Abstract
In the 21st century, it seems sometimes as though the classical world is everywhere: providing aspirational models for politicians and media executives, stories for filmmakers and novelists, and stylistic inspiration for fashion designers. Television, too, has had its recent share of Roman romps ( Rome, 2005–2007; Spartacus, 2010–2013) and Greek myth remakes ( Atlantis, 2013–2015; Troy: Fall of a City, 2018). However, none of this is new. Ancient Greece and Rome have been fixtures on television since the medium came to maturity in the 1960s, and this book aims to correct the surprising omission of ‘ancient’ programmes from sustained analysis. The study breaks down into five parts, covering the 1960s to the present, each of which combines an overview of developments with in-depth discussion of two complementary case studies. By exploring the contexts, characteristics and impacts of ‘ancient’ serial dramas across the decades, Magerstädt maps the distinctive television genre which gives her book its name: TV Antiquity.
In defining this genre, Magerstädt balances the influences of cinema, which contributes ready-made visual cues, narrative arcs and spectacular display, with the tele-visual drive towards ‘seriality, complexity and intimacy’ (p. 2). Episodic, long-form story-telling that prioritises personal relationships and interior lives is the distinguishing feature which connects otherwise disparate output: the Italian miniseries based on Homer’s Odyssey, Odissea (1968); the British television adaptation of Rosemary Sutcliffe’s novel for young audiences, The Eagle of the Ninth (1977); the multi-series US mythological ‘mash-up’ (p. 134), Hercules: the Legendary Journeys (1995–1999); and the American blood-soaked bonk-fest, Spartacus, for example. As Magerstädt’s detailed analyses show, covering local and transnational production factors, audience reception, source material, narrative trajectories, representational strategies and thematic interests, ‘TV antiquity’ manifests itself in many different ways.
While each case study makes rewarding reading – a personal favourite is Odissea, where the challenges of retelling epic poetry and realising a Homeric world through the audio-visual languages and aesthetics of television are explored –, so too does following the interconnections. Of The Caesars (1968), I , Claudius (1976) and Rome, only the latter two are likely to be familiar. Yet, in many ways the former establishes the criteria for Roman history on television. This includes the visual tropes evident in the photograph of toga-wearing actors assembling on tiered steps in front of tall marble columns on the book’s cover. However, The Caesars also set the tone with its naturalistic style and use of close-ups that permit a more intense and personal engagement: filming techniques that were ground-breaking more widely. In addition, at discursive and conceptual levels, the three serials shared a claim to be high quality television, the combination of the personal and the political in their narratives, and an emphasis on female agency. These play out differently, as does the class antagonism between middle- and upper-ranking Romans in The Caesars versus aristocrats and commoners in Rome. As this cross-reading reveals, television’s Roman histories exemplify trends and interrogate anxieties over 50 years of socio-political change.
Religion is also a repeated theme. Noted, for example, are the existence of the gods within characters’ minds in Odissea, the blending of pagan and Christian religions in The Last Days of Pompeii (1984), the humanising of Greek and Norse gods through familial roles in Hercules: The Legendary Journeys and the corporealization of members of the Greek pantheon in Troy: Fall of a City. Always, Magerstädt concludes, religion is ‘at the margins’ (p. 200) but this pervasiveness is striking. Like epic film, which regularly absents the gods or makes them markers of moral alterity, television must navigate competing imperatives to represent antiquity in a way that is ‘true’ to ancient practices and beliefs and to manage potential audience incredulity in a (post-)Christian society. To this reviewer, television’s diverse responses suggest greater difficulty – but also the potential for greater ingenuity – in resolving that clash between authenticity and plausibility for a medium that relies upon fostering intimacy between characters and viewers.
TV Antiquity sits at the confluence between Media Studies and Classical Reception Studies and makes an important contribution to both fields. By describing the bounds of a new genre and tracing its development, the book enriches awareness of an underrecognized strand in television history, in which studies of history on television also show no special interest. At the same time, by tracing themes in the representation of antiquity, it enhances understanding of the reception of classical antiquity in a defining medium. Further questions might arise: for example, regarding the uniqueness of television antiquity by comparison to historical or other genres, for which seriality, intimacy and complexity are also hallmarks; or the relationship between television representations and the myriad engagements with antiquity that fill our cultural world. Classics is currently a site of contestation between progressives, who explore the present and imagine alternatives through their recreations of the ancient world, and far-right extremists who find analogues for their regressive agendas in racialised and misogynistic versions of antiquity (see Zuckerberg 2018; Mac Sweeney, et al., 2019; Morales, 2020). How television contributes matters. Thanks to Magerstädt’s rich and stimulating book, the essential groundwork is prepared for future cross-disciplinary investigations.