300: Rise of an Empire

I'm not sure if 300: Rise of an Empire is supposed to be taken seriously or rather should be treated as a healthy cerealized kitschtastic crack, its graphic epic historic amplitude hilted, jacked, and drawn, battle-ready and menacing in its entirety, strategically frothing, an implicated grind.

Themistocles (Sullivan Stapleton) and Artemisia's (Eva Green) nocturnal knockings knit like necromanced kerosene, enriching yet servicing quinoa, while Xerxes (Rodrigo Santoro) gracefully prances about like an impregnable prophesied faun, mystically captivating, ornate and commandeering.

There isn't really that much happening in the film besides battling and preparations for battling.

The majority of the battles taking place on water.

The Persians insist on invading Greece and go rather multitudinously about it, which necessitates constant inspirational speech making from Themistocles, a plain everyperson possessing ingenious gifts for fighting and strategizing, whose experiential wherewithal infuses his speeches with spry rallying rectitude, democracy under siege, his fellow citizens, pressurized and proverbed.

According to my tastes, many of the speeches fell flat, but since I realized that Themistocles's gifts were for warfare, not rhetoric, and his legend demanded that he set out to unite Greece, a soldier shepherding a synergy, I could forgive the fact that the words he chose didn't resonate with me, strictly focusing on their underlying message.

A relationship between father and son familializes both the preparations for and the acts of battling.

Heavy on the gore.

At several points it seems like the reasons for battling are secondary to the battling itself, blood spurting from hacked-off limbs the motif which occurs most often.

Which adds a mischievous quality to the design.

Which perhaps should be taken seriously.

300

300 packs a solid camp punch but no one collected any kindling. The trite, hackneyed, anachronistic dialogue is so ludicrously over-the-top that it’s sickeningly entertaining. But the racist overtones are disturbing, the consistent narration irritating, and the 'pure' nature of the heroes frightening. A film for teenagers searching for T & A and predictable cliches. Tyler Bates' music is viscid, Gerard Butler's King Leonidas is solid, and the film's over-the-top characteristics detach the reality from its narrative, making one less timid during the battle scenes (i.e., who cares). But one finds oneself laughing where there should be tears, scoffing where there should be allegiance, and rebelling amongst submissive persuasions. 300 may find a home in the Midnight Movies' circuit thanks to its off beat comic dimension and scintillating visuals, but as far as serious fantasy flicks spoil, this sortie is no Excalibur.