A three-part series on Julius Caesar recently aired on BBC2. It was a classic docu-drama combining talking heads with scenes of historical re-enactment. The physical similarity between the actor chosen to play Cato (sworn enemy of man-of-the-people Julius Caesar) and talking head Rory Stewart (arch critic of ‘egotistical chancer’ Boris Johnson) was not perhaps wholly accidental.
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The series, which was nicely done, set me thinking about why only a handful of classical characters ever make it into the media. Julius Caesar’s great-nephew, Octavian-Augustus, has been featured alongside his wife Livia in several classical dramas, including Domina on Sky in 2021. Many years ago the BBC dramatised one of the trials of leading Roman rhetorician Cicero. Alexander the Great received his own biopic from Oliver Stone in 2004. The same year saw the release of Troy, loosely based on Homer’s Iliad, and we are to look forward to an Odyssey of sorts starring Ralph Fiennes and Juliette Binoche, potentially this year. Beyond these and certain figures from Greek tragedy, who habitually turn up on stage, there are relatively few ancient personalities who get to enjoy a modern revival. But why?
And they lived unhappily ever after
Our fascination is all too often with those figures who met unhappy ends. With Caesar, of course, there is a fascination with his assassination, his depiction in Shakespeare, but also an eagerness to understand why he suffered the fate he did. Some of those talking heads in the latest TV series interpreted the event as a warning for the modern world about the dangers of autocracy and populism.
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Cicero became a victim of precisely those things when he defended the Roman Republic against Caesar and his allies. The orator’s head and right hand were chopped off and displayed in the forum.
We are just as naturally drawn to people who make and break a dynasty. While Caesar effectively brought the Republic to an end, Octavian-Augustus became the architect of the Empire which followed, and the founding member of the Julio-Claudian dynasty. The two men bookend a crucial turning point in Roman history. Alexander achieved a global domination that fragmented soon after his death. But excessive focus on these ‘big names’ risks overlooking the equally intriguing power-players in their shadow.
Dramatic lives of course make for thrilling viewing as well as reading, especially when they seem to offer a parable for our times, or to echo our own experiences. But while all the above are worthy of our attention, there are indeed many more like them still languishing in the texts. If we were less risk-averse we might take a punt on a making a household name out of one of these.
Caesar who?
There are dozens of people whose stories would write themselves. Elagabalus, for example, is one obscure but highly eccentric Syria-born Roman emperor who has only lately received much attention from modern-day classicists. A regional museum that holds a coin bearing his portrait made a point of relabelling him as transgender last autumn on the basis that some (highly biased) sources describe him as calling himself a woman and requesting a sex change. His story, which has drawn interest for chiming with contemporary conversations about identity, would surely be worth exploring.
Ancient women have been particularly overlooked. If scandal sells, we could do worse than to turn our gaze to Alexander the Great’s mother, Olympias, who is suspected of having had a hand in the death of her husband, another of his wives and their child; or Agrippina the Younger, who was widely believed to have served her husband, the emperor Claudius, his fatal dish of poisoned mushrooms; or Sappho, who grew famous for her love poems for women at a time before lesbianism was even recognised. The only real dilemma is who would play them best.
This feature was first published in Spear’s Magazine Issue 90. Click here to subscribe