The Michigan Daily
3D
There
be;.
Come on. We
couldn't run just
one review of
'300.' Instead, we
let two stubborn
film critics go at
it. They're still
breathing - we
think.
By PAUL TASSI
Daily Film Editor
"300" is an action picture stripped
of things such as a complex plot,
multi-layered characters and his-
torical accuracy. While that might
cripple most movies, we find that in
"300" such things would only take
away from a film in which the focus
Photos courtesy of warner Bros. is on aesthetic value alone. The film
speaks to themes of loyalty, honor
and duty, but no one bought a ticket
his FREEDOM! That pundits have to see "themes," they came to see a
drawn comparisons between the battle. And the fighting itself is so
film and the Bush administration beautiful and well-orchestrated it
in that vein is a testament to how carries the movie. "300" is a visual
utterly banal it is: It could apply masterpiece, albeit it a not-quite-
to any era of U.S. history. There's cinematic one.
nothing to it. An adaptation of Frank Miller's
"300" has elsewhere been lik- graphic novel, the movie tells of
ened to gay porn, but fortunately the Battle of Thermopylae, where
for its commercial prospects, the 300 doomed yet fiercely patriotic
homoeroticism remains merely Greek soldiers fight against a mas-
suggested - although I suspect sive army of Persians. Leading the
the movie will have more longevi- Spartans is King Leonidas (Gerard
ty as hard-breathingcamp than as Butler, "Phantom of the Opera"), a
a battle epic. Whatever the case, man without fear, guilt or the ability
no one who goes to this movie will to talk without yelling.
be disappointed, exactly, just con- Butler's Leonidas may have far
spicuously unmoved. For all the less dimensions than, say, Mel Gib-
body parts that go flying in "300," son's William Wallace or Russell
the one from which the film could Crowe's Maximus, but would defi-
most benefit, a heart, is not in nitely kick their ass in a street fight.
sight. Our dear Spartans will be With the unreal athleticism of a
yelling until the end of time, but gymnastic linebacker, King Leoni-
before long there will be no one das barrels through thousands of
left to listen. Persians with a body so rock solid
------- ----- he doesn't even need armor. Unlike
This article originally previous onscreen warriors, he
ran on March 12, 2007. suffers from no moral conflicts or
In "300," falling over a cliff is a merciful
By JEFFREY BLOOMER
ManagingEditor
In "300," life is good. The men
are as picturesque as their sur-
roundings, throwing their beefy
vigor into carrying on their blood-
line and annihilating people with
dark complexions. Their equally
fetchingfemale counterparts have
long, wavy hair and really, really
hard nipples. Spartan women are
the only in the world who can
birth "real men," we're told, and
based on the scenery, there's not
much room for argument. These
are the people of Frank Miller's
Sparta: They eat, they sleep, they
fuck, they kill. The end.
This may sound appealing to
some viewers, but keep in mind
that we're spectators, not par-
ticipants. And that's the problem
with "300": It's a tease. I could
talk about how this isn't really
filmmaking. I could go on about
death.
the movie's unabashed celebra-
tion of eugenics and bigotry and
violence. Frankly, I'd be fronting.
This world is so laughably simple
that those concerns slip away in
favor of a more urgent one: This
aggressive and exuberantly stu-
pid spectacle purports to get the
audience off, but it's all hot air.
There's no fire here, no heat, and
in the end the whole thing turns
into a frigid parade of limbs and
egos mutilated beyond repair.
The film has some stunning
sights, and director Zack Sny-
der, who previously made the
rather good "Dawn of the Dead"
remake, does an epic slow-mo.
What I would have appreciated is
a few less deformed lesbians and
a little more about the intricacies
of these people's world. The cam-
era lingers aimlessly on every last
gold-plated, gemstone-encrusted
battle ensemble, but all the film
can offer from our hero (Gerard
Butler) is flippant self-righteous-
ness when anyone dares challenge
character flaws. He has a problem
- a million Persians encroaching
on his country's freedom - and he
has a solution: kill every single one
of them. And how he does this is
the sole reason everyone paid to see
this movie.
The Persian army he faces is a
cross between the Ores from "Lord
of the Rings" and a three-ring cir-
cus troupe. They are led by the god-
king Xerxes (Rodrigo Santoro, TV's
"Lost"), a monstrous nine-foot-tall
giant who looks like an gender-
bending version of Dhalsim from
"Street Fighter" and roars orders
of submission with a demonic,
thunderous voice that rivals Darth
Vader. He throws everything he has
at the Spartans who dice through
his army in exceptionally choreo-
graphed sequences where everyone
appears to be constantly fighting in
zero gravity.
Not since "The Matrix" showed a
man dodging bullets has a film rede-
finedactioninsuch asignificantway.
Each fight sequence is engineered to
give you chills as a hundred thou-
sand arrows literally eclipse the
sun or an entire legion of Persians is
forced off a cliff by advancing Spar-
tans. Slow-motion prevails through
most of the film, and coupled with
haunting CGI landscapes, gives the
film a gorgeously surreal, dreamlike
property.
The bloodless parallel plotlines
are surprisingly engaging as well.
Dominic West (TV's "The Wire") as
the slimy politician Theron swipes
scenes as he shows the devilishly
handsome face of betrayal, while
Andrew Tiernan ("The Pianist") as
the disfigured Spartan, Ephialtes,
is a Judas whose appearance more
accurately reflects his soul. The
Queen (Lena Hadley, "The Cave")
brings a much-needed reasonable
voice to a movie dominated by the
hyper-masculine logic of impal-
ing all your problems with a spear,
although by the end of the film even
she resorts to such tactics.
Most of the dialogue in the film
is some rearranging of the words
"fight," "glory," "honor" and of
course "SPARTA!" but each line is
delivered with such fearsome con-
viction that nearly all cheesiness is
stripped away by sheer blunt force.
The constant narration provided by
the last remaining Spartan continu-
ally reminds the audience that it is
indeed watching a comic book come
to life.
A movie like "300" is not going
to be embraced by some critics who
will dismiss it as a masochistic
fanboy fantasy, but the audiences
exiting the theaters will surely
disagree. The movie is a two-hour
extension of its hypnotizingtrailer,
which is what most people have in
mind. It's the kind of film that is
made for the fans, not the critics,
and by putting every carnal desire
known to man on display, it does
not disappoint. It may be unfair
for a film to use such massive over-
doses of adrenaline to arouse an
audience's emotions, but "300"
nonetheless does it remarkably.
This article originally ran
on March 12, 2007.
Love. Sex. Purple.
There are a few musicians
I'd consider to be totally
unique. Prince is a differ-
ent category in and of himself.
Prince is a
guitar god, a
wildly talent-
ed producer
and, above
all, a heav-
ing, panting,
steamy purple
sex symbol.
His appeal
is absolutely LLOYD H.
undeniable. CARGO
Hell, even I'd -
blow him.
His recent appearance at the
Super Bowl halftime show drew
moderate media attention for the
"suggestive" shadowy profile of
Prince stroking his infamous gui-
tar, complete with veritable balls
and shaft, as he creamed all over
"Purple Rain." Certainly more ris-
que than Janet Jackson's hideous
nip slip, no one really seemed sur-
prised - probably because those
who usually reserve their outrage
for such trivial matters (like
writing to the FCC) were too
busy being turned on to resume
tightening their anuses.
And while Prince. isn't quite
as ubiquitous as he was in the
'80s, it's worth examining just
how the diminutive funk-pur-
veyor from Minnesota could
craft such a heady reputation. It
might have something to do with
the fact that you literally could
not hook up during the Reagan
years withoutPrince's albums,
resultingin a phenomenon I've
witnessed repeatedly in my nine
years of record-store employ-
ment. Inevitably, buried within
the stacks of lame AOR, AM-lite
crap some middle-aged yuppie
type will stack on the counter,
there is at least one Prince CD -
and the booklet is turned inside
out. (As a side note, the only rea-
son you should sell a Prince CD
is if you can't get it up anymore.
In that scenario I could under-
stand it might be emotionally
difficult to keep around.)
The most notorious culprit
is probablyLovesexy (featuring
Prince naked on a purple flow-
er), although Dirty Mind (with
him in the little black Speedo) is
a close second. It says a lot that
men who couldn't evenbear to
look at Prince's album covers
still felt the need to buy them in
the first place.
I firmly believe there's a spot
reserved in everyone's hearts,
minds and loins for Prince, even
if it's hard for some men to admit
they listen to a short, lithe, effemi-
nate pop star that likely stirs up
some very confusing feelings. You
have to be pretty confident in your
sexuality to hang the poster that
came with the Purple Rain LP on
your wall - a big step from hum-
ming along to "1999."
I do want to stress that Prince
is an extremely gifted musician,
worthy of praise not solely based
on his sexual prowess. As he
admitted to Dick Clark in an 1980
"American Bandstand" appear-
ance, he plays "thousands" of
instruments. He's consistently
shown his musical integrity,
beginning by refusing a record
contract at age 15 because "they
wouldn't let me produce myself."
Later, he changed his name to
an unpronounceable symbol in
order to escape his "slavery" to his
record label. Still, it's impossible
to separate Prince's music and his
sex appeal - they're so inescap-
ably intertwined.
If you still don't believe me,
there's video evidence (and as
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