BLAZING SANDALS - My Review of 300
A few weeks back, my friend Delene and I decided to take in a movie. Having recently lost out on a group IMAX experience of 300 due to my third bout with the flu in so many months, I was pretty determined that 300 was going to be our cinematic choice du jour. True, the reviews were something short of stellar, but I had been sufficiently hypnotized by the trailer's pretty pictures to want to see it for myself. After all, I reasoned, with such lovely, painterly imagery and drool-worthy... "landscaping"... how bad could it be?
How bad?...
Ah, let me count the ways...
300 is bad to the depth and breadth and height
cliché can reach, when reeling over-long
past the ends of boredom and repetitive excess.
It's bad to the limits of Zeppelin-sized
self-importance, by CGI gore and savagery-light.
It's bad flagrantly, as actors struggle with silly speeches.
It's bad geographically, with accents-in-a-blender.
It's bad with the passion of "deep meaning"
And stale, old stereotypes, and a child's grasp of GoodnEvil.
It's bad for the gaydar it seems bereft of,
Despite being a flaming flesh fiesta. It's bad for the gaffs,
Slips and oopses that riddle its running time - and, if it's possible,
It shall be badder still in the Director's Cut.
But most of all, it's utterly, absolutely, wonderfully, hilariously, obliviously, straight-faced, godawful bad. Look up "godawful" in the Dictionary and behold there a thumbnail of 300's poster in all its tabloid-titled, sepia-drab-tinted, artsy-fartsy blood-red-splashed glory. The definition of film nerdoir.
So, does this mean I didn't enjoy it?
...What, are you kidding me?! 300 is, hands-down and without doubt or fear of competition, the best bad movie ever made!
Forget Plan 9 From Outer Space, forget Manos: The Hand Of Fate, forget Catwomen Of The Moon or The Brain That Wouldn't Die or the entire oeuvre of Rob Schneider (really, really try hard to forget that last one), none of those can hold a weenie 40 watt projector bulb up to the brazen awfulness and steely-jawed, swirly-caped, loiny-clothed, bulgy pec'd hilarity of 300.
Which of those other cinematic disasters has more violence than a Mel Gibson film festival, yet less actual blood on the ground than an episode of Barney? Which has dialogue that sounds like it was written by Karl Rove's retarded brother? Which can boast an entire cast made up of sweat-drenched Cosmo centerfold oughta-be's? Which can parade - over and over and over again - migrating herds of slo-mo power-walking, half-nekked male beef on the hoof? (to the point where, after a while, you really do start looking for the USDA Prime stamp somewhere on one of those fine hides) Which can wallow in histrionic, cartoon homophobia, while simultaneously sashaying their fine, lean, tall, tanned, tight-bottomed, male-bonding, homoerotic selves across nearly every romantically-lit, CGI carnage-strewn frame?
Well...?
I rest my case.
The story - such as it is - should be familiar to anyone with even a minimal interest or education in ancient history (which in the US accounts for about 0.0000002% of the of the film's potential audience): In 480 BC, King Leonidas (played by Gerard Butler with a Scottish brogue thick enough to dance a Highland fling on) and 300 of Sparta's finest (plus 1000 Phocians, 700 Thespians and 900 Helot slaves - the movie leaves that bit out; I guess 300 Spartans & A Whole Lotta Other Guys Too wasn't as catchy ) managed to hold off pretty much the entire Persian army at the cramped little pass of Thermopylae. Eventually, the Greek force was slaughtered when a traitor named Ephialtes (depicted in the film as a cross between Quasimodo, Gollum, ET the Extra Terrestrial and Dick Cheney) led Xerxes and his forces through a secret pass around Leonidas's defenses, surrounding the Spartans and attacking them from behind. A kind of "rectal Thermopylae".
But wait! There's more! For although the Greeks lost the battle, they ultimately won the war; kicking the Persians permanently out'a town a year later at the Battle of Plataea. And because the Spartans went down fightin' and took such a fantastically disproportional chunk of the Persian army down with them, Greek spin doc- er, historians - began venerating them as heroes and symbols of courage against adversity almost as soon as they could set stylus to papyrus.
Even the most wild-eyed Greco-glorification pales, however, next to the macho fantasy-fest 300 so relentlessly serves up. This should not be surprising given that the film is not taken from history, but from a comic book by Frank Miller - who is to subtlety and nuance what a cartoon grand piano is to the cranium of Elmer Fudd. Here, the Spartans are not simply depicted as heroes of Greece and symbols of courage and unity unto death, but saviors of Peace, Freedom and the Western Heterosexual Way. Leonidas, in particular, does a lot of screechifying about Persian tyranny and slavery and defending freedom and free men vs. slaves and freedom not being free, etc. Entirely - and rather conveniently - ignoring the fact that the ancient Greeks - Spartans included - were pretty darn big on that whole slavery biznez themselves.
To underscore the point still further, the invading Persians are all depicted as either faceless droves of over-wrapped spear n' sword fodder, inept chrome-faced Ninja assassins or escapees from a Las Vegas remake of Freaks. The cherry on the top of this over-frosted cake comes in the form of King Xerxes himself (Brazilian actor Rodrigo Santoro), who makes his Cleopatra-esque entrance enthroned on the world's biggest Mardi Gras float, looking like an economy-sized, bald RuPaul at a bondage party. The face-to-...um... belly button confrontation between Leonidas and the CGI-enhanced Xer just tosses the anvils around like Frisbees: No question who the real hero is! The real hero has to be a real man! And real men don't wear solid gold bondage chains and Lee Press-On Nails! Real men wear swirly capes, tight, leather Speedos and Max Factor #008 on their six-pack abs! Yeah!
It's like The Village People vs. Priscilla, Queen of The Persians.
Perhaps the funniest part of L & X's tête-à-tête can only be really appreciated by a true sci-fi geek. When Xerxes keeps insisting he's a god in that electronically echo-chambered, basso-profundo voice and Leonidas channels Sean Connery for all his "ach, bitch, please!" put-downs, a sudden moment of revelation may well come upon you as it did me: Forget what the history books say, the Battle of Thermopylae was really about the civilization-shifting war between... the Scots and the Goa'uld!
Who knew?
The big draw of the movie is, of course, meant to be the almost non-stop videogame violence - and for adolescents of all ages, that's probably enough. But, for everyone else, it wears out its welcome after only a short while - along with the snazzy CGI - by virtue of repetition and having so little else of interest going on. Fight scenes are set pieces, not stories and CGI, however pretty, becomes a gimmick if used for the sake of itself. It doesn't take long for the gimmick to grow old and all-too familiar and for familiarity to breed contempt. There are only just so many interchangeable "Persians" you can watch being speared and sliced before yawning, looking at your watch and wishing some Spartan would ask his victim the obvious question: "Hey, didn't I kill you yesterday?" And there is only just so much pricey SFX you can oooh at before wishing the producers had spent a few of those bucks on a real screenwriter.
At least 300 manages to be better than its recent CGI cinematic antecedent, Sin City. 300 is so bad, it's good, whereas Sin City is just plain bad. Lacking the grace of either accidental campiness, high-quality man-candy or the vague whiff of a cogent story, once the novelty of SC's graphic "look" had worn off (which, for me, took about five minutes), there was jack-all to keep watching for. 300, on the other hand, has pleasures that are many and varied - if not strictly intentional - and enough going for it to warrant remaining conscious for its duration... maybe even more than once!
To sum it up, 300 is a MSTie movie-in-the-making. A future classic of Queer Cinema and the midnight movie circuit. Rocky and Buffy have their sing-alongs and I have no doubt that 300 will eventually have its HOOOWAAAGGHHH!!!!-alongs... though the possibilities of what people could toss at the screen might ensure rather short engagements. In the meantime, I do highly recommend going to see it in the theatre, or watching it later when it becomes available in inevitably Macy's-balloon-bloated, multi-disc DVD - though not without a group of viciously witty friends, fully functioning gaydar and a sense of humor. (popcorn & strawberry margaritas optional, but really helpful, too)
How bad?...
Ah, let me count the ways...
300 is bad to the depth and breadth and height
cliché can reach, when reeling over-long
past the ends of boredom and repetitive excess.
It's bad to the limits of Zeppelin-sized
self-importance, by CGI gore and savagery-light.
It's bad flagrantly, as actors struggle with silly speeches.
It's bad geographically, with accents-in-a-blender.
It's bad with the passion of "deep meaning"
And stale, old stereotypes, and a child's grasp of GoodnEvil.
It's bad for the gaydar it seems bereft of,
Despite being a flaming flesh fiesta. It's bad for the gaffs,
Slips and oopses that riddle its running time - and, if it's possible,
It shall be badder still in the Director's Cut.
But most of all, it's utterly, absolutely, wonderfully, hilariously, obliviously, straight-faced, godawful bad. Look up "godawful" in the Dictionary and behold there a thumbnail of 300's poster in all its tabloid-titled, sepia-drab-tinted, artsy-fartsy blood-red-splashed glory. The definition of film nerdoir.
So, does this mean I didn't enjoy it?
...What, are you kidding me?! 300 is, hands-down and without doubt or fear of competition, the best bad movie ever made!
Forget Plan 9 From Outer Space, forget Manos: The Hand Of Fate, forget Catwomen Of The Moon or The Brain That Wouldn't Die or the entire oeuvre of Rob Schneider (really, really try hard to forget that last one), none of those can hold a weenie 40 watt projector bulb up to the brazen awfulness and steely-jawed, swirly-caped, loiny-clothed, bulgy pec'd hilarity of 300.
Which of those other cinematic disasters has more violence than a Mel Gibson film festival, yet less actual blood on the ground than an episode of Barney? Which has dialogue that sounds like it was written by Karl Rove's retarded brother? Which can boast an entire cast made up of sweat-drenched Cosmo centerfold oughta-be's? Which can parade - over and over and over again - migrating herds of slo-mo power-walking, half-nekked male beef on the hoof? (to the point where, after a while, you really do start looking for the USDA Prime stamp somewhere on one of those fine hides) Which can wallow in histrionic, cartoon homophobia, while simultaneously sashaying their fine, lean, tall, tanned, tight-bottomed, male-bonding, homoerotic selves across nearly every romantically-lit, CGI carnage-strewn frame?
Well...?
I rest my case.
The story - such as it is - should be familiar to anyone with even a minimal interest or education in ancient history (which in the US accounts for about 0.0000002% of the of the film's potential audience): In 480 BC, King Leonidas (played by Gerard Butler with a Scottish brogue thick enough to dance a Highland fling on) and 300 of Sparta's finest (plus 1000 Phocians, 700 Thespians and 900 Helot slaves - the movie leaves that bit out; I guess 300 Spartans & A Whole Lotta Other Guys Too wasn't as catchy ) managed to hold off pretty much the entire Persian army at the cramped little pass of Thermopylae. Eventually, the Greek force was slaughtered when a traitor named Ephialtes (depicted in the film as a cross between Quasimodo, Gollum, ET the Extra Terrestrial and Dick Cheney) led Xerxes and his forces through a secret pass around Leonidas's defenses, surrounding the Spartans and attacking them from behind. A kind of "rectal Thermopylae".
But wait! There's more! For although the Greeks lost the battle, they ultimately won the war; kicking the Persians permanently out'a town a year later at the Battle of Plataea. And because the Spartans went down fightin' and took such a fantastically disproportional chunk of the Persian army down with them, Greek spin doc- er, historians - began venerating them as heroes and symbols of courage against adversity almost as soon as they could set stylus to papyrus.
Even the most wild-eyed Greco-glorification pales, however, next to the macho fantasy-fest 300 so relentlessly serves up. This should not be surprising given that the film is not taken from history, but from a comic book by Frank Miller - who is to subtlety and nuance what a cartoon grand piano is to the cranium of Elmer Fudd. Here, the Spartans are not simply depicted as heroes of Greece and symbols of courage and unity unto death, but saviors of Peace, Freedom and the Western Heterosexual Way. Leonidas, in particular, does a lot of screechifying about Persian tyranny and slavery and defending freedom and free men vs. slaves and freedom not being free, etc. Entirely - and rather conveniently - ignoring the fact that the ancient Greeks - Spartans included - were pretty darn big on that whole slavery biznez themselves.
To underscore the point still further, the invading Persians are all depicted as either faceless droves of over-wrapped spear n' sword fodder, inept chrome-faced Ninja assassins or escapees from a Las Vegas remake of Freaks. The cherry on the top of this over-frosted cake comes in the form of King Xerxes himself (Brazilian actor Rodrigo Santoro), who makes his Cleopatra-esque entrance enthroned on the world's biggest Mardi Gras float, looking like an economy-sized, bald RuPaul at a bondage party. The face-to-...um... belly button confrontation between Leonidas and the CGI-enhanced Xer just tosses the anvils around like Frisbees: No question who the real hero is! The real hero has to be a real man! And real men don't wear solid gold bondage chains and Lee Press-On Nails! Real men wear swirly capes, tight, leather Speedos and Max Factor #008 on their six-pack abs! Yeah!
It's like The Village People vs. Priscilla, Queen of The Persians.
Perhaps the funniest part of L & X's tête-à-tête can only be really appreciated by a true sci-fi geek. When Xerxes keeps insisting he's a god in that electronically echo-chambered, basso-profundo voice and Leonidas channels Sean Connery for all his "ach, bitch, please!" put-downs, a sudden moment of revelation may well come upon you as it did me: Forget what the history books say, the Battle of Thermopylae was really about the civilization-shifting war between... the Scots and the Goa'uld!
Who knew?
The big draw of the movie is, of course, meant to be the almost non-stop videogame violence - and for adolescents of all ages, that's probably enough. But, for everyone else, it wears out its welcome after only a short while - along with the snazzy CGI - by virtue of repetition and having so little else of interest going on. Fight scenes are set pieces, not stories and CGI, however pretty, becomes a gimmick if used for the sake of itself. It doesn't take long for the gimmick to grow old and all-too familiar and for familiarity to breed contempt. There are only just so many interchangeable "Persians" you can watch being speared and sliced before yawning, looking at your watch and wishing some Spartan would ask his victim the obvious question: "Hey, didn't I kill you yesterday?" And there is only just so much pricey SFX you can oooh at before wishing the producers had spent a few of those bucks on a real screenwriter.
At least 300 manages to be better than its recent CGI cinematic antecedent, Sin City. 300 is so bad, it's good, whereas Sin City is just plain bad. Lacking the grace of either accidental campiness, high-quality man-candy or the vague whiff of a cogent story, once the novelty of SC's graphic "look" had worn off (which, for me, took about five minutes), there was jack-all to keep watching for. 300, on the other hand, has pleasures that are many and varied - if not strictly intentional - and enough going for it to warrant remaining conscious for its duration... maybe even more than once!
To sum it up, 300 is a MSTie movie-in-the-making. A future classic of Queer Cinema and the midnight movie circuit. Rocky and Buffy have their sing-alongs and I have no doubt that 300 will eventually have its HOOOWAAAGGHHH!!!!-alongs... though the possibilities of what people could toss at the screen might ensure rather short engagements. In the meantime, I do highly recommend going to see it in the theatre, or watching it later when it becomes available in inevitably Macy's-balloon-bloated, multi-disc DVD - though not without a group of viciously witty friends, fully functioning gaydar and a sense of humor. (popcorn & strawberry margaritas optional, but really helpful, too)