Not Built in a Day

This article is from the archive of The New York Sun before the launch of its new website in 2022. The Sun has neither altered nor updated such articles but will seek to correct any errors, mis-categorizations or other problems introduced during transfer.

The New York Sun

“I shall be a good politician, even if it kills me,” declares a defiant Mark Antony in the midst of the mayhem that has developed by Episode 6 of “Rome,” HBO’s ambitious and addictive new series set in 52 B.C. Speaking a little more directly to the point, Anthony adds with a sly smile: “Or if it kills anyone else, for that matter.” By its sixth hour, “Rome” resembles HBO’s signature series, “The Sopranos,” in its characters’ predilection for egregious violence. A moneylender has, only moments earlier, commanded the soldier Lucius Vorenus – one of the show’s two central figures and not prone to acts of senseless brutality – to break the arm of a man who has not paid his bills. Frighteningly, the parallels between ancient Rome and contemporary New Jersey grow all too apparent when it comes to matters of money.


“Rome” defines the peculiar and unique nature of television in the way it builds slowly but with precision and skill over a period of weeks; viewers (or critics) who expect a show like “Rome” to take off like a rocket haven’t been watching much television lately. The first three episodes take their time in establishing the oddities of this ancient world – its bawdy sexuality, its rampant killing, its obsession with political intrigue. Audiences will need to be patient and attentive – but if they can manage it, the rewards begin to flower in Episode 3 and reach a frenzy by Episode 6. By that time the lines of battle have been clearly drawn over the future of this fabled Republic, and it doesn’t matter that we already know who won.


The main storyline – at least in the first season of this co-production of HBO and the BBC – concerns the machinations over control of Rome, mostly between Julius Caesar, the great soldier who has returned victorious in his conquest of Gaul, and Pompey Magnus, his friend who controls the Roman Senate. But unlike this summer’s earlier, vastly inferior ABC miniseries, “Empire,” on virtually the same topic, “Rome” defines its mission through two ordinary men: the soldiers Lucius Vorenus and Titus Pullo, who bridge the chasm between Rome’s ruling class and its downtrodden masses, and in doing so give the story a stunning human dimension. One a drunken lout and the other a struggling family man, Vorenus and Pullo manage to maneuver themselves into the front lines of history.


But for those who find Vorenus and Pullo a tired device (and it does become one at times) the same will never be said of Atia – Caesar’s sultry niece, and love interest to Mark Antony, among several others – who steals “Rome” blind. The flame haired British actress Polly Walker ignites every scene of “Rome” she’s in; in one episode she’s offering her daughter as a wife to Pompey, in another she delivers a naked man with a large penis (politely tied with a green bow) to Servilia, Caesar’s mistress. “Who doesn’t like a large penis?” she asks of no one in particular. That’s the kind of rhetorical question that keeps “Rome” humming. Ms. Walker’s fearless performance (including scenes of full frontal nudity) will engage audiences long after they’ve grown bored with the polemical debates over governance and power. It’s hard to imagine Laurence Olivier spitting out a cherry pit with more panache than Polly Walker.


The name you’ll most remember from the credits of “Rome”(done memorably in graffiti lettering) is that of Bruno Heller, a previously obscure television writer who’s responsible for the first six episodes – a remarkable balancing act, given the complexity of his story and the vast number of characters and threads. Mr. Heller (helped by co-creator John Milius, the famed screenwriter of “Apocalypse Now” and “Dirty Harry”) has concocted a world – and several subcultures surviving alongside one another – unlike any ever depicted on a weekly television series, and not just because of its coarseness and vulgarity. (And those are compliments.) It’s an amazing achievement to have created a universe so dependent on intrigue; remarkably little actually happens here, and that’s one of the show’s enduring pleasures. Like “The Sopranos,” the tension mounts slowly but inexorably – and with just enough sex and bloodshed to keep us attached to its underlying and intellectually stimulating premise.


What “Rome” lacks, at least so far, is a villain to root for; no star turns here rival the thunderous presence of James Gandolfini in “The Sopranos,” or even Ian McShane in “Deadwood.” The earnest behavior of Lucius Vorenus and Titus Pullo starts to grate after a while; it’s like focusing a mob story on the hired goons. The performances of Ciaran Hinds as Julius Caesar and Kenneth Cranham as Pompey Magnus lack the necessary charms; James Purefoy brings some edge to the role of Mark Antony, but not enough to compensate. Of far more interest is Max Pirkis as Octavian, Atia’s teenage son, who’s likely to become a central player in future episodes – he’s a cunning killer in training, and fun to watch. Sadly, with the exception of Polly Walker, the women of “Rome” are as dull as they are beautiful; never have so many olive skinned young actresses with copious black ringlets appeared together in a single series.


Is “Rome” a show audiences should embrace? This is the kind of series that vexes critics who vote with their thumbs, and who have already shown an inclination to dismiss it as a noble failure. While at times it may seem ploddingly dull, at others it’s impossible not to be exhilarated by the show’s spectacular depiction of Rome in all its wretchedness. The sight of brain surgery being performed without anesthesia will repel some and amaze others, as will the seemingly endless (and sometimes gratuitous) scenes of graphic sex and brutality. At times even the sex scenes – as shockingly frequent as they are – may seem superfluous sops to an audience that producers fear will become bored by the endless gabbing about politics, power, and war. But most of the time, the creative team behind “Rome” (its directors include “Coal Miner’s Daughter’s” Michael Apted, Allen Coulter of “The Sopranos” and “Six Feet Under’s” Alan Poul) create an air of verisimilitude that’s astonishing for a television series set in a world lit only by fire. Audiences who flip away during its most discomfiting moments would be well advised to take a deep breath and turn the channel right back to “Rome,” or risk missing a great new series in the making.


***


I can’t seem to stop watching “The Comeback,” HBO’s new Sunday-night comedy series that isn’t funny. I started off a staunch resister of its charm-free approach, but now I’m hooked on its lack of humor. I’m riveted by the grating and perpetual smile of actress Valerie Cherish, and fascinated by the fatuous and condescending executive producer Paulie G. I love the show’s grotesque obsession with peeing and pooping, and howl at its endless flogging of the idea that its most flamboyantly gay character is in denial about his sexuality. I delight in the embarrassments and slights that comprise Cherish’s misery-filled life; the more things go wrong with Valerie, the more I like it. “The Comeback” is television for those who need a break from the monotony of cookie-cutter comedy; it embraces failure and sadness and defeat. It demands to be canceled, and should be – a 10-episode life will ensure its status as a show to be discussed and remembered as the medium’s first anti-comedy classic.


The New York Sun

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