It’s easy to understand Oliver Stone’s boyhood hero worship of Alexander the Great. Alexander conquered 90% of the known world by the age of 25, and over two million square miles by his death at 33. By most accounts, he did so without the unbridled imperialism and savagery of so many other conquistadors. It’s hard not to admire the Herculean directorial task, orchestrating battle scenes, engaging experts of every stripe: dialogue consultants, historians, animal trainers, military and equestrian coaches. No one could accuse Oliver Stone of dealing in half measures, so why is
Alexander so plagued by ambivalence? Sporadic and choppy, dazzling and preposterous. Perhaps Stone was so overcome with devotion that he struggled to make Alexander the man truly accessible. It’s not a whitewash. We see him when troops are resentful, when he makes errors in judgment or lets ego get the better of him. But there’s something flawed about the tone, so bent on grandeur that it's excessively reverent. Mannered and sanctimonious.
I was surprised at how derivative Alexander felt, as if Stone was afraid his usual volatile, sardonic approach wasn’t respectful enough. There were stirring, magnificent moments: young Alexander taming the stallion he will name Bucephalus, his later, victorious reception in Egypt. Lush spectacle and elaborate vistas that would have knocked DeMille on his ass. With it’s impressive cast and Stone’s resolute, unequivocal sensibilities, it’s difficult to understand why Alexander seems to be groping for the right strategy. Why it flounders and stumbles. You hear the lofty dialogue and can’t believe the pontificating. The actors aren’t bad, but their delivery is off-point. The one exception, Angelina Jolie (as Alexander’s mother, Olympias) nails the material, and the scenes between she and Farrell are some of the film’s best. Jolie can go over the top without trying our credibility. Even with a thick dialect she communicates, without making a speech. If only Stone had been content to reveal Alexander’s humanity and left the adoration to us.
There’s been some debate over the casting of Colin Farrell as Alexander but I think he was an inspired choice. There are times when his energy and attitude lapses, when his choices as an actor seem ill-advised, or worse, embarrassing. However, this responsibility is Stone’s, and with decisive guidance, I think Farrell would have done just fine. Stone is telling the story of a legend, whose mother worshipped Dionysus and father was possibly the god Zeus. Connotations of a messiah are hard to ignore and Stone alludes to other Greek scripture as well. But there’s something odd about the visual language of the film. It’s not just the golden hair that frequently looks ridiculous. It’s expressions on Farrell’s face that send the wrong message; imagery that looks arbitrary or misdiagnosed.
Historians disagree as to whether Alexander and Hephaistion were lovers, but historians often take liberties with information they don’t like. The fact that sex between male friends in ancient Greece was acceptable and unremarkable is hard to deduce from Alexander’s bizarre subliminal text: Farrell’s androgynous look in key scenes, the fey appearance of Jared Leto as Hephaistion, Alexander’s ubiquitous eunuch that looks like Julie Newmar in her Catwoman days. I have no problem with gender-blurring but resent the notion that copulating men must succumb to effeminacy or submission.
When I heard that Stone was at the helm of Alexander, I believed that here, at last, was an iconoclast with the cojones to take on the “controversy” without caving to bullies who mask intolerance under the guise of Christianity. Past experience might have taught me better. It would be difficult to describe the depth of my disappointment with vague narrative references such as "...Alexander was never defeated, except by Hephaistion's thighs." While I can appreciate the sly wit, there is clearly an unspoken intent to downplay Alexander's sexual predilections.
The studios are glad to accept money and talent from the GLBT community, then sell us out in a heartbeat. We're told that no one cares if we're gay, as long as we don't make an issue out of it, by people who never try to imagine being queer in a culture where hetero-sex is constantly shoved down your throat. Radio, television, movies, periodicals, plays, advertisements, you can't escape it. An overwhelming majority of teen suicides are committed by gay kids because they are told over and over again that, at best, there is something horribly wrong with them. Imagine the healing power of knowing one of history's greatest heroes unashamedly loved and made love to his lifelong friend, Hephaistion. That one of the world's fiercest warriors mourned his friend’s death for days without hiding behind macho affectation. Think about the good this movie could have done. How different the world would be if we didn't pander to ignorance.