The mystery of the disappearance of Rome's IX Legion Hispaña inspires yet another moderately rousing action picture in The Eagle, a film based on Rosemary Sutcliff's popular 1950s novel about The Eagle of the Ninth.
Director Kevin Macdonald (State of Play, The Last King of Scotland) manages to deliver a detailed, visceral thriller built on a corny, old-fashioned script.
Channing Tatum plays Marcus Aquila, a young soldier with a new command at a fort on Roman Britannia's frontier. He's the sort of chiseled, charmed warrior who doesn't need his helmet half the time, who hears what others don't and senses the Big Attack when the veterans of the outpost think "the boy" is just skittish.
Marcus is fighting for the honor he thinks his father lost 20 years before, when the Ninth Legion marched north into oblivion, losing its unit standard, the eagle. Marcus longs to redeem the family name and retrieve the eagle from the "tainted legion."
First he must recover from battle wounds he suffered saving his men. He must overcome the skepticism of his patrician uncle (Donald Sutherland, less interesting here than in The Mechanic). And he must win the loyalty of the slave (Jamie Bell, buff and feral) who must guide him, in disguise, to the Land of the Painted Seal People.
Tatum's rock-solid build has always suggested "soldier." But he's not a commanding presence, especially playing a commander. He throws what weight he can into scenes in which Marcus prays he doesn't "dishonor my legion," and behind such lines as "The eagle is not a piece of metal. It is Rome."
Tatum handles the brawls beautifully and clicks with most of his co-stars, especially Bell. Their male bonding gives this World Without Women a hint of Hemingway's homo-eroticism.
For my money, Centurion, using similar Scottish and Eastern European locations and with the formidable Michael Fassbender as its star Roman, is a more rousing and entertaining movie. But Macdonald gets more out of his Scottish locations (he is a Scot), and had the budget to get a lot of detail right. The film's early scenes of marching, clanking soldiers and brutish slaughter let you smell the sweat soaking into the armor.
Then it goes all chatty. And the odd decision to have everybody try to match Tatum's hidden Alabama accent jars the ears.
Outside of Gladiator, these movies don't seem to go over on this continent the way they do in Europe. That's a mystery. Close combat, tactics torn from the pages of history and messages of honor, freedom, survival and comradeship — it shouldn't matter that the warriors wear skirts.