I understand why some people don’t like Frank Miller. He has his faults and quirks as a writer that can rub people the wrong way, and many of them seem to have become exaggerated during his rise to fame. But much of the criticism of 300 – that it’s xenophobic, homophobic, racist, pro-US, anti-US – honestly seems to be missing the point, because the book is probably the simplest and purest distillation of Miller’s writing to be found: It’s all about macho.
This shouldn’t be surprising to anyone familiar with Miller’s work. Batman got shot or beat up by Superman, had his butler patch him up, then got back to work. Sin City was full of tough guys who could probably stay out of trouble if they thought with their heads instead of their fists and dicks. But those characters are nothing compared to the Spartans.
The original tough guys. The greatest, fiercest soldiers the world has ever seen. Real men who faced death with only the most basic necessities a refusal to back down. They held off the greatest army known to mankind with only 300 men, a strategic choice of where to fight, and sheer, manly determination.
Yes, it’s a romanticization. An ideal that probably wouldn’t hold up to much scrutiny. As a historical document, 300 doesn’t hold much water. But then, it’s not really meant to, any more than The Adventures of Robin Hood is meant to be a serious examination of medieval society. 300 is not Age of Bronze, and there’s no reason why it should be.
That idealization, the perfect society, requires an opposite, and Miller isn’t dealing in shades of grey. And so we get the Persians as total opposites: Luxurious, overwhelming, and glorious. And the very embodiment of that empire is its king, Xerxes. Yes, he’s pierced and kind of effeminate, but sexuality is less important than philosophy: The Persian king travels in a massive throne carried by servants, covered in gold and useless, frivolous jewellery. He is a god king, above all else, while the Spartan King Leonidas marches with his troops, no better or worse than the greenest recruit.
Yes, it’s a stereotype. But it’s not one of race, nationality, or sexuality. Miller has taken his ideal, the root of the tough guy tree, and adapted its enemy to suit the epic scope of his story. And while the Persian lords and their vanity are derided by Miller and his Spartans, their soldiers are not: The Persian Immortals are “The deadliest fighting force in all Asia,” lethal and disciplined. The conflict of 300 is ultimately between Leonidas and Xerxes – between Freedom and Tyranny, if you accept Miller’s story at face value – not Greeks and Persians. Miller’s not one to find fault with an honest fighting man.
300 isn’t Miller’s best work – it’s simplistic and more concerned with epic notions of bravery and honour than plot or character. But it’s remarkably pure of vision and almost entirely lacking subtext. It’s Miller glorifying an ideal, villifying its opposition, and ignoring nearly everything else. It’s about being Macho. Looking for other themes or messages is merely grasping at straws: 300 simply isn’t that deep.