"Spartacus: Vengeance" Studcap: Slave to the Rhythm

Let’s thank Starz for understanding the historical importance of Spartacus and his hyper-pouty revolt: It was a great showcase for nipples. Perfectly pyramidal nipples. Jumpy, uncompromising, career-driven nipples. Just look at them, popping in their rage like Pillsbury croissants. Spartacus: Vengeance engages its nipples in a feverish dance, like bees transmitting code about a Vivid Entertainment toga party with a Moroder beat. Sometimes the nipples are bleak and beige and other times they’re Pepto pink and touchable. I get this show. And you know, I think Spartacus: Vengeance gets it too. Which is nice. No pretension or condescension. Just nipples sharpened to the future. In the distant past. Where nipples is king.

Spartacus: Blood and Sand debuted to big ratings for Starz in 2010, and since Andy Whitfield, the ferocious star of that show, sadly died of non-Hodgkins Lymphoma late last year, fans of the franchise may dismiss newcomer Liam McIntyre as an unworthy proxy. They’re rightfully worried, but mistaken. McIntyre is a guerrilous troubadour with the whitest lower teeth imaginable, so his murderous grit is just as telegenic. I can’t lie, though: The names and locations and Greeked-out minutia of Spartacus: Vengeance are boring and confusing to me, even if the drama is addictive. The point of the show is that Spartacus is free and seeking bloody retribution at all costs, though he may have to give up his personal vendetta for the good of his new followers. That's not super intriguing. So I’ve figured the best way to recap the show is by curating photocaps. Let’s talk about good-looking dudes and swordplay and wartime nipplage and forget about the real story. We'll keep it PG -- honestly, the male nudity on Spartacus is usually too quick and unfocused for much discourse -- but we'll eke out what buttery lit goodness we can.

First, for your official consideration: the angularity of our new hero.

If Liam McIntyre was self-conscious about his debut, he's not sweating it here. (HE SWEATS LATER, FEAR NOT.) Look, he's addressing us out of the corner of his mouth: "Hey, homos! Please take a protractor to my mandible. The ratios of comeliness totally check out. I get to stay!" I assume he's purposely evoking Ricky Martin's coming-out photospread with the dainty cheek hairs, because there's no excuse for it otherwise. As for the dame lingering in his Binaca space, her eyebrows live on the Ali MacGraw/Jordana Brewster spectrum. Exactly where depends on the viewer's personal optimism. I can't dictate this to you.

Quick yearbook shot of our main man:

Hell yes to the Jostens senior-year column lean. This mensch is totally "Most Likely to Be Nice Forevz." I know he's supposed to be a bloodthirsty maniac, but the kind eyes speak for themselves. He's as hardcore as his volleyball scholarship.

Now, something dicier: Spartacus, in another of his rages, barges in on a brothel where all sorts of provocative horseplay is occurring. Before he slices up the sexers in a blast of primary red carnage, lots of Starz-approved lady nipples appear. Whatever! But the most raunchy display is of a lady bandit dominating a male friend (and loving it!) from behind. Yow.

Doesn't this look like insane extra footage from Janet Jackson's "That's the Way Love Goes" video? Director Herb Ritts would've loved this. The dominatrix should be hauling a tire and wearing oversize jeans.