Russell Crowe’s iconic line has rung around so many living rooms since Gladiator’s release that it has become stereotyped. The use of it in the headline of this review presumably met with a universal sigh and shake of the head. Unfortunately, it is so utterly appropriate to the new film that there was no way around beginning with it here. It is the kind of taunt, followed by Crowe’s disgusted spit, that you can imagine director Ridley Scott directing towards the audiences who have been trooping out of screenings of Gladiator II this week. What more could you expect? This was surely what you wanted?

This film has been a long time coming. Unlike other Hollywood cash-cows released after the turn of the century, it appeared that Gladiator would not be re-done. Ideas came and went, including a magical, other-worldly reboot thought up by the singer Nick Cave. But nothing materialised.

“The film is a clunky re-hash; a discordant dash of a story that lacks any of the subtlety and emotional heft of its predecessor”

Eventually it took 24 years, with the wait only increasing the anticipation. Surely Scott, the legendary auteur and iconic grump would not pander to the Marvel-loving, action-fetishising masses? Paul Mescal signed up, the hunky heart-throb of the emotionally-shattering Aftersun and Normal People. And Denzel Washington, self-defined Shakespearean, icon of stage and screen. A delicious cocktail of talent pointed more to a Godfather Part II than a Hangover Part XVIII.

And yet, despite having all the right ingredients, Gladiator II is ultimately a dusty, tanned let down. The film is a clunky re-hash; a discordant dash of a story that lacks any of the subtlety and emotional heft of its predecessor. The characters are shallow and David Scarpa’s script extracts only passable performances from the actors attempting to inject some life into their woodenness. The action, tellingly, is there for action’s sake alone; the fights in the arena, so definitive in Gladiator, now solely provide a chance to see Mescal and co-star Pedro Pascal scantily clad, homoerotically straining and grasping at each other’s massive torsos.

The narrative plotlines broadly mirror the original. A Roman army, symbolic of the empire’s blood-crazed excess, conquers a city on the North African coast. Mescal’s Hanno is captured and his wife is killed, filling him with a desperate rage. He is sold into slavery, a gladiator under the ownership of a Macrinus (Washington), and soon proves himself as a worthy fighter in the arena, whether he is wielding his sword amidst men, baboons, or (you must see it to believe it) sharks. Hanno’s wrath is directed towards Acacius (Pascal), the general who led the Roman forces against his people and, it transpires, is married to the original film’s heroine, Lucilla (Connie Nielsen).

“The scenes speed by unintelligibly, giving no chance for development, and characters come and go with no benefit to the plot”

The turn comes with the revelation that, rather than being one of Rome’s typical genocidal vanquishers, Acacius is plotting to overthrow the tyrannical Emperors — Caracalla (Fred Hechinger) and Geta (Joseph Quinn) — and have Rome become a republic once more. It is also revealed that Hanno, rather than being a provincial lacky, is in fact Lucius Verrus, the son of Lucilla and Crowe’s Maximus, sent into exile after the end of the first film. From there the intrigue spirals with Macrinus at its heart, exposing all-too-binary dividing lines between good and evil.

Basically, a lot happens. And that is a part of the problem. The scenes speed by unintelligibly, giving no chance for development, and characters come and go with no benefit to the plot. Derek Jacobi, one of the cruxes of the original Gladiator, arrives in one scene and dies in his next, which occurs at least an hour and a half later.

Much has been made of this sequel’s relationship with its original, and many have pointed to its similarities. The key here though lies in the differences – it is bigger, bloodier, cringier. The mad characters are madder, the fights more violent, the men less complex, more obvious. It all feels contrived, almost deliberately so, embodied in Lucius’ line ‘I will never be your instrument, in this life or the next’, paying painfully blunt homage to Russell Crowe’s ‘I am Maximus’ speech.

“Scott is his own star here, with his picturesque trademark evident in every set-piece scene”

But the film’s redeeming feature, and why Scott might be relishing the trickle of bad reviews, is that this may well all be the point. There are absurd, wonderfully anarchistic elements to the film that it is hard not to enjoy. The baboons do not look even vaguely apish, instead representing grotesque, CGI-rendered aliens. The historical inaccuracies are so plentiful, with Scott banning consultants from the set after the criticism he received for Napoleon, that this almost feels like a deliberate ‘up yours’ to the establishment.

Defiance has been a theme of Scott’s later work. He is now 86 and seems determined to churn out as many films as possible. Gladiator II cost $300mn, but took only 51 days to film, and is on a similar scale to Napoleon and The Last Duel, two of Scott’s more recent productions. Scale does not guarantee quality or narrative coherence, but he clearly believes that these small foibles do not matter to modern-day audiences.

Mescal does what he can with the limited dialogue that he is given. Washington brings a delightful gravitas to his scenes. But Scott is his own star here, with his picturesque trademark evident in every set-piece scene. The spectacle has come to dominate his filmography. Gladiator II is undoubtedly a bad film, but that doesn’t mean we weren’t entertained.