What Saturday Night Fever did for Quiana, Plexiglas dancefloors and bad hair, Gladiator will do for killing Christians.
Sitting in my stadium seat listening to an uncouth secular audience raucously cheer Gladiator, I felt like a rabbi at the Nuremberg rallies. But instead of the crowd whooping it up for an unattractive little man who, all for the want of a fistful of Prozac, killed off half of Europe, the audience at Gladiator was screaming for Christian blood. My blood.
Using men with bulging biceps, bulging chests and, well, things that were bulging that no Christian woman should ever have thrust in her face, Gladiator will do more for homoerotic Christian mayhem than anything since Caligula first sashayed into the Colosseum. Gladiator, a film that manages to be crafty without craft, is littered with offensive antifamily propaganda and a level of vulgarity not commonly seen outside of Nevada. But what do you expect from a movie featuring an emperor called "Commodus" -- Latin for "toilet"?
Russell Crowe stars as General Maximus, a downwardly mobile Roman who is forced into the most base of all professions -- show business. He entertains at amphitheaters throughout suburban Rome by decapitating Christians with an unrefined swagger too gruff to remind one of any genuine heterosexual males. Indeed, his technique clearly draws on the exaggeratedly robust manliness that can only be found in Women's Professional Basketball.
Maximus is certainly no Christian. Indeed, watching him cart around a leather pouch with a couple of graven images to worship, Mrs. Bowers initially assumed that he was a Catholic. However, in a galling act of one-upmanship, instead of worshiping simply a son who has been crucified, Maximus spends the movie worshiping both a son and a mother who have been crucified. Are we supposed to be happy that this pagan looks forward to an afterlife in a place he calls "Elysium" instead of "Heaven"? It is almost as if the screenwriter were implying that Christianity is just some wholly derivative religion!
What will every True Christian despise about this movie? Let's start with the vulgar name attached to the project. It doesn't take a cryptographer to unlock the salacious wordplay of the title to this trashy homage to amorality. Of the seven women from Bringing Integrity To Christian Homemakers who attended the screening with me, only one did not immediately pick up on the shockingly lewd subliminal message glaring down on us in twelve-foot letters. As my dear Sister-in-Christ, the 81-year-old Mrs. Helen Floribunda pointed out: "It really takes a sick, sick secular mind to give a movie a title like that just to get a puerile giggle out of good, wholesome Christians going around town saying 'Glad He Ate Her.'"