Posted: 03/14/2007

300

(2007)

by Aaron Riccio

300 is the latest in a series of a new genre that I call “animated realism.” Breakthroughs in filmmaking and special effects now allow for comic book adaptations that match the visual flair and nuances of their source material. Not just films like Sin City (which Frank Miller also wrote and stylized) but works like Kung-Fu Hustle, which crosses Looney Tunes with gritty martial arts and traditional fables to produce a new and vigorously thrilling work. Of the three I’ve just named, 300 is the least daring, but it compensates with lush thrills. Rather than creeping through the shadows of a noir’s meticulous pacing or developing likable characters, director Zack Snyder sprints through the backstory of a Spartan warrior’s training (you think Batman had it tough?) to introduce the film’s main set piece: the siege of Thermopylae, and the defense against unstoppable Xerxes by brave King Leonides and his 300 men at the Hot Gates.

When the first wave of soldiers clang against the Spartan’s shields, you feel the tremors not just through the amplified vibrations of a movie theater, but through the palpable excitement of the people around you. Gerald Butler isn’t a name brand: he’s proof against the burden of celebrity. With a steely face and a jagged, Hammurabian beard, he roars through his lines just as he rips through his enemies, and there’s never a moment where he loses credibility. Even when making jokes to boost his men’s morale (or to bolster his own resolve), we never cease taking this deadly man seriously. That’s a mistake we leave to the endless reserves of eye-candy that rip up against his soldiers.

From ninja warriors donning silver ogre masks to actual ogres, towering above the crowd and hurling axes through the air, this film succeeds by hurling the exotic at our heroes. A typical war movie is grounded in realism: 300 is encouraged to cheat. There are “wizards” who hurl gunpowder bombs, there are giant jewel-armored elephants, but there are mystical virgins, too.

The violence reaches a crescendo of eroticism, from the effete Xerxes to the bare “armor” of the cinematically “enhanced” soldiers. One of the film’s most intriguing moments comes when a hunchbacked Spartan, discarded because of his inability to fight in tandem with the other units, is seduced by a harem of beautiful women. It is a mix of beauty and the beast, like something out of a Conan the Barbarian comic book, and it is an arousing orgy of sights for the big screen.

When we stop remarking on how original 300 is, there are of course some inevitable gripes. The action scenes are as well-oiled as the actors, but the scenes back in Sparta between Queen Gorgo (Lena Headey) and the treacherous senator Theron (Dominic West, an unctuous mental counterpoint to the men), don’t pack quite the same punch. Without the big sound effects or adrenaline-charged shots, the artistic pallor of the film makes the drama shallower than it should be. It also detracts from the pacing: attractive as Ms. Headey is, we came to see a slaughter; we left our ear for banter at the door.

300 isn’t a tremendous leap forward for films (that credit belongs to Gladiator), but it is a remarkable advancement for comics, thanks to Frank Miller. And, with the box-office success of 300, it might make a bold statement to bring the glory of art-heavy films back to the cinema: to make the filming as important as the film.

Aaron Riccio is a film and theatre critic living in New York City. Check out his blog here.

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