Once more unto the breach, dear friends!
It’s a whole new year and a whole new Sparty Party. Spartacus: Vengeance kicked off its new season with a nice kick-to-the-gonads premiere episode, and it didn’t fahhhking disappoint. Whether it was the testosterone-fueled opening combat sequence that introduced us to the new Spartacus (the worthy Liam McIntyre, seamlessly stepping into the massive sandal-print left by the dearly departed Andy Whitfield) or the Orgy Gone Awry (more on that later) or the haunting return of Lucretia (Lucy Flawless), “Fugitivus” made no apology for jumping headfirst with the “Go Big or Go Home” mantra and sticking the landing.
This isn’t to say the episode was perfect. (Nothing is perfect, with the possible exception of me.) There are still bolts that need tightening, and I’ll touch on those. But for the most part this was yet another solid brick set in the mortar of a series that, when all’s said and done, will surely be one of the torch-bearers for some of the most bold, groundbreaking television for years to come.
Put it this way: season 1 began on shaky footing but ended in breathtaking, ballsy spectacle; season 2 upped the action ante while delving deeper into backstory, theme and character. Season 3 looks as though its coming with confidence; the Spartacus brand is striding with chin high, ready to take on all comers.
The buzz-worthy orgy slaughter scene in “Fugitivus” was epic, taking the Sparty penchant for gratuitous gratuity and twisting the dial to 11. It was as though producer / creator / showrunner Steven DeKnight had been forced to sit through a reading of every criticism his show had ever endured… until, finally having had enough, he lifted both hands high and extended two middle fingers with a nice, friendly, accompanying smile.
Didn’t like that? Here. Take a gander at this.
The scene was blatant, brazen, and bestial (literally), with gyrating, naked bodies locked in bullet-time coitus. The appearance of an ivory-carved strap-on dildo seems almost tame compared to some of the other stuff we saw. Yikes.
And like Sodom and Gomorrah, this party was destined to end, and you kind of had to know it would not end well. We were all just basically waiting for the other shoe to drop—and drop it did, like a hammer. Spartacus came in with his posse and the party died. Literally.
I think the donkey survived. I’m not sure. It was a blood-streaked blur.
What I am sure of is that detractors of the Spartacus series will point to that scene in particular as an example of the show’s base celebration of depravity. But here’s the thing: the people who make this show could throw titillation at you for dimes on the dollar if they wanted to. They don’t have to make sex or violence—sex especially—very interesting. Just watch any late-night episode of anything on Skinemax. Sex is cheap. All you need are people willing to take their clothes off and roll around a little.
(Don’t look all shocked. It’s 2012, people. Your 13-year old sister will get naked on You Tube if she’s reasonably certain it will go viral.)
It doesn’t have to look like operatic art. It doesn’t have to make your eyes pop and your stomach twist. And yet that’s what DeKnight and his people put on the sacrificial altar for you. I’m not sure about their visual inspirations at times; it hearkens a little to something you might see in a Nine Inch Nails music video (and that’s a compliment). All I know is that it’s a snarling, visceral thing, and it certainly makes its point. Props to all involved—Marcus LeVere and John Walters especially. Crazy visuals.
Acting wise, the Shakespeare-meets-Shakur language is a litmus test that separates the newbies from the pros. The show’s crazy dialogue would be hard for anyone to let casually roll from tongue to troposphere, which of course becomes its own double-edged sword as it leaves the less-experienced actors and actresses a little (ahem) naked. Twisting in the wind, as it were. Katrina Law (Spartacus’s love interest Mira) seems to be having a hard time locating the right accent, for instance, and Manu Bennett (the passionate Crixus) sometimes comes off as having partaken in one (or nine) too many cups of coffee.
(In defense of Bennett, most of us understand that Crixus is basically code for “intensity,” and he’s desperate to find his lost love, so there’s that. But still, one gets the feeling that Bennett would do a Tide soap commercial as though it were a life-or-death purchase. Dial it down a little, bro.)
Other criticisms? Basically none. Liam McIntyre needs more definition in his chest? I dunno.
One better-than-stellar performance I have to highlight is the insanely talented Viva Bianca. (From now on I’m spelling her first name with a deserved exclamation point. If Lucy remains Flawless, Viva! gets her Viva!) We didn’t get any Viva! in season 2, but the fandom needs to drop to its knees and thank Jupiter’s cock they brought Ilithyia back for Vengeance. This woman’s range is immense. Australia gets credit for its massively deep male talent pool, but this woman could hold her own with anyone. I can’t wait for Viva! to flex her chops as Ilithyia and Lucretia go toe-to-toe this season.
(Their rivaling chemistry is insane; it’s like Maggie Smith vs. Imelda Staunton—but, you know, much younger.)
(Actually it hearkens more to Polly Walker vs. Lindsay Duncan. Frienemies.)
Hold onto your codpieces. This is going to be intense.
If you approve of gigantic ivory-carved strap-ons, follow me on Twitter! That’s @Axechucker, plebes!
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