Crime
Prime Target
This math-centric thriller comes with an interesting premise. But Prime Target comes with some primary problems, too.
Around 100 A.D., a Roman satirist said that his people only cared about two things at that time: bread and circuses.
According to Those About to Die, those words were just as true 21 years earlier. Rome’s Circus Maximus hosted bloody chariot races as the Flavian Amphitheater (now known, simply, as the Coliseum) was nearing completion.
And while the people of Rome could—and did—throw the occasional bread riot, those circuses stole the spotlight. Entertainment then, as now, has a way of helping people forget about their problems … while sometimes causing others.
It’s 79 C.E. (Common Era, as the show so styles its years), and Vespasian sits on the Imperial throne. He’s not averse to sponsoring the occasional chariot race. I mean, let’s face it: If you’re not the Emperor (or, at the very least, a member of Rome’s moneyed elite), life can get pretty dreary. You could use a little diversion to pass the time—even if most of the money you bet on that diversion passes out of your hands.
But even here, the wealthy hold sway. For centuries, four charioteering factions have competed for glory in the Circus: the Whites, the Greens, the Blues and the Reds. Each faction has its own wealthy backers and benefactors. Yes, the people of Rome love their races, but it’s hardly a democratic exercise.
But the amphitheater, Vespasian says, will be different: From the get-go, it’ll be for the people.
“Circus Maximus belongs to you,” Vespasian tells a handful of powerful Romans. “This arena will instead belong to all the citizens of Rome.”
Does it, though? The amphitheater, and the games and entertainment therein, are being bought and paid for by the ever-so-generous Vespasian. It’ll be filled with exotic animals and ferocious fighters from every corner of the Roman Empire. And plenty of people hope to leverage the amphitheater and its games for their own enrichment and power.
Certainly, Vespasian’s scheming son, Domitian, can see the Coliseum’s possibilities. And perhaps he can somehow use it to drive a wedge between his pops and his firstborn son, Titus. Meanwhile, senators and their wives—who’ve long held sway at the Circus—don’t see why the amphitheater should be any different.
And then there’s Tenax, a lowborn Roman who, through his considerable smarts and ruthless ambition, now owns Rome’s biggest gambling den. He’s doing just fine for himself, thanks. But he wants to do more than just fine. He wants to be part of the city’s aristocracy. And if he plays his pre-medieval cards right, the amphitheater just might be his ticket.
And then, of course, you’ve got the folks who compete—both in the Circus and in the amphitheater. The ones who die, die. The ones who live, and live long enough, become celebrities—as rich and famous as any athlete today. Until they turn just a little too slowly. Until they duck just a little too late.
‘Course, the same could be said of the Emperor himself. In the end, the end comes for them all. And rarely is that end peaceful or pretty.
Peacock’s Those About to Die, directed by action-film impresario Roland Emmerich, presents itself as a sweeping sword-and-sandal epic that explores the underbelly of Imperial Rome near its zenith.
But the show gives us TV that’s near its worst.
For all its pretentions and obvious expense, Those About to Die feels like a shallow affair—not unlike the “games” it dramatizes and, in many respects, glamorizes. The presence of Sir Anthony Hopkins (as the Emperor Vespasian) cannot paper over the wooden dialogue or paint-by-numbers plot.
But even if the show was good, you’d still have so very many issues to deal with. The violence, as you might expect, is gleefully bloody. When people aren’t watching the games, they’re engaged in various forms of sex—and those scenes include plenty of nudity and some explicit movements. (Same-sex pairings are not unusual; Domitian himself has a male lover who seems widely known around town.) Rape and murder become fulcrums for the show’s plot.
And while the show’s makers could argue that both the sex and the violence would be quite at home in ancient Rome, it’s unlikely that the rich and poor alike used the f-word quite so often.
Then there’s the inescapable irony of the series itself.
Those About to Die is meant, of course, to show us how hollow, cynical and morally bereft these “circuses” were—a Roman staple that explicitly underlines (according to Tenax himself) this “cesspool of corruption and decay.” Imagine the state of Rome that would allow such games to take place. Imagine the populace that would flock to the Circus or Flavian amphitheater to see all that blood.
So what does that say about Those About to Die? A show that expressly brings us that same entertainment? And what, might I venture to ask, does it say about us?
No, the animals who are killed in these arenas are most certainly CGI. The men who are “killed” spurt their fake blood. I’m sure that Peacock would say that no animals, or humans, were harmed in its making.
And yet the thrill of the show—what miniscule attraction it might have—is in the knowledge that these atrocities happened. And we want to see it happen, in all its crimson force.
(Editor’s Note: Plugged In is rarely able to watch every episode of a given series for review. As such, there’s always a chance that you might see a problem that we didn’t. If you notice content that you feel should be included in our review, send us an email at [email protected] (or contact us via Facebook or Instagram), and be sure to let us know the episode number, title and season so that we can check it out.)
A bread riot breaks out in Rome. And with Titus—the Empire’s militarily inclined heir—away and apparently canoodling with his “Judean queen,” Emperor Vespasian turns to Domitian for help. Domitian suggests quickly staging chariot races in Circus Maximus, knowing the distraction will temporarily pacify the people. Tenax makes a lot of money in the wake of the races, but his true aim is to figure out how to make more—and power besides—from the coming-to-completion Flavian Amphitheater. And he tries to enlist the talented-and-popular charioteer, Scorpus, into his plans.
Meanwhile, in a Roman province in Africa, a Roman centurion tries to rape a young adolescent girl. He’s promptly killed by the girl’s sister, which gets the both of them slapped into slavery. Their mother, Cala, believes they have just one shot: If brother Kwame proves himself strong and courageous enough to fight in the amphitheater, he might just be able to protect them all.
A debt-ridden Roman consults a psychic/witch in desperation, hoping to wipe out his debt with one massive bet—a bet consisting of his wife’s holdings. He loses, and we soon see that the witch was a charlatan. Other characters make mention or pay homage to their own local gods. When ordered to help capture a massive white lion, Kwame at first refuses, believing that the lion would be under the protection of “demons.” (“The Romans will deal with the gods and demons,” Kwame’s boss says. “Take him, or you will get nothing.”)
We hear references to Titus’ conquests of Judea (the plunder from which funded the building of the amphitheater). Several people fret that Titus may have been charmed by the Jewish queen and ask Titus to send her away.
Tanex locates Scorpus in a brothel. We see several couples engaged in sex, and there’s not a stitch of clothing to be seen in most instances. (We see bare breasts and explicit movements.) Scorpus is eventually found in the company of a senator’s wife. (The wife’s dalliances are well known, even to her exasperated-but-smirking husband.)
Elsewhere, Titus engages in sex with his “queen.” Again, movement and breasts are seen. Later, the two engage in another private moment, with the woman grasping Titus’ crotch as the two begin to kiss. Presumed prostitutes reveal both breasts and buttocks to would-be customers. (A male prostitute also offers his services.) Domitian’s male lover places a bet. He tries to offer advice to Domitian, but Domitian snaps that he keeps the man around for his physical attributes and abilities—not for his opinions. (He words this rebuke in a much more crass manner.) In what appears to be Circus Maximus’ locker room, we see a number of male athletes with exposed buttocks and towels covering their privates.
A crash takes place in Circus Maximus: A chariot and its driver flip over, taking its four horses with it. Some horses clearly die in the accident. And while the driver survives, it doesn’t last long: He’s soon broken and grotesquely trampled by the charioteers when they make another loop around the Circus. (A Roman soldier also dies; we see the corpses of both human victims lie side-by-side.) Victims of games are brought into Tanex to be dealt with. One man begs to be put out of his misery, but Tanex would rather sell the man to feed wild beasts. “Live ones are worth more than dead,” he tells a couple of kids in training. “There’s no value in mercy.”
A lion mauls and kills two people, leaving its muzzle coated in blood and gore. Tanex orders the throat of an in-debt gambler to be cut, which it spewingly is. A woman stabs a man in the back, killing him. The body is later dragged out of the house, leaving a bloody streak behind. The show offers a nod to Domitian’s supposed propensity to torture insects. A man battles several others, knocking them to the ground.
Several characters gamble. Some Romans drink. We hear the f-word five times, the s-word once and are also treated to the words “a–,” “d–n” and “p-ss.”
Paul Asay has been part of the Plugged In staff since 2007, watching and reviewing roughly 15 quintillion movies and television shows. He’s written for a number of other publications, too, including Time, The Washington Post and Christianity Today. The author of several books, Paul loves to find spirituality in unexpected places, including popular entertainment, and he loves all things superhero. His vices include James Bond films, Mountain Dew and terrible B-grade movies. He’s married, has two children and a neurotic dog, runs marathons on occasion and hopes to someday own his own tuxedo. Feel free to follow him on Twitter @AsayPaul.
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