Thursday, August 02, 2007

300, A DVD Review

The utterly gay porn that is 300 makes Colin Farrell's turn in Oliver Stone's testicle spectacle Alexander look like a strung out drag queen on glue by comparison.

(Seriously. I"m beginning to wonder why Ollie didn't go all Harry Potter up in that joint and just call it Alexander The Great And The Relentlessly Visible Scrotum. It would've given it some zing at the box office and skewered its audience even more gay. Get with the program! They're the ones with the ca$h, stupid!)

They may or may not have overdone that whole worship of beauty bit. But I'm here to tell you that Cindy Crawford would've been pitched into the drink right along with all the other Spartan carnival geeks faster than you can de-cleft a palette, what with that birth defect she calls a mole. And I won't even mention the fact that you could've driven a chariot or 2 between Lauren Hutton's front teeth.

But just in terms of a general history of Sparta at the time: Wouldn't that job have been a total drag, being the dude who stands at the edge of the cliff when all the new proud parents marched their infants in front of him to make sure their precious angel's prettiness passed muster? He's got this chart, maybe some graphs, even a pointer and some charred pigeon intestines or something. And one by one each baby gets the thumbs up or down. I can hear him now:

"Hmm... His left forefinger is 1/10000000000th of a cubit shorter than the right one. Sorry."
"That nose is perfect. Unfortunately the same thing can't be said for her earlobes. One piercing and they're just gonna hang there like a half-eaten muscadine. Too bad. What a face!"
"Very pretty. But I can see clearly that he's gonna battle split ends for the rest of his life. Do you really want to put him through that Hades?"

Did I happen to mention that the folks doing the tossing (Wink!) all look like Giselle Bundchen and Johnny Depp? Oh, sure: They're technically retarded with single digit IQs. But Jesus splattering-on-rocks Christ. Look at them!

I mean, what's that guy say to his wife after work each day? "Pretty good day today at The Bottomless Chasm Of Death And Despair, dear. Almost 10 percent lived." Then again, I often wonder if we wouldn't be better off if we tried to live up to that percentage. Sure would cut down on all that annoying classist overhead. If you know what I mean. Add the fact that we'd never run out of supermodels, and this plan starts to look even better off paper.

The End

Other than that? Extremely enjoyable movie, very well made, and not too historically inaccurate. I give it 2 penises up. Way up.