300 (15.)
Directed by Zach Synder. 2006
Starring Gerald Butler, Lena Hedley, David Wenham, Dominic West, Vincent Regan. 117 mins
This telling of the ancient battle of Thermopylae in which – look away now if you don’t want to know the score – 300 Spartans died taking on the overwhelming might of the invading Persian army is Gladiator is the style of Sin City. As with Sin City it’s taken from a Frank Miller graphic novel and is a meticulous attempt to replicate that heightened comic book style. There’s no slack in 300; every sensation is pushed to the maximum. With everything except the actors rendered by computer it’s closer to sci-fi than historical epic.
The result is a euphoric orgy of dismemberments, beheadings and bone crunching mayhem quite the equal of Gibson’s Apocalypto. The 15 certificate proffered it by the BBFC feels like an insult, a slur on its manliness. If the blood drenched ferocity of 300 can’t resurrect the sword ‘n’ scandals epic, nothing can. It certainly thrills but beyond its remarkable visceral splatter I’m not sure there’s much to it.
The problem is that these Spartans are hard to root for. The film opens by telling us that in Sparta new born babies are inspected for imperfections and any found wanting are tossed away into a ditch and left to die so right from the off you’re a bit wary. The movie is similarly unforgiving – its cast is divided between toned perfection and deformed monsters so twisted the Elephant Man might slip by unnoticed as an extra.
Buff are these Persian slayers and they spend the entire movie parading their gleaming chests wearing little more than red trunks and a scowl – a bold choice as this vision of ancient Greece has more wind, rain and dark skies than a nuclear winter. This film will certainly thrill all of those that are still in a tizzy after seeing Daniel Craig emerging from the sea in Casino Royale but as a paunchy middle aged male it’s difficult not view them with the same disdain I’d view a Mr Universe contestant.
And it’s not just the body politic that is fascistic. Sparta is a merciless place, where only strength is respected. There are many speeches on the importance of freedom, often from their ruler King Leonidas (a very Connery like Butler – you can guess what his Bond audition was like), but precious little evidence of it as all Spartan males seemed trapped by a death wish that propels them to lust after a glorious death on the battlefield.
So really the only reason to empathise with them is that they’re white (well, bronzed) Europeans repelling ethnic invaders. Apart from that they’re just a bunch of posturing, monarchist gym bunnies whose personal morality is part Al Qaeda, part Nazi scientist. Much as I admire a plucky underdog, I wasn’t too bothered about the result of this one.
300 (15.)
Directed by Zach Synder. 2006
Starring Gerald Butler, Lena Hedley, David Wenham, Dominic West, Vincent Regan. 117 mins
This telling of the ancient battle of Thermopylae in which – look away now if you don’t want to know the score – 300 Spartans died taking on the overwhelming might of the invading Persian army is Gladiator is the style of Sin City. As with Sin City it’s taken from a Frank Miller graphic novel and is a meticulous attempt to replicate that heightened comic book style. There’s no slack in 300; every sensation is pushed to the maximum. With everything except the actors rendered by computer it’s closer to sci-fi than historical epic.
The result is a euphoric orgy of dismemberments, beheadings and bone crunching mayhem quite the equal of Gibson’s Apocalypto. The 15 certificate proffered it by the BBFC feels like an insult, a slur on its manliness. If the blood drenched ferocity of 300 can’t resurrect the sword ‘n’ scandals epic, nothing can. It certainly thrills but beyond its remarkable visceral splatter I’m not sure there’s much to it.
The problem is that these Spartans are hard to root for. The film opens by telling us that in Sparta new born babies are inspected for imperfections and any found wanting are tossed away into a ditch and left to die so right from the off you’re a bit wary. The movie is similarly unforgiving – its cast is divided between toned perfection and deformed monsters so twisted the Elephant Man might slip by unnoticed as an extra.
Buff are these Persian slayers and they spend the entire movie parading their gleaming chests wearing little more than red trunks and a scowl – a bold choice as this vision of ancient Greece has more wind, rain and dark skies than a nuclear winter. This film will certainly thrill all of those that are still in a tizzy after seeing Daniel Craig emerging from the sea in Casino Royale but as a paunchy middle aged male it’s difficult not view them with the same disdain I’d view a Mr Universe contestant.
And it’s not just the body politic that is fascistic. Sparta is a merciless place, where only strength is respected. There are many speeches on the importance of freedom, often from their ruler King Leonidas (a very Connery like Butler – you can guess what his Bond audition was like), but precious little evidence of it as all Spartan males seemed trapped by a death wish that propels them to lust after a glorious death on the battlefield.
So really the only reason to empathise with them is that they’re white (well, bronzed) Europeans repelling ethnic invaders. Apart from that they’re just a bunch of posturing, monarchist gym bunnies whose personal morality is part Al Qaeda, part Nazi scientist. Much as I admire a plucky underdog, I wasn’t too bothered about the result of this one.
