Kill 'Em All
With 300, Zach Snyder Goes Major, Setting a War of Bloody Spectacle Against Tarantino and Rodriguez

By Zach Stephenson

300’s stark displays of violence work diligently to satisfy a homoerotic, relentless valiance, as if director Zach Snyder decided to abandon the bloodthirsty social commentary outlining his 2004 redux of Dawn on the Dead for the stimulating heroism of a '40s propaganda film. Seen as an artistic parallel-for-idiots to the botched war in Iraq, 300 simply laughs nihilistically at both sides. Leader of Sparta, Leonidas, rallies his most physically adept men to battle against an endless invasion of imperialistic Persians. But the Persians, led by the delusionally grandiose Xerxes, are as unfit in strength as the Spartans are in numbers. Consequently, riotous bloodletting pours on all sides.

Snyder mounts enough "freedom isn't free" macho symbolism in his movie to keep the NFL crowd attentive. Such appeals are spread throughout the film, from the repetitive "woo-hah" Spartan warcries to their familiar sounding "we are a unit" mantra. Of course, this being a Hollywood picture, the requisite war-is-bad message is nailed on as well. Looking at the gargantuan opening box office, Snyder has played both sides where it matters like a James “Whitey” Bulger.

While thousands of Americans are sucking down such current event context alongside their Goobers, it’s sort of like skimming Moby Dick for Bible codes, and pretty scary, as expected, from a social standpoint. At least it’s a less partisan but equally enjoyable kill-‘em-all jockfest when compared to 1985’s Rambo: First Blood Part II or 1971’s Dirty Harry. And it helps that Snyder is the type of dude interested in putting a fresh spin on the comic/horror genre, following up 300 with The Watchmen, based on the celebrated, short-lived DC graphic novel of the same name about superheroes lacking superpowers and noted for being influenced by the imagery and symbolism of William S. Burroughs.

Snyder does an impeccable job transferring Frank Miller’s graphic novel, embracing its pen-and-pencil heritage without overlapping the cinematography that made the Robert Rodriguez and Frank Miller directed Sin City so appeasing. He abandons the gritty pulp of Rodriguez's landscape for scenic earth-tones, which are constantly lit up by surreal spurts of blood. They’re like squibs filled with paint so red they’d make Lucio Fulci blush.

This leads to the film's fault: it's way too overexcited by its own hyperviolence. The gore can be so calculated it recalls the XO combinations from Killer Instinct or Battle Axe. While this staging becomes tedious, it's also the catalyst for scenes that have inarguably tapped the cultural zeitgeist; for example, a bit of surreal macabre where Leonidas chomps an apple atop a fleshy monument of decaying Persians.

Whether or not 300 lives up to its full potential is, by now, a moot point shuffled amongst stacks of dollars, leaving verbal leftovers to be ripped apart by faceless fanboys in the unkempt corners of the Net. Snyder is now an assured and much needed major talent for the New-Gen of Hollywood (re: fuck you Eli Roth). It’ll be curious to see if the leaders of the last generation, Tarantino and Rodriguez, can drum up this kind of fever for April’s Grindhouse. If not, the trades might start insinuating a battle more epic than anything ever seen in these cinematic comics-on-‘roids.

This discourse of 300 is written by Zach Stephenson for ignore Magazine, copyright 2007.