Kerry Allen

Count me among the minority of women who loved the movie 300. Watched it twice last night—the first time with lots of awe and wooting, the second time with lots of “Freeze it there!” and reenacting fight scenes with generic flying disks for shields and a broken-down Swiffer pole for swords and spears. Returning it to Netflix today and ordering the DVD to keep. It goes directly beneath Gladiator on Kerry’s List of Kickass Movies: 300 has a visual advantage, but Gladiator has more of a plot, and none of the nearly-naked Spartans are as fun to look at as Russell Crowe.

When the movie was first released, I saw a trailer and asked someone if it was CGI (computer generated image) because the visuals didn’t look like a live-action movie. Mostly shot bluescreen and lots of special effects, but after watching it, I still can’t believe the whole thing wasn’t CGI. It looks like the Final Fantasy cinematics we drop everything to watch, married to slow-motion battle scenes like Prince of Persia speed kills. With a rock battle anthem. Holy holy. All things we love around here. Yessssssss.

It would have been awesome even if the Spartans had been fully clothed, though I’m not going to tell you I was immune to all the exposed musculature. (Half the reason I have a hard time believing it was live-action. That many ripped bodies in one place? The place in question would spontaneously combust.)

Why don’t we have world leaders like Leonidas anymore? If we had a President like that, I’d kick the ass of anybody who badmouthed him instead of joining in with an irate ”And you know what else that self-serving asshole did last week?”

And the queen rocked. Don’t cross Spartan bitches, man. They will fuck. You. Up.

If you’re griping about historical inaccuracy and the actors’ fillings, you have completely missed out on the experience, and I am very, very sorry for you.