My Review of New York/The Sequel to 300

There’s bad stuff going on in the world - bad, bad stuff. You got your global warming that is past predicted worst-case scenarios generated when it was first discovered to be at least some byproduct of human generated carbon emissions to the non-Fox News loving “Oxy-gen is fer commies! Long live good ol’ cee-oh-two!” crowd, years ago. Then you got your thriving indentured servitude in Pakistan, your female genital mutilation in Ethiopia that continues due to the prevailing mood of Muslim men and women in the region to continue the practice but no longer sew shut the vagina until marriage (progress!), your heavy-handed “pacification” of the impoverished favelas around Rio before the Summer Games and World Cup (let’s not forget the horrific narco gang violence that made such a move seemingly necessary), after-this-World-Cup-next-World-Cup stadium construction in Quatar that is killing scores of workers due to zero respect for the lives of migrant labor, your destabilization of Mexico and related countries in the cartel-controlled areas, friggin Crocs, Afghanistan mere moments away from being totally controlled by the Taliban again (progress!), a disappearing middle class in the US, etc. You get the idea.

Yes, I’ve been watching Vice Magazine’s investigative reporting TV show on HBO. Why do you ask? 

 So, where to start, folks? What issue do I tackle first? Where to start indeed… I WENT TO NEW YORK CITAAAAY!

And, gosh you guys, you are so totes not gonna guess what happened while I was there?! Here’s a brief run-down: I walked around a lot. I saw things of historical value. I got drunk. I saw bands. I went to a museum, a park, two train stations and a church. I got injured rough-housing with my stupid friends who I hate and I’m not ever hanging out with ever, ever again because they are stupid (until our next trip to Belize in May for my 35^th Birthday throwdown [and likely before then]). I consumed various foods. I acquired several T-shirts to wear in public and announce to the world that I, Dan, am a Worldly Dude who has been to NYC but it’s not a big deal; I just picked up this shirt because I thought it was cool or whatever.

And while I was in The Big Apple (I don’t know why they call it that.) some rather bad things happened, which I will list now: A commercial airliner went missing somewhere between Malaysia and China. A building exploded in Harlem. A world super-power stole part of a sovereign nation.  There was a huge fire in San Francisco (thankfully, nobody died though, so this only makes the list because it’s noteworthy around here). The movie 300 2 - 600! Was released. Annnnnnnnnnnnnd that’s now what the entirety of the remainder of this post is dedicated to.

Holy Marty Mother of Jethro did the Three Hundo sequel suck. And I’m not talking about the kind of suck that can exist but still make a movie watchable if there is sufficient sex and/or violence (read: Total Recall – the first one, duh). But, let’s be clear about this, there’s plenty of sex and violence in this steamy pile of Spartan-poo. However, there were several key things missing from this film that were present in the first movie of the franchise, which I will list thusly: A script. A basic story outline with like a beginning a middle and an end (note that this could have been scribbled on the back of a cocktail napkin but then lost in pre-production and the director just went on from memory even though he was clearly hammered that night). A single main character that one does not want to die horribly.

300: Greece Reloaded was so bad that I audibly and uncontrollably laughed at a key scene in the film which was obviously of (supposed) great dramatic significance. I will describe this scene with the following sentence:

Two mortal enemies of differing gender from a pseudo-historicalish event engage simulated unprotected humping on camera and this is without a doubt the perfect time to make one’s exit to the restroom to shotgun the contents of one’s smuggled-in flask.

-           

300 Part 2: 300 Harder was, in all likelihood, a ploy to make the first movie seem much better than it indeed was. Because the first one was just two hours of buff men with makeup on their abs wearing hot pants beheading Middle Eastern racial stereotype soldiers in slow motion set to a soundtrack with a decibel level not dissimilar to a subway train traveling full speed into the world’s largest box of delicate stemware. In short, 300 Part ONE– SIN-GU-LAR-SENSATION! (*jazz hands) had pacing and editing clearly drummed up by a person who had been on a combo of psilocybin mushrooms and gnarly indoor hydroponic weed for roughly the last fifteen years, the kind of person who never moved on from that phase where “Smack My Bitch Up” by, um, Moby(?) was seriously his JAM, Bro.

Don’t ever see that pile of crap. Stage protests if they try to make another 300. It’s time to draw a line in the sand about at least one issue in the profoundly messed up world. I feel like this is as good a place as any to start.

And don’t ever go to New York. Go to an AA meeting instead. You’ll feel better. (Yes, I used that line on Twitter already but nobody reads this anyhow.)

(authored 2013 when Snyder wasn't a total villain yet)