A Girardian Note about Spartacus [Media Notes 140]

I saw Spartacus when it came out in 1960. The movie led me to the book, which I read quickly. I believe I stayed up reading it most of a night, but I don’t remember whether or not I finished it at that time. I also bought the soundtrack album.

As you may know, the novel and film are about a slave revolt in ancient Rome in the first century BC. Did I know that back then? I don’t know. Does that matter? Probably not. But it matters for my current purposes. It matters because the most Girardian aspect of the film/novel is not in the historical record. Howard Fast invented it.

Let me explain.

Early in the film we see gladiators training. These men are slaves. They are engaging in exercises where they make the same moves. Are they imitating one another, or a model that we’ve not seen? I’m not sure it matters much, for, whatever the model, the imitation is deliberate and conscious. Girardian mimesis is unconscious.

A bit later Spartacus – based on a real person – attacks the trainer. Others join in, they overpower the guards, and escape the ludus, the gladiatorial school. They rove the countryside; other slaves join them. In time their force becomes quite large, with thousands and tens of thousands joining them.

The Roman Senate sends a force against the rebels. The force is defeated. The rebellion gathers strength. There is much politicking in Rome and Marcus Licinius Crassus is made First Consul and given charge of the Roman army. He defeats the slaves. This leads to a scene where Crassus addresses the defeated slaves. While Spartacus is directly in front of him, Crassus doesn’t know that. He informs the slave that they will not be put to death, but be allowed to live, albeit as slaves, provided either that Spartacus identifies himself or that they identify him. Spartacus is about to identify himself when his friend, Antoninus, quickly asserts “I’m Spartacus.” The other men quickly join in, each proclaiming himself to be Spartacus.

Imitation? Yes, but deliberate, conscious imitation. Nor does it lead them into conflict with one another. It is an expression of solidarity.

And it drives Crassus nuts. Meanwhile Crassus had found Varinia, Spartacus’ wife, on the field after the battle. He takes her into his household and attempts, unsuccessfully, to seduce her. She rejects him.

Now THAT’s Girardian mimetic desire. Crassus doesn’t even know which of those defeated slaves (dead or alive) is Spartacus. He only knows that Spartacus led them, and that this woman was his wife. Crassus desires Varinia (only) because she was wife to this rebel leader. His desire is sparked by an idea in his mind, not by envy for a concrete human being whom he identifies. 

Note that Varinia is not in the historical record. Howard Fast invented her when he wrote the novel in 1951. It's as though he added a Girardian critique, or at least a comment, to the existing historical record.

There is, of course, much more to the film that I’ve included in this sketch.

Upstairs

A.I. in Hollywood, Wait and See

Devin Gordon, What if A.I. Is Actually Good for Hollywood? NYTimes Magazine, Nov. 1, 2024. From the middle of the article:

Over several months of talking to people around Hollywood about A.I., I noticed a pattern: The people who knew the least about its potential uses in the filmmaking process feared it the most; and the people who understood it best, who had actually worked with it, harbored the most faith in the resilience of human creativity, as well as the most skepticism about generative A.I.’s ever supplanting it. There was a broad consensus about the urgency of confronting its many potential misuses — tech companies’ skirting copyright laws and scraping proprietary content to train their machine-learning models; actors’ likenesses being appropriated without their permission; studios’ circumventing contractual terms designed to ensure that everything we see onscreen gets written by an actual human being. I must’ve heard the phrase “proper guardrails” at least a dozen times. But as the prolific Emmy-winning television director Paris Barclay, who has six episodes of multiple shows airing this fall alone, put it, “That’s what unions are for.”

A bit later:

Then in late August, the California State Senate passed long-gestating, SAG-supported legislation requiring estate consent for A.I.-generated replicas of dead performers.

When I asked one writer-director about the practice, he didn’t even let me finish the question. “Nope, nope, nope, nope,” said Billy Ray, who wrote “Captain Phillips” (2013) and co-wrote the 2012 big-screen adaptation of “The Hunger Games,” and who spent his time during the strike hosting a studio-lambasting podcast. “It’s completely insincere, dishonest filmmaking. It’s a lie.” The counterargument I kept hearing, from artists and from technologists, is that filmmaking is a grand illusion at its core, and we all consent to being tricked — we’re paying to be tricked — when we walk into the theater or turn our phone sideways.

There's much more at the link.