only a select few references or connections linking gladiators and sex. These few exceptions occur with Maximus, and are all safely heterosexual.
Gladiator and the other films discussed here purposefully avoid potentially homoerotic scenes in part because of the tendency or the expectation of earlier sword and sandal epics to be viewed as homoerotic because of their very physical display of the male body. This expectation of homoeroticism stems in part from the common motif associating the antagonists (predominantly Roman) with
“degenerate” sexual tastes, such as homosexuality or bisexuality, as in the infa-
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mous “oysters and snails” scene where the Roman general, Crassus (Lawrence Olivier), attempts to seduce his slave, Antoninus (Tony Curtis), while bathing in Stanley Kubrick’s Spartacus.9 Audiences thus expect some expression of sexual deviance when watching these films and are primed to look for it. Another reason is that toga films, especially those of the 1950s and 1960s, prominently featured male bodybuilders, glorified for their well-oiled physiques (not their acting skills), as the main objects of the audience’s gaze. According to Susanne Turner, this “celebration of the bare flesh it puts on display encodes both empowered masculinity and eroticized spectacle” (131). Many elements work together to enhance this homoerotic spectacle, not least of which are the ubiquitous scenes of semi-nude males interacting with other equally disrobed males in bath houses or grappling with each other in little more than loincloths, often with nary a female in sight. Moreover, as Turner notes, the formerly typical objectification of the female body on screen is here replaced, or at least marginalized, “in favour of male spectacle and male bodies” (144, emphasis original; see also Fitzgerald 36). As stressed by Clum above, this erotic objectification becomes problematic when it creates a tension or anxiety on the part of the (presumably) heterosexual male viewers and how they are to identify with these bodies on display (Fitzgerald 37). Thus, in an attempt to straighten the homoerotic gaze, these elements are often repressed or displaced with scenes of violence by or against the very bodies on display (Turner 144, Fitzgerald 37). In terms of Gladiator, Troy, and 300, each film utilizes this approach of violent displacement but also subtly acknowledges the audience’s potential anxiety by overtly countering any hints of homoeroticism with unambiguous displays of heterosexuality.
In Gladiator, the first link between gladiators and sexuality occurs after Maximus demonstrates his swift and ruthless efficiency in dispatching opponents in the Zucchabar arena, to the dismay of Proximo, who wants these matches to be more entertainment than hasty execution. Hoping to assuage Maximus’ restless anger, Proximo asks what he wants and, assuming his needs are sexual, suggests “Girl? Boy?” ( Gladiator). Tellingly, Maximus does not respond to the sexual offer, instead informing Proximo that he desires to be the best gladiator so that he can stand before the emperor Commodus (presumably to kill him in order to avenge his family’s deaths). Aside from the rejection of sexual desire in general on the part of Maximus, this exchange also illustrates the default assumption of heteronormative behavior (“Girl?”), with the remote, “other” possibility of homosexual desire (“Boy?”) introduced as an afterthought. The second exception takes place in the dungeon scene where Lucilla (Connie Nielsen), the emperor’s sister (and former love interest of Maximus prior to their respective marriages) speaks to a chained Maximus, telling him that wealthy Roman matrons are wont to pay large amounts of money “to be pleasured by the bravest champions” ( Gladiator). Though no sexual union takes place, Lucilla’s statement constructs their potential sexual encounter in clearly heterosexual terms.
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The final instance overtly connecting gladiators and sexual activity in Gladiator occurs when Juba (Djimon Hounsou), observing Maximus praying to figurines of his wife and child, asks what he says to them. After relating horse-riding advice that he gives his son, Maximus tells Juba, “To my wife ... that is not your business” ( Gladiator). The sly look and laugh shared by the two gladiators alludes to not just a private exchange between husband and wife, but a sexual exchange shared only by the couple. This scene, like the previous ones, does not just link this sexuality to Maximus, but binds it specifically to his heterosexual nature, making it a heteroperformative act. Taken together, these scenes with Maximus and the modest clothing of all the gladiators preclude any hint of non-normative sexuality on their part, thus making their all-male interactions safely heterosexual.10
Gladiator provides numerous other examples of heteroperformativity, most of them centered on establishing or reinforcing the traditional masculinity of the hero. The most obvious reinforcement comes in the form of the near-constant references to Maximus’ nuclear family, as Martin Fradley has noted (245). Prior to their murder, Maximus desires an end to the war so that he may return home to his family. When asked whether he will go to the barracks or perhaps Rome, now that the battl
e is over, Maximus responds with a third alternative: “Home. To my wife, my son, the harvest” ( Gladiator). He is intent on returning from the all-male surroundings of the militarized frontier to his simple home in Spain to be husband to his wife and father to his son. Maximus’
longing to return home, to reestablish his patriarchal position within the household, remains constant until he learns of the murder of his family and the destruction of his home. Despite a momentary period of apathy, once Maximus realizes that his new status of gladiatorial slave will allow him to confront his family’s murderer, he becomes bent on revenge.
This traditional representation and spectacle of the male body, masculine virility, and heterosexual activities are likewise displayed in Petersen’s Troy, primarily through the bodies and actions of the two male leads, Achilles and Hector. Unlike that of Maximus, the introduction of Achilles highlights his naked, tanned, and muscular body. It is subsequently and frequently presented throughout the movie in various stages of undress (often after competing with and killing an opponent), such as when he washes himself before his captive Briseis (Rose Byrne) or bathes after defeating and slaying Hector. When Achilles is dressed, or even armored, his clothing is much more revealing than that worn by Maximus. Unlike the knee-length tunics of Gladiator, Achilles’ leather skirt, and those of most of the male actors in Troy, barely reaches mid-thigh, revealing and eroticizing much more of the male body. Yet despite the increase in exposed male flesh, these presentations, like those in Gladiator, are displayed safely in a heterosexual context.
From his very first appearance onscreen, Achilles’ body is meant to epitomize male heterosexual physical perfection and virility. Indeed, the audience
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witnesses a starkly naked Achilles in the post-coital company of not one, but two women. This not-so-subtle scene indicates that these two women are simply the latest in a string of heterosexual conquests. Achilles himself has no emotional (read as “weak”) attachment to these women, nor any use for them other than sexual, which he demonstrates by annoyingly throwing one of their arms off of him so he can go into battle. This callous disregard for women and their treatment as sex objects clearly identifies Achilles as a traditionally chauvinistic, and thus demonstrably heterosexual, male.
Like Maximus, Achilles constructs his heteronormative traits through brave and dangerous feats of heroism. His first violent encounter, with the muscled giant Boagrius (Nathan Jones), appears at first to be set up as a protracted duel, but the battle is swiftly and efficiently ended by a single lunge and sword-thrust by Achilles. Facing the large army of Thessaly, Achilles challenges the soldiers by yelling, “Is there no one else?” ( Troy). When no one steps forward, Triopas (Julian Glover), king of Thessaly, asks for Achilles’ name. He offers, “Achilles, son of Peleus,” emphasizing his own masculinity via the paternal link to Peleus, himself a hero who adventured with Heracles and Jason of Argos ( Troy). Interestingly, when Triopas offers Achilles the royal scepter of Thessaly to give to Agamemnon (Brian Cox), Achilles refuses to be the bearer of this phallic representation of royal power from one man to another.
Despite Achilles’ initial portrayal as chauvinistic, or at the very least indifferent to female needs, the mutual taming and domestication that occurs between him and his war-prize, the virgin priestess Briseis, allows Achilles to (temporarily) function in a domestic, heteronormative space. Though not officially husband and wife, Achilles performs many of the domestic activities expected of a male head of household, from deflowering his virgin “bride” to establishing a protective and secure home environment by his decision to remove himself from Agamemnon’s war and return to Greece. In attempting to leave the battle of Troy, Achilles recalls Maximus’ initial desire to return to his home in Spain, the key difference of course being that whereas Maximus planned to return home after fulfilling his military duties, Achilles opts to return during the battle inside Troy. Another important distinction between Achilles and Maximus in terms of domestic heteroperformativity is Achilles’
lack of progeny, that classic indicator of a properly consummated heterosexual union. Yet despite the absence of offspring, Achilles nevertheless demonstrates paternalism (or at the very least fraternalism) with respect to his Myrmidons, especially Eudorus (Vincent Regan), who he sends home to safety prior to the final, deadly assault on Troy, and most importantly with Patroclus (Garrett Hedlund), conveniently changed from the possible homosexual love interest of the Iliad and re-imagined onscreen as his cousin.11 The refiguring of the connection between Achilles and Patroclus from homosexual to heterosexual and paternal (a brief bit of dialogue early in the movie between Odysseus [Sean Bean] and Achilles establishes that Patroclus’ parents have died and that he is
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now under the care of Achilles) normalizes their relationship by unquestionably asserting that Achilles’ actions and desires are firmly heterosexual.
In fact, Troy goes to great lengths to completely disassociate all of its characters from any hint of non-normative sexuality, especially homosexuality.
Numerous scenes constantly reinforce the rigid heterosexuality of all the male characters, even the vast cast of extras. For example, when trying to convince Achilles to fight Boagrius in the opening scene, Nestor tells Achilles that he can swiftly end the war (with Thessaly) with a single swing of his blade, allowing the Greek soldiers “to go home to their wives” ( Troy). Likewise, in an attempt to persuade Achilles to do battle with the Trojans, Odysseus asserts his own heterosexuality by telling Achilles, “My wife will feel much better if she knows you’re by my side” ( Troy). This insistence on heterosexuality extends to the Trojans as well when, after the first battle between Greeks and Trojans, Hector asks Achilles, “How many wives wait at Troy’s gates for husbands they will never see again?” ( Troy).
As representative of the Trojans, Hector complements the heteronormative ideal exhibited by Achilles. Hector’s body is also on display, though it occupies fewer scenes than Achilles’ does. Like Achilles, Hector’s masculine form is displayed in various scenes of heteroperformativity, so that when he appears bare-chested, for example, it is always in relation to the private bedchamber he shares with his wife and infant son. In keeping with the displays of masculine prowess exhibited by Maximus and Achilles, Hector demonstrates his strength through both physical exertion and leadership over other males, in this case the entire Trojan army. In terms of fighting, Hector duels one-on-one with a series of Greek champions, including Menelaus (Brendan Gleeson), who he kills with a single sword thrust; the much larger Ajax (Tyler Mane), who he vanquishes after a protracted and grueling struggle; Patroclus, who he mistakes for Achilles; and finally Achilles himself. Considering how quickly Achilles dispatched all his previous opponents, even those much larger than him like Boagrius, the drawn-out nature of the Achilles/Hector duel is indeed a testament to the masculine worthiness of Hector, despite the fact that he is ultimately slain.
Hector’s masculinity is also reinforced by his paternalism. Hector is very protective of his brother Paris (Orlando Bloom), especially when he refuses to hand Paris over to the Spartans (and certain death) for stealing Menelaus’ wife.
Likewise, when Paris foolishly decides to duel with Menelaus, Hector attempts to instill in his brother his own skills as a warrior, telling him how to avoid Menelaus’ sword and exhaust his opponent. Interestingly, when Paris tries to ensure that his brother will protect Helen, Hector commands Paris to forget about such sentiments and to focus “on his sword and your sword” ( Troy).
Hector’s manly advice is simple: in battle, there is no time for feminine, and thus “weak,” expressions of emotion; victory is assured through focused aggression and superior swordsmanship. Of course, Paris is bested almost immediately, but when Menelaus moves in for the kill, Hector steps into the duel and
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slays Menelaus instead, just
ifying this interference by claiming, “He’s my brother!” ( Troy).
Coupled with his paternalistic relationship with his brother, Hector also demonstrates his heteroperformative nature in scenes with his wife, Andromache (Saffron Burrows), and infant son. Indeed, their first scene together reinforces Hector’s virility, as his wife presents their son to him (and to the audience) after his absence in Sparta. In their bedchamber, the child’s bassinet is also prominently displayed in close proximity to their bed, further connecting their sexual activity with proper heterosexual performance: the production of a suitable (male) heir. Even the couple’s final scene together, just before Hector engages in the fatal duel with Achilles, emphasizes Hector’s role as husband and father, as Andromache tearfully presents him with his son in the hope of thwarting his inevitable death. Bound by his masculine duty for his city, which in martyr-like fashion supersedes his familial obligations, Hector attempts to ease the tears of both wife and son, but nevertheless continues determinedly toward his fate. In fact, Hector foreshadowed this devotion to country just prior to the first Greek assault on Troy, telling his fellow soldiers that they would fulfill their heterosexual, masculine obligations if they remembered to simply
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