‘Domina’ Highlights the Ambiguity of a Compelling Heroine of Ancient Rome

Tony Sokol

Both Epix’s “Domina” and HBO’s “Rome” leave out a very important figure of Roman history. Fulvia, Marc Antony’s wife, was in charge of the empire when her husband and Octavius went chasing after Julius Caesar’s assassins. She was the individual who pierced Cicero’s tongue for censuring her husband. She did it with golden hairpins. She doesn’t fit the adapted-for-TV historical narrative.

Livia Drusilla (Nadia Parkes), the title character in “Domina,” is also a historic enigma. During Emperor Augustus Caesar’s reign, she was the stand-by-your-man type, at least in public. Historians paint her as a politically astute Machiavellian puppeteer when guiding her son Emperor Tiberius through the navigation of the Roman Empire. In the series, much ado is paid to how much young Livia is like a man. She was raised when a woman’s role was to bear children for Rome, and not much else, except maybe gladiator school. Her father Livius (Liam Cunningham) educated his daughter, personally schooled her in politics, and is progressive enough to give her the choice to leave her fiancé Tiberius Claudius Nero (Enzo Cilenti) at the altar. He’s not the fiddling Nero, it was a fairly common name before the Common Era.

The first two episodes take place after the death of Julius Caesar, in about 40 BC. The leadership of the Roman Empire is in question. A dictatorial trio, which includes Julius’ son Gaius (Tom Glynn-Carney), and Marcus Antonius (Liam Garrigan), is up against the more democratic defenders of the republic. Livius fights and dies a Roman death in the transition. He joins Caesar’s killers Brutus and Cassius, and falls on his sword after the battle of Philippi in Macedonia. Gaius puts a price on the head of all Romans loyal to the old ways. Livia and Nero head to Sicily, get a pardon, and perform separate power games in Rome.

The series was shot at Rome’s Cinecittà Studios, and the sets are beautiful, even the uglier ones. The graffiti, for instance, has a measured look. Most of it is centered, properly spaced, and almost wholesome, compared with how it was seen in shows like “Rome” and “Spartacus.” The wedding between Livia and Nero is exquisitely rendered, though it doesn’t appear to adhere to any specific Roman tradition beyond killing a loudly crying pig. Even the most blood-splattered social functions leave togas unsullied. There is a clean shine to the period which can’t all be attributed to Roman plumbing. “We got connected to the aqueduct last year,” Livius casually tells Gaius as he wipes himself with a handled sponge. Not every act of bodily expulsion is equally dignified, as terrains and climates change in the exteriors, but they are all on display as if they are part of the story arc. 

Births are “like shitting out a statue,” bemoans Gaius’ first wife Scribonia (Christine Bottomley), who is rarely seen without a tell-tale bulge. We also get a glimpse into the casual way the ancients tolerated infanticide, a choice we see when a daughter, Julia, is born to Caesar’s wife, before she is taken from her and given to Livia. The time was harsh, brutal, and regimented. Women were not equal to men under the law. They rarely got more than a basic education. They were subject to the authority of their father before marriage, and their husband afterwards. They did not have legal rights over their children. Livia’s birthright, restored or not, doesn’t change any of that. When Livia learns she is pregnant with a second child, she lays waste to the best room in the asylum afforded her and Nero by Sextus. “You always worry each birth will be your last,” she explains by way of apology. But she’s also plotting her way through her most gracious host.

Livia goes full-on Domina in her encounters with Balbina (Isabella Rossellini), who runs an apparently upscale brothel. It’s not because she can fetch a sesterce or two, either. The first time she enters, looking for her friend, the freed slave Antigone, she goes alone, unattended by slaves, unadorned by jewelry. The second time Livia enters the cathouse, she’s got claws out, and it’s all in the accessories. In an era renowned for power plays, she makes sport in the sunlight without breaking a sweat.

While the overall arc will whet the appetite for female supremacy and women’s empowerment, it won’t appease it. The heroine of “Domina” makes a lot of compromises. Don’t look for Xena here. “You always remember your first,” Livia says during the opening, as she’s about to crack the skull of an assassin with a rock. We don’t get the setup until later in the story, but it is one of very few action sequences. The high production values did not go into legion formation on land, and we don’t see any epic sea battles in the Mediterranean.  

The series is a little wordy, and the names don’t help. Exposition on the finer points of history bottlenecks political maneuvers, and bridging the multigenerational divide creates unnecessary internal battles. The dialogue is modern and the names are ancient. Some appear to have high power. Livia comes from one of the five great families of Rome. Nero is a schlub. There is a distinct line drawn between the men who might take a whore before dinner, and women who must be chaste and virtuous, and know their way around a weaving machine. The teenaged Livia puts a “Mean Girls” spin on the usual “I, Claudius” masterpiece theater gravitas. Parkes clearly enjoys the rare cultural exchanges which pass for impolite company. “I’m younger, prettier and richer than you,” she tells Octavia and Scribonia, who were “lucky to be invited” to her wedding. “So why are you laughing at me?” 

There is little humor in “Domina,” which takes its balance between drama and historical accuracy fairly serious. In subsequent episodes, Livia is played by Polish actress Kasia Smutniak, who may bring wit to the wisdom. Conceived and written by Simon Burke and lead-directed by Claire McCarthy, “Domina” is most interesting as an exploration of the period from a female point of view. It would benefit from a representation of the priestesses of the many gods and goddesses which gave ancient Rome finer nuance. The Roman senate was an old man’s club, but the country was a motherland. “Domina” makes a very valid point, but will resonate deeper with contemporary society if it takes advantage of historical truth.

“Domina” premieres June 6 at 10 p.m. ET with new episodes airing Sundays on Epix.