Episode Title: "Triumph"
Original Air Date: November 6, 2005
Episode Grade: A-
"Triumph" is putatively about the loud, massive, drunken party Julius Caesar throws to celebrate his victory in Rome's civil war. The "triumph" was the greatest honor a Roman general could be given; half-parade, half-orgy, the triumph was the general's opportunity to display the spoils of conquest and revel in the praise of the crowd.
But "Triumph" excels instead at finding the quiet and desperate moments. It's Rome's best episode yet, and if I said that a few weeks ago about "Caesarion," well, this episode is clearly a step above that one. Its stories are almost all compelling, and the characters in the spotlight justify the attention given them.
"Triumph," in short, is the episode that best delivers on the promise of what Rome can be: character-focused, without losing sight of the larger historical context.
The good work begins with the first scene, which takes place in the Senate on the eve of Caesar's elevation to dictatorial powers. The conversation Brutus and Cicero here is a little on-the-nose and expository, but Tobias Menzies (Brutus) and David Bamber (Cicero) both do excellent work in conveying their despair and bitterness in a wry tone. And when Bamber starts speaking of "honor," and Menzies quickly points out that if the two of them had any of it they would have killed themselves like Cato and Scipio, there's a genuine edge of sadness to the exchange that's brought across without excess emoting.
I've had some fun pointing out where Rome has noticeably cut corners as a result of its budget; see, for example, the entire "Pharsalus" debacle. But "Triumph" actually does justice to its titular event; not, it must be acknowledged, in the fashion of Cleopatra and other sword and sandal Hollywood epics of the past, where the parade is given a long, luxurious look.
Instead, "Triumph" focuses on the details of the planning and one particularly intense scene during the event itself. There are some memorable shots of the planning stages, including a particularly beautiful scene shot looking straight up toward the sky while red banners are unfurled toward the camera.
If there's a particularly eloquent character in "Triumph," it's a silent Vercingetorix, the Gaul chieftain who surrendered to Caesar in the pilot. His final days are placed in sharp, if obvious, contrast with Caesar's moment of victory. From the time Vercingetorix is pulled out of his dungeon, looking emaciated and disheveled, to be examined by Caesar one final time, his fate is obvious.
And when he's dragged out on the day of the triumph, dressed in a mocking simulacrum of what he wore as a proud warrior, it's impossible not to feel the crushing weight of the moment on his shoulders. His day ends as it must, strangled to death (in a slow, agonizing scene) in front of Rome at Caesar's orders.
Vercingetorix's body is unceremoniously dumped onto the side of the road, though the episode ends with some anonymous folks (presumably Gauls) retrieving it and giving the chieftain a proper funeral pyre. None of this is particularly subtle, but it works based in no small part on the strength of Giovanni Calcagno's silent, terrified performance as Vercingetorix. And as a kind of subtle foreshadowing of Caesar's eventual end, it's got some resonance.
It's hard in watching "Triumph" not to think of a couple famous lines from Shakespeare's Julius Caesar: "Cowards die many times before their deaths. The valiant never taste of death but once."
That's the reality facing Brutus in this episode: he is alive and well, and Caesar allowed him his to return to the prestige of a Senatorial posting. But as played by Menzies, Brutus is more a ghost than a man. His is not just an honorable name, it is a name that almost means honor in Rome, and Brutus sullied it. First by turning on his friend, then by crawling back to him for mercy.
This is most apparent and most compelling when baldly stated by his mother, Servilia. She has her own reasons for anger, of course, and they have less to do with honor and patriotism than fury at being set aside by Caesar (oh, and the whole "attacked and stripped naked in the streets" thing from last week). But she can use honor and patriotism as psychological weapons against her son, and she does so with brutal effectiveness.
When Brutus acknowledges that he has failed her, Servilia responds, "You have not failed me. I'm your mother, you cannot fail me. You have failed the Republic." It's a cruel, cutting remark, and Lindsay Duncan delivers it with just the right amount of contempt and motherly solicitude.
It brings to mind yet another quote, the farewell Spartan mothers were reputed to give their sons as they left for war: "Come home with your shield, or on it."
And Servilia's not above taking advantage of Brutus' name either, affixing it to the anti-Caesar propaganda she writes with the help of Cassius and Pompey's son Quintus. This doesn't really present much of a danger to Brutus, though he's appropriately horrified; Caesar readily believes that Brutus had nothing to do with the propaganda, though he's not above making Brutus squirm a little bit.
The other storyline of note in "Triumph" is Titus Pullo's collapse. As a private citizen he's not allowed to march in the triumph with the 13th Legion, and he has no real trade to fall back on. More devastatingly, when he buys the freedom of Eirene, the slave he has fallen in love with, he finds out that she's in love with another slave (based on an IMBD search, I believe his name is "Oedipus") and intends to marry him.
Pullo takes this badly.
This is a brutal scene for a number of reasons that go beyond watching Pullo slam Oedipus' head into a wooden pillar so often that he pretty much obliterates the poor kid's face. He committed this crime in Vorenus' home, and Lucius is so appalled that he sends Pullo away for good. This partly a reaction to the murder itself, partly a reaction to the fact that it took place in Vorenus' home and partly a reaction to it happening in front of Vorenus' children. Frankly, those are all pretty reasonable causes for an angry reaction.
These last two episodes have allowed Ray Stevenson to explore the sadness and desperation at the heart of Pullo's character, giving him a chance to bring some depth and color to a previously one-dimensional character. Pullo ends "Triumph" drunk and despondent among the revelry, and vulnerable to the approaches of Erestes, the local crime boss Vorenus has repeatedly angered.
"Triumph" is outstanding. It gets great performances from its core cast and explores inter-personal dynamics in a way that is both compelling and subtle. This first season of "Rome" has been a disappointment, but "Triumph" provides some reason to hope that it will end on a high note.
Notes
- I don't usually relegate Vorenus' plot to the notes, but he has a fairly basic and predictable arc where he becomes disillusioned by the corrupt nature of the election he is running in. Pullo later points out how hypocritical Vorenus has been, and it clearly stings.
- Polly Walker is wonderfully insulting in an early scene where she visits Servilia and offers unctuous sympathies for the latter's attack.
- "I have never seen a bad case so well-put."
- Most of the history I've read indicates that Vercingetorix was probably killed in prison after the triumph, not in front of screaming crowds.
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