The death of Caesar has been told countless times over the centuries—through gossipy ancient histories (Suetonius), drama (William Shakespeare), and novels (Thornton Wilder’s The Ides of March). One of the more interesting recent attempts was in the HBO miniseries Rome.
The actor playing Caesar, Ciaran Hinds, was easily the most mesmerizing figure in the show. In fact, if you have never seen Season 1, I’d advise you to skip all the stuff about Caesar's two soldiers, Lucius Vorenus and Titus Pullo (they are mentioned in his Commentaries, but that’s about it), and concentrate on this shrewd master of men.
At first, Caesar hardly seems the stuff of which dictators are made. Though he will act to protect his interests, he is not needlessly brutal, and in fact is ready to forgive those who have risen up against him, figuring this will manage to win him friends rather than enemies.
(How well this theory worked out with his protégé and the man who was almost a son to him, Marcus Brutus, is too well known to bear repeating.)
The important factor, though, was that he could be humorous and kindly only as it suited his purpose: to bind men to him. Otherwise, it was near-impossible to guess at the impulses behind his mask of command.
Perhaps it had something to do with the kind of love of crowds and performing to which actors can relate, but in time, Rome demonstrated, Caesar became increasingly intoxicated by power. Particularly after his anointing as emperor, he came to view himself as possessed of almost divine powers.
Except for the presence (or, I should say, the diversion) of loyal soldier and bodyguard Vorenus, the show’s depiction of the assassination follows fairly closely the account by Nicolaus of Damascus, who was not there himself but interviewed several of the principals within a few years of the event.
Perhaps it had something to do with the kind of love of crowds and performing to which actors can relate, but in time, Rome demonstrated, Caesar became increasingly intoxicated by power. Particularly after his anointing as emperor, he came to view himself as possessed of almost divine powers.
Except for the presence (or, I should say, the diversion) of loyal soldier and bodyguard Vorenus, the show’s depiction of the assassination follows fairly closely the account by Nicolaus of Damascus, who was not there himself but interviewed several of the principals within a few years of the event.
I found fascinating how the conspirators finally settled on assassinating Caesar right in the Senate (the rejected possibilities include murdering him along his favorite walk, the Sacred Way; on a bridge he had to cross to appoint magistrates for elections; and at a gladiatorial show).
(The image accompanying this post comes from the acclaimed 1953 adaptation of Shakespeare's Julius Caesar, with Louis Calhern as the unsuspecting victim and Edmond O'Brien as Casca, the conspirator who struck the first blow.)
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