From ‘Alien’ to ‘Gladiator,’ How Ridley Scott Uses His Own Legacy to Elevate IP Cinema
Ridley Scott is a wild man–a prolific maverick of spectacle, the pissed-off elder statesman of epic movie-making, and my favorite cinematic grandfather. A few weeks from turning 87 years old, the legend returns with Gladiator II, reintroducing us to ancient Rome, where familiar, beloved moments from the 2000 classic echo like myth, grounding the viewer in undeniable visuals and overt provocation. This time, Scott’s vision examines the very essence of Rome—an ideal, a dream, a contested future—all fiercely debated between some of our most charismatic actors. This isn’t merely a “strength and honor” sequel; it’s Scott using the foundational IP of his most commercial property to delve deeper into the moral collapse of empire-building, blurring the lines between legacy and ruin. Scott’s IP vision offers a sharp contrast to the empty nostalgia of recent franchise revivals, presenting IP-driven films as a means to interrogate humanity’s deeper flaws—our fixation on power, control, and immortality—while using corporate-backed worlds as a foundation for crafting something more thoughtful in an era dominated by hollow, formulaic sequels.
Scott’s direction with Gladiator II mirrors his approach in the divisive sci-fi blockbusters Prometheus and Alien: Covenant—films where he (at least to this writer) laid the legacy sequel groundwork by fearlessly interrogating philosophical horrors rather than simply replicating conventional thrills in space. These prequels–in particular, Prometheus–challenged the famous Alien iconography and its claustrophobic atmospheric dread by evolving into existential terror through every mode of filmmaking, molding the already-layered IP into a grand, mythic exploration of humanity’s pursuit of immortality and, ultimately, self-destruction. With Gladiator II, Scott revisits similar creative ambitions with his Shakespearean, historical spectacle IP, but much like the baggage in Alien: Covenant, Scott’s vision of a Machiavellian “Fall of Rome” narrative is constrained by the need to uphold and unpack its lore.
Scott’s villains in Gladiator II—Macrinus (Denzel Washington), Geta (Joseph Quinn), and the looming ghost of Marcus Aurelius—carry a thematic lineage closely aligned with Prometheus’s Peter Weyland (Guy Pearce) and his creation, David (Michael Fassbender), both of whom represent humanity’s hubris and obsession with mortality, creation, and legacy. At the heart of Gladiator II, Macrinus serves as the franchise’s most morally complex antagonist, shaped by a past of exploitation at the hands of the very elites Rome glorifies. While an underdeveloped and imperfect antagonist, Macrinus reflects the paradoxical ideals of Gladiator’s Marcus Aurelius (Richard Harris), an emperor that Maximus (Russell Crowe) glorifies and one that Gladiator II re-examines as both a flawed visionary and a symbol of Rome’s contradictions. Both David and Macrinus are sympathetic figures, pursuing quiet vengeance as calculated disruptors maneuvering from behind the scenes to dismantle their stratified worlds. These franchise character parallels reveal Scott’s motivations to interrogate history, the present, the future, and his own role in adding to IP cinema; Scott’s Prometheus, Alien: Covenant, and now Gladiator II are popcorn spectacles with thematic reflections on cycles of exploitation, illustrating how the search for power erodes the foundations of civilizations—whether they are corporatocracies colonizing space to meet their makers or ancient imperial empires too stubborn to fall.
However bold Scott’s transformation of these sequels may be, Covenant and Gladiator II don’t hold onto their self-reflective themes as firmly as Prometheus; instead, both movies entertain while being stuck in an IP identity crisis. Just as Covenant is burdened by the need to explain the origins of the xenomorph, while fully exploring the duality of David and Walter (flute scene innocent), Gladiator II is torn between critiquing Rome’s corruption and upholding its idealized legacy. This tension is embodied in the contrasting characters of Lucius (Paul Mescal) and Marcus (Pedro Pascal), who represent the contradictions of Maximus’s legacy and imperial Rome. Through their juxtaposition, Scott emphasizes how the ambitions that build empires are often the very forces that doom them—a parallel he uses to comment on the fall of modern empires. Yet, Scott’s critique weakens when the film’s most textually complex character, Macrinus, slips into caricature; his motivations are simplified to fit a Hollywood-style conclusion that significantly undercuts and uncomplicates the film’s conceptual strengths.
Despite some missteps, Scott’s approach to franchise filmmaking elevates expectations, transforming familiar IP into conceptually rich and reflective experiences. Unlike the purely nostalgic legacy projects of the newest Jurassic World, Indiana Jones, Ghostbusters, or Texas Chainsaw Massacre, Scott’s films are sequels in appearance only (more in line with Blade Runner: 2049, Creed, or Furiosa); he uses their status as a platform to provoke the lazy conventions of the IP-industrial complex. Despite his lofty ambitions to reframe these sequels as entertaining, philosophical reflections, Scott remains a deeply compromised filmmaker, with his vision occasionally tempered by commercial demands and Hollywood sentimentality that weakens his more provocative ideas. In many ways, his recent epics feel like his cinematic version of Marcus Aurelius’ Meditations—a reflection on human impermanence and ambition; though, like Aurelius’s writings, these Scott meta-sequels perhaps arrived a few decades too late.
There is, of course, irony in Scott’s reworking of his iconic genre blockbusters into epic cautionary tales: his continued franchise work suffers from the same legacy-obsessed compulsions it aims to critique. But by reshaping familiar franchises into thoughtful works, Scott raises the bar for studios obsessed with franchises and infantilizing their audience, demonstrating that sequels to iconic properties don’t have to dilute the art form but can be reimagined with actual depth. And, don’t get me wrong—we should still expect more from filmmakers of this status, it’s a privilege to work within the profitable confines of IP like Alien and Gladiator, and certainly, no one pities the extremely-flippant Sir Ridley Scott. But using these sequels as a platform for high-stakes themes is a legitimate gamble for any filmmaker in this current mess of an industry, especially when they’re unafraid to risk studio confidence by even slightly pushing conventional boundaries. If Hollywood insists on churning out a supply chain of IP-driven sludge, then directors like Scott—who make films like they have nothing to lose—deserve to be celebrated. The challenge as an audience is not just to expect studios to greenlight sequels that barely elevate mediocrity, but to demand works that genuinely disrupt the formulaic garbage auteur filmmakers are often paid to polish.
The paradox of Scott’s franchise vision lies in his need to honor the mythos of his original works, resulting in Gladiator II as a familiar epic that feels like two somewhat compatible films. Though the film makes some daring choices, it only slightly elevates the franchise landscape and underscores the unavoidable limitations of modern IP filmmaking. So, in an unfortunate time when original works are buried by studios or stuck in an indie void hoping for worthy distribution, Ridley Scott remains the Roman Empire of cinema; his structural perfection is only matched by his hostility–the perfect, yet flawed, organism.
Gladiator II is currently in international release and will be out in the U.S. on November 22 from Paramount Pictures.
Trey resides in Denver, Colorado. Find him on Letterboxd at @TheExtraCredits or reach out via email at extracreditspod@gmail.com.
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