Mommy, Buy Me a Spartan! (A Review of the Movie, 300)

The year is 480 BC. Xerxes sends messengers to all Greek city-states offering gifts in exchange for surrender and allegiance. Leonidas I (Gerard Butler), King of Sparta, son of King Anaxandridas II, descendant of Hercules, and sumptuous male specimen, spits on this offer and, in violation of protocol, has the messengers killed. Then, in keeping with Spartan law, he asks permission from the old, sickly keepers of the oracle to go to war. His request is denied. Leonidas, however, is as cunning as he is brave and so, finding himself refused of an army, he invites 300 Spartan warriors to go with him for a walk. They set out towards The Hot Gates, a mountain pass which is the only route Xerxes' army could approach Sparta.

This is when the movie truly begins. At the heart of the story are courage, loyalty, friendship, and the idea that good men are sometimes forced to do horrible things to protect land and loved ones. 300 is not meant to be a realistic depiction of the Battle of Thermopylae. What it is is not so much an unearthing of historical facts as an interpretation of the epic struggle between good and evil.

300 is an adaptation of the graphic novel written and drawn by Frank Miller of Sin City fame. Zack Snyder co-wrote and directed the movie. I recommend that you watch this. The fight scenes are so wonderfully choreographed there are even moments when the violence becomes graceful - little scenes are frozen and then dragged out or sped up to emphasize rhythm. Expect limbs to come a'flyin' and severed heads to go a'rollin'. Blood spurts in generous helpings, and it's possible the only part of the human anatomy that isn't skewered, hacked, or perforated is the earlobe. Then again, perhaps I stuffed my mouth with chips at the wrong moment and missed that. I do not relish dismemberment, but if you give it to me in stylized Hollywoody doses, then by all means, bring in the gore. And what of the animation? It's fluid and faultless. The blending of computer-generated images and real objects is almost imperceptible.

Watching 300 feels like going through the motions of a dream. That, or a very vivid nightmare. We are taken into a world of harsh, primitive beauty. I wouldn't have thought it possible to find poetry in carnage, but it's there and I saw it. The men fight with hypnotic litheness and efficiency. It's almost as if they are locked in a dance. Then, too, Snyder uses a monochromatic color palette that is both dramatic and disturbing. There's the darkness of a raging storm, the golden glow of a doomed sunlight. There are blue nights and red mornings and in between, there are moments when the red of Spartans' cloaks is all the color that can be seen. Done in earth tones of iron, gold, flame, flesh, and stone, each scene of 300 could be photographed, printed, and then hung on a wall.

300 is not just a film; it's a piece of art. It's violent and beautiful, breathtaking and disgusting. It's moving and sensuous,  and the sap that I am, I found myself sniffling at the fall of 300 of Sparta's bravest. When Leonidas' last instructions to his countrymen were known, I blubbered even harder.

"Go tell the Spartans, stranger passing by
That here, obedient to their laws, we lie."

Who wouldn't cry at that? Who wouldn't? Who wouldn't? However, I'm honest enough to admit I wept as much for the three hundred's nobility and sacrifice as for the sad loss of ample chests and muscled calves. "Aiyee!" I wailed to the hub. "How could Xerxes' grotesque soldiers kill those Spartans? How?"

You will understand the intensity of my grief when you see for yourself what glorious, glorious creatures those Spartans are. All ripling muscles, rock-hard abs, and gorgeous smiles, they leap into the scene with a maleness that takes my breath away. In red capes and tiny, tiny underwear, they fend off thousands upon thousands of Persia's bloodthirsty hordes. They're ferocious and reckless and seemingly invincible; and for almost two hours, I wondered how it must feel to lay a hand on a stalwart Spartan chest or squeeze a loyal Spartan butt. The film isn't porn, but I sure acted like it was. At the end of the movie, I wanted to turn one of our blankets at home into a cape, and then run all around the neighborhood in my underpants, vanquishing my enemies.

I suggest you go see a movie and take all your girlfriends, your mother, and your grandmother along. Oh, and since you're at it, why not take all of your female relatives along, too? The film is a feast for the eyes, ears, and the female libido. Additionally, Xerxes provides lots of accessorizing inspiration for fashionistas everywhere.

Only the strong and the hard survive in Sparta, we're told. But who cares? I'm not strong; I'm not hard. But I'd give up all my ruffled blouses and three-inch stilettos in a heartbeat to go live in Sparta with any one of Leonidas' 300 and there, obedient to their laws, we'd lie. Hahaha.

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P.S If you're my husband and you're reading this, know that I don't mean a word of the last paragraph.