$250 million, and the best we get is… rabid monkeys? Ridley Scott’s Gladiator 2 feels like a parody of itself. Pascal’s character is utterly unnecessary, a cardboard figure who exists solely to fill runtime without contributing anything memorable or meaningful. D.W., despite his undeniable talent, is saddled with a bafflingly underwritten role, spouting clunky dialogue as the story collapses around him.
As for the central narrative about Maximus Meridius’ son? Trivial and painfully predictable. The "legacy revenge" arc is telegraphed so clearly you could write the script after the first act. No twists, no depth—just a paint-by-numbers retread of the original’s emotional beats.
Glory to Dondus indeed.