The 20 greatest Roman films of all time

Are you not entertained? Films set in Ancient Rome deliver spectacle, silliness – and lots of men in leather skirts. These are our top picks

Copy link
twitter
facebook
whatsapp
email
Copy link
twitter
facebook
whatsapp
email
The Romans are back on the big screen as Gladiator II – a sequel almost a quarter century in the making – enters the cinematic arena for another round of swords, sandals, and bloody vengeance. With Russell Crowe’s hero Maximus slain in the original, Paul Mescal now pulls on the armour as Roman hero Lucius.
Ancient Rome has a long and rich history on screen, dating back to the days of silent cinema and the stately classical and biblical epics of the Fifties and early Sixties. These films were the cinematic spectacle of their day: more than one movie about Romans was the most expensive film ever made at the time of its production.
Such lavish productions fell out of favour after high-profile excesses and box office disasters of the early Sixties, but Romans continued to be both figures of fun (mainly for the togas, funny names, and raunchy peccadillos) and action heroes on the big screen. Grand Roman epics dusted themselves off, though, in 2000 with the success of Ridley Scott’s Gladiator – which won five Academy Awards, including Best Picture and Best Actor – leading to a resurgence in swords and sandals movies, though they were mostly concerned with Greek myths and legends.
The sheer spectacle of Roman films is a huge part of the appeal. But these movies also reveal a fascination with the worst human impulses: the brutality, the debauchery, the sexual depravity, the back-stabbing politics – something which the new Gladiator promises not to stint on, with a syphilis-riddled emperor and gladiators forced to battle as dinnertime entertainment. And let’s be honest, such madcap debauchery is a huge part of the fun.
So strap on your sandals and girdle your gladius – these are the 20 greatest Roman films of all time.
From director Neil Marshall, this Roman Britain-set actioner imagines the fate of the Ninth Legion, an elite Roman fighting squad that mysteriously disappeared.
Adding to many theories about what happened to the Ninth, Marshall’s version has them betrayed by a Boudica-like warrioress (Olga Kurylenko) and obliterated by the Picts, leaving Michael Fassbender’s centurion in the wilderness with a smattering of survivors.
It has a straight-to-DVD feel and a bizarrely eclectic cast that ranges from A-list to EastEnders alumni, including Dominic West, David Morrissey, Riz Ahmed, Liam Cunningham, Imogen Poots, and Paul Freeman. Yet its real pleasure lies in seeing how each character meets their fate – happily, there’s no shortage of arrows in the eye, hatchets in the neck, and men torched by flaming boulders.
This Spanish-produced film recounts the story of the real-life Alexandrian philosopher Hypatia (Rachel Weisz) in Roman Egypt, against the backdrop of the clash between pagans and Christians on the streets. Directed by Alejandro Amenábar, it takes historical liberties, such as Hypatia proposing the thesis that the planets orbit the sun.
The more cerebral take on the Roman movie works, even if its slightly po-faced approach dampens things. Still, the street conflicts are well executed and these Christians are more up for a ruck than the others who feature on our list. Weisz is captivating as the doomed Hypatia.
Family fun that’s both entertaining and educational. It stars almost everyone else who’s been funny on British television in the last ten years, including Alexander Armstrong, Nick Frost and Ncuti Gatwa, with Derek Jacobi reprising his role as the titular hero from the classic BBC drama I, Claudius.
Craig Roberts plays the emperor Nero as a spoilt (Welsh) teenager – Nero comes off terribly in every portrayal on this list – while singer Kate Nash leads a Celtic uprising as Boudica.
It’s very much aimed at kids, but there are sharp lines (“I want you to give it CX per cent,” Warwick Davis tells some gladiators before a big fight) as well as fascinating factoids on Roman Britain, battle tactics, and – of course – ancient toilets.
Not Richard Burton’s best-known Roman role – that would come ten years later in Cleopatra – but he gives it some theatrical oomph as Marcellus Gallio, a Roman military tribune charged with overseeing the crucifixion of Jesus.
The crucifixion itself is classic biblical blockbuster – all sweeping winds and foreboding thunder as the wrath of God bellows from the sky – while the Romans laugh and gamble just feet away from the cross. Director Henry Koster plays it shrewdly and never shows Jesus’s face.
Marcellus is in turmoil following the crucifixion – which he puts down to wearing Jesus’s cursed robe – but comes to accept Jesus as his Lord and Saviour, becoming one of several cynical movie Romans who converts and then pays the ultimate price for refusing to renounce JC.
Directed by Joseph L Mankiewicz, this is a straight Shakespeare adaptation starring Marlon Brando as Jules’s right-hand man, Mark Antony. Caesar himself (Louis Calhern) is merely a supporting player – there to be stabbed and stood over as the conspirators talk of power, Rome, and ambition.
There’s thespian gravitas from both James Mason as the conflicted Brutus and John Gielgud as chief manipulator, Cassius. But Brando steals it when he launches into his funeral speech – “Friends, Romans, countrymen, lend me your ears!” – and puts the knife to Brutus and co through some masterful crowd manipulation.
It barely matters that the dialogue is sometimes impenetrable – the thrust of the story is in the rhythm and passion of the performances.
There’s an irony to the legacy of this Anthony Mann-directed epic. Telling the story of emperor Commodus (Christopher Plummer) – who fumbles the Empire from within – the movie was such a box office bomb that it saw the Roman epic effectively thrown to the lions for forty years until Gladiator.
Admittedly, the film is a slog for stretches of the three-hour runtime, but it’s also a veritable Roman feast – battles and chariots, stirring speeches about the meaning of Rome, and bare-chested men practising their gladiatorial skills.
For all the grandiosity, it’s actually a personal story – a conflict between Commodus, his sister Lucilla (Sophia Loren), and her soldier lover, Livius (Stephen Boyd).
A tad more palatial than your usual Carry On film, this instalment made use of the sets and costumes left at Pinewood Studios by the Elizabeth Taylor-starring Cleopatra.
Starring Kenneth Williams as Julius Caesar, Sid James as Mark Antony, and Amanda Barrie as the alluring-but-daft Cleopatra, it’s a top-tier Carry On – if only for the eunuch jokes (“What have I got to lose?” asks Kenneth Connor).
Life of Brian actually outdoes Carry On when it comes to Roman innuendo – who can forget Biggus Dickus? – though Carry on Cleo gives us the slave trader Marcus et Spencius. And no number of Shakespeare adaptations can top Kenneth Williams’s “Infamy! Infamy! They’ve all got it in for me!” a line borrowed from the radio scripts of Frank Muir and Denis Norden.
We’re back with the legend of the Ninth Legion for this Channing Tatum-starring adventure. Tatum plays beefcake centurion Marcus Flavius Aquila, who is haunted by his father’s disappearance as part of the Ninth.
Marcus takes command of a garrison in Roman Britain and travels beyond Hadrian’s Wall with a trusty slave (Jamie Bell) to retrieve the Ninth’s golden eagle standard, which is held by a tribe of Seal People (not half-men, half-seals, disappointingly, but topless blokes caked in mud).
Away from the opulence of the Roman quarters, it’s a grim view of Roman Britain – all mud and brutality and wild folk – while the depiction of a wide-awake knee operation will make you thankful for modern medicine. It’s about both magnificence and malice of the Romans; even our hero isn’t afraid to knife a child in the back. Ouch.
Forget ancient history, this four-hour cause célèbre deserves this spot for its place in cinema history. With a budget that swelled to $44 million – which made it the most expensive movie ever at the time and almost ruined 20th Century Fox – it’s the ancestor of every “troubled” Hollywood production to hit the news since.
The stop-start filming saw a changeover of director and cast, multiple unfinished scripts, Elizabeth Taylor almost dying, bad weather, a relocation from Britain to Italy, and a media frenzy when Taylor and Richard Burton – as Cleopatra and Mark Antony – began an affair. It’s impossible to watch without that extra layer of context.
Sure, the film is a bit of an old windbag – it’s best tackled like a Netflix series in this day and age – but there’s a definite magic to Taylor and Burton’s canoodling.
Adapted from the Broadway musical of the same name – inspired by the farces of Ancient Rome playwright, Plautus – this stars Zero Mostel as Pseudolus, “the lying-est, cheating-est, sloppiest slave in all of Rome”. He attempts to win his freedom by setting up his dimwitted master (Michael Crawford) with a courtesan from the brothel next door.
There’s a touch of Carry On about it: a series of improbable misunderstandings triggered by everyone trying to get their end away. It also has a serious comedy pedigree – including Sgt Bilko’s Phil Silvers and Buster Keaton in his final role – and irresistible tunes (the sharp and saucy Everybody Ought to Have a Maid) while Crawford’s inner Frank Spencer emerges for a chariot chase.
Its real brilliance, though, is the film’s insatiable wit – almost every line gets a laugh.
Based on the novel by Pär Lagerkvist, this continues the story of the thief Barabbas (played here by Anthony Quinn) who was chosen to be pardoned from his death sentence instead of Jesus. In this version, Barabbas is deeply disturbed by witnessing Christ’s crucifixion, after which Barabbas is enslaved and forced to fight as a gladiator.
The crucifixion is certainly powerful. Cinematographer Aldo Tonti shot the scenes against the backdrop of a real solar eclipse. The skies turn black as Christ dies on the cross.
Elsewhere, it has some of the best pre-Gladiator gladiatorial action. See him training by ducking a big spiked ball – like a Roman Rocky montage. Barabbas survives the Colosseum but in the end he can’t escape the crucifix.
Directed by Paul WS Anderson, this disaster-romance got the thumbs down when it was first released. But if you’re happy to leave your brains at the Colosseum door, it’s a pacey bit of lava-based froth.
It tells the story of Celtic slave Milo (Kit Harington), who falls for Roman statesmen’s daughter Cassia (Emily Browning) while a CGI volcano bubbles away in the background. The whole film feels like the product of someone saying, “Let’s remake Titanic… but with a volcano!”
Milo isn’t just a dreamboat but also a gladiator and gentle-hearted horse-whisperer. Kiefer Sutherland, meanwhile, is a Roman politician who has designs on Cassia and sneers comically villainous lines. “This is not sport, this is politics,” he says about gladiators dying for his entertainment. All of which is asking for a fiery death.
One of several Italian historical films made on the cusp on World War I, but almost certainly the most influential. Martin Scorsese has credited it with inventing the epic movie.
Written and directed by Giovanni Pastrone, this silent classic is an ambitious years-long story with lavish sets and major action sequences.
The story is partly derived from the History of Rome, a series of books by Roman historian Livy, and follows the saga of a young Roman girl, Cabiria. She’s displaced from her home after a volcano eruption, sold into slavery, almost sacrificed, and saved by a hulking slave.
Elsewhere, Hannibal crosses the Alps, the Roman navy burns, and soldiers besiege a walled city. The scope and technical innovation – particularly the use of a moving camera – influenced filmmakers such as DW Griffith.
The most expensive film ever made at the time – later outdone by Ben-Hur and Cleopatra – this Mervyn LeRoy-directed spectacle is based on the 1895 novel of the same name. A film of impressive grandeur, it was a major hit and nominated for seven Academy Awards.
It follows an arrogant, chauvinist Roman soldier, Marcus Vinicius (Robert Taylor), who falls for pure-of-heart Christian woman, Lygia (Deborah Kerr).
Peter Ustinov is a hoot as the emperor Nero, an egomaniac who’s pandered to with praise and manipulated with reverse psychology. He’s happy enough as long as someone is calling him a god.
But his portrayal switches from over-indulged man-child to sociopath when he burns Rome and blames the Christians. Nero then delights in watching his lions tear them apart. The visceral arena scenes were a clear influence on Gladiator.
Also based on Quo Vadis, it follows a similar story: Roman prefect Marcus Superbus (Fredric March) falls for Christian girl Mercia (Elissa Landi) while Nero persecutes the new-fangled Jesus worshippers. But for all its love of Christ, it’s far bleaker than the 1951 version.
Director Cecil B DeMille caused significant controversy with this film, which whipped up Catholic protest and contributed to stricter censorship rules.
Though quaint and pious at first, but it becomes increasingly daring: glimpses of Empress Poppaea’s nipples as she bathes in asses milk, a lesbian dance sequence, and protracted scenes of Christians being thrown not just to lions but all kinds of animals (elephants appear to eat them at one point). DeMille’s technical mastery is obvious and almost a century later it’s still a staggering – and occasionally bizarre – piece of work.
The Pythons’ film is less about the Romans themselves than the fate of reluctant messiah/very naughty boy Brian (Graham Chapman). But the film’s best gags come from the conflict between the people of Judea (or indeed, the People’s Front of Judea) and their Roman oppressors.
The Romans, commanded by the lisping Pontius Pilate (“Welease Woger!”), are not content with crucifying the locals. They insist on correcting everyone’s Latin grammar, too.
Reg from the People’s Front of Judea gives them due credit – “Apart from the sanitation, the medicine, education, wine, public order, roads, the fresh water system, and public health, what have the Romans ever done for us?” – but Brian remains defiant even when he’s told his father was Roman (which explains his nose). “I’m not a Roman, mum, and I never will be!”
It’s another three hour-plus epic, not to mention one of the grandest, most celebrated motion pictures of all time (as proved by 11 Academy Award wins – a record equalled but never beaten).
But Ben-Hur gallops to the top end of this list on the strength of just eight minutes: the thunderous chariot race that pits Jewish prince-turned-slave Judah Ben-Hur (Charlton Heston) against his friend-turned-enemy Messala (Stephen Boyd).
The race has lost nothing in 65 years – an incredible feat of early action cinema, particularly the sight of Judah being almost thrown from the chariot (actually stuntman Joe Canutt) and Messala getting trampled under the horses.
The race took almost a year of preparation and required an incredible 15,000 extras and 70 horses to bring it to life.
Despite the dozens of rebellious slaves claiming “I’m Spartacus” the actual Spartacus is, of course, Kirk Douglas, played as a dimple-chinned model of human decency. A slave-turned-gladiator, Spartacus leads an uprising against the Romans, inspiring his fellow slaves to fight for themselves and for each other.
The battle scenes are solid but even more interesting are the political machinations of the Romans (as played by Peter Ustinov, Laurence Olivier, and Charles Laughton).
Though directed by Stanley Kubrick, it doesn’t feel like a Kubrick film (he was a director-for-hire after the original director was sacked) and the writers leave a bigger mark on the film’s historical significance. The “I’m Spartacus” scene – in which the slaves refuse to sell out their leader to the Romans – echoes the stand the writers took against communist witch hunts at the time. Novelist Howard Fast and screenwriter Dalton Trumbo were both blacklisted and imprisoned for refusing to name names to the House Un-American Activities Committee.
“I can do whatever I like, to anyone,” says the devilishly blue-eyed Caligula (Malcolm McDowell) after becoming emperor – a philosophy that descends into stark raving, sexually-charged lunacy. Married to Caesonia (Helen Mirren) “the most promiscuous woman in Rome”, Caligula also sleeps with his sister Drusilla (Teresa Ann Savoy) and tries to make his horse a consul.
Penthouse magazine founder Bob Guccione bankrolled the film and sneaked in hardcore sex scenes, which led director Tinto Brass and writer Gore Vidal to disown it. The 2023 edit, The Ultimate Cut, removed the porn and added previously unseen footage. It’s still not for the prudish – a strange masterwork that has the effect of turning you mad with Caligula.
There’s a dark tension – not knowing what Caligula will do (and to whom) next – and the production design is immense: a Rome shaped by Caligula’s decadence, debauchery, and sadism. Rarely has a film so brilliantly captured the insanity of its subject.
An obvious top choice, perhaps – it’s a relatively modern Roman offering, and relevant again thanks to the sequel – but Ridley Scott’s original Gladiator stands rightly victorious.
Nodding back to the Roman films of old, the Oscar-winner is a blistering spectacle packed with muscle and machismo – as personified by growly man-of-the-moment, Russell Crowe, who plays Rome’s greatest general, Maximus Decimus Meridius (“father to a murdered son, husband to a murdered wife” etc).
Maximus is condemned to death by emperor Commodus (Joaquin Phoenix) – a petulant man-boy who never gets the adoration he craves – but our hero escapes and fights his way to Rome via the gladiator arenas, determined to have his vengeance in this life or the next.
From the Braveheart school of graphic, adrenalising violence, the action is certainly worthy of the Colosseum. But the emotional power of the final minutes, as Maximus is reunited with his family in the Elysian Fields, hits like a spiked mace to the gut.
Copy link
twitter
facebook
whatsapp
email

2/5