Betrayed by the conniving Emperor Commodus (Joaquin Phoenix), Roman general Maximus Decimus Meridius (Russell Crowe) is sold into glad rags like Ben-Hur, Spartacus, Conan the Barbarian and Anakin Skywalker before him.

The tried-and-tested sword-and-sandals storyline is given a breath of fresh-Hur by Ridley Scott, who combines pulp and pageantry to create Carthaginian carnage. His ambitious production design sets the stage for axe-wielding warriors going up in flames, equally authentic representations of the duality of the Roman Empire.

The film takes its time at 2.5 hours but is neither boring nor gratuitous, because its interpersonal conflict and quasi-historical politics play out in the gladiatorial arena. This lends drama to the muscular action and vice versa, the brutal violence all at the service of the classical plot. Scott shrouds the movie in hazy grey to reflect the Empire’s moral murk, its slaves trodden into mud by the sandal of oppression.

The outcome is an old-school epic with much to say about the fragility of modern democracy, only growing in relevance since its release in 2000. Joaquin Phoenix is positively Trumpian as the jealous, incest-prone Commodus, his thirst for tyranny dwarfed only by his need for popularity. Maximus is less interesting but what Russell Crowe lacks in range he makes up for in brooding intensity, while Oliver Reed’s death during production goes unnoticed due to pioneering digital effects.

The picture emerges a classic of the glads-on-tour genre, packed with quotable speeches, bloody fight scenes and a dreamy, Eastern-inflected score by Hans Zimmer and Lisa Gerrard. A slew of imitators tried to ride its colossal coattails (remember Troy?), but none were a match for Gladiator. Cinema maximus.