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“Excess in all things is the undoing of men” a young Alexander is told by his teacher, Aristotle, before he grew to revel in every excess he could find. Oliver Stone should have heeded that advice as well; his “Alexander,” which opens with the words “Fortune favors the bold” from Virgil, is a long, bloated epic that’s full of the showy pomp that is fit for a king, but is devoid of the substance that truly matters.
In what would be difficult to achieve if it were actually Stone’s intention to do so, we observe a lot of Alexander’s travails while learning very little about him. Anthony Hopkins, who worked with Stone on “Nixon,” provides a running commentary as he recounts Alexander’s exploits to a scribe who is undoubtedly recording the history that we’re seeing unfold before us. “He was a God,” Hopkins mumbles as the aged, world-weary General Ptolemy, only to add later that “we’ve idolized and made him better than he was.” While these scenes add to the scope of Alexander’s legend and legacy, they are in no way integral to the story; if a movie is made about a man’s life 2,500 years after he lived, his legend is barely in need of a hand-holding justification.
As played by Colin Farrell, Alexander is a confused soul, except in his quest to conquer the world, which is ambitious to the point of greed. His personal life is a different matter altogether: his mother Olympias (a typically sultry Angelina Jolie) will do anything to protect him, and is so intrusively overbearing that it’s reasonable to believe that Alexander traveled the world to stay as far away from her as possible. Olympias’ biggest fear is that Alexander will be wronged by his one-eyed scoundrel of a father Phillip (Val Kilmer), whose plans of re-marriage threatens Alexander’s right to the throne. As for his own personal life, Alexander defies convention not by the intense homoerotic suggestions between he and Jared Leto’s Hephaistion (homosexuality not a social taboo during this time), but by his marriage to Roxane (Rosario Dawson), a woman of a lower social order and about whom Alexander is given much grief from his advisors.
The costumes may look fabulous and the sets authentic, but they’re inhabited by static performances that never come to life. Particularly restrained is the connection between Farrell and Leto, both of whom are wearing eye liner during their most intimate scenes. Their relationship is depicted through the stern reservations of 21st century eyes; both are hesitant when they should be embracing, careful when they can be reckless. In fact, Farrell is never able to provide a solid impression of who this man is, which lends itself perfectly to the overall messiness of the story. Hopkins’ Ptolemy is fine but unnecessary and Dawson serves the function of looking pretty but adds little more. Only Kilmer and Jolie as Alexander’s parents have the energy needed to generate interest, even if they are far too over the top most of the time.
With all of these various elements to balance in the $150 million movie, Stone never finds the cohesion needed to bring it all together. Everything exists on the periphery with little exactitude or real insights into this conflicted and intriguing man. Stone, who usually over-edits to the point of confusing delirium (“Natural Born Killers,” “Any Given Sunday”) this time doesn’t edit enough, or at least doesn’t mold what he has into a workable piece. Fortune, we learn, does not always favor the bold.
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