300 an Entertaining Cinematic Vision of Glory

George C. Scott wisely observed that one of the key elements of great work from an actor is a sense of "joy of performance". The fatal flaw of "300" is that it never takes any joy in its own performance, even at virtuoso moments, and the result is a piece that entertains but never engages.

As a work of visual art, "300" successfully creates a world not quite like any we've seen on film before, halfway between a painting and a digital dream. It would be fascinating to see cinema effects pioneer Georges Melies' reaction to what we can create today. While some may cry foul at the lack of verisimilitude, this critic feels that photorealism is a wholly overrated virtue, and applauds the wild, impressionistic vision of movies that dare to create rather than merely convince. The movie knows what it wants to be-a rousing campfire story, not a history lesson.

"300" is at its best when it is exactly what the trailer promises: a fetishistic tribute to masculinity, violence and the glory and honor of war, fueled by Frank Miller's thirst for blood. Once the Spartans settle into their position and a proper battle begins, the movie takes off and begins to move, and indeed every time we cut away from the battle to the political situation at home, a sense stirs of wishing the boring part would be over so we can see more people get speared. Adolescent? Yes, but this is what the audience paid to see.

A word on the politics of the film. Yes, a strong undercurrent of fascism runs throughout, as could be expected from a Frank Miller story, but anyone looking to apply the sad, trite 'analysis' of looking for a George W. Bush and Iraq analogue will find themselves unsatisfied, and would instead do well to watch "V for Vendetta", a film of a graphic novel that was rendered politically toothless-and evidently more palatable-for having its vision dulled down to tired, vaguely anti-Bush platitudes that will be irrelevant in 2008. Nevertheless, a quick read of Frank Miller reveals fascist undertones, to say the least; you've been warned.

There are images that will stick with you, no question. A creepily beautiful dance of a nearly-naked oracle. An extended shot of Leonidas crossing the battlefield slaughtering man after man as the camera changes speeds almost on a whim. The haunting juxtaposition of a muscular, perfect male specimen recently rendered obsolete by decapitation. The darkening skies as Persian arrows launch.

But an ideal "300" film would have ended with the audience shouting for more blood, perhaps ripping off their own shirts and deciding to do a few sit-ups. Here, you are left impressed with the art of war as you would be with a well-played sports game, but a film enjoyed passively is a film not reaching its highest potential. When Rodriguez brought Miller's "Sin City" to the big screen, there were emotional undercurrents and real joys when the protagonists came out ahead. "300" spins a good story in a brilliantly cinematic style, but that's as far as it goes. On the other hand, there may be genuine social value in a film paying tribute to the lost soul known as 'a real man'; in a sad society where we work in underlit cubicles, require warning labels to tell us not to drink cyanide, get unspeakably offended if public schools sing Christmas songs and put increasingly prissy products in our hair regardless of our gender, perhaps we could do with more reminders, indeed celebration, of a time when men were men and their passion ran wild.