“honor the gods, love your woman and defend your country” ( Troy). Thus, Hector’s selfless sacrifice, like those of his fellow soldiers, operates as yet another proof of his normative masculinity.
Unlike Gladiator and Troy, where issues of masculinity have to be teased from bits of dialogue or the staging of scenes, Snyder’s 300 allows for little ambiguity in its attempt to depict the Spartan warriors as rigidly heterosexual and indeed the epitome of manliness. 300 presents King Leonidas and his faithful warriors as sculpted spectacles of male physical perfection and the embodiment (quite literally) of archetypes of male heteroperformativity. In fact, the Spartans are an example of hypermasculinity, a (hetero) masculinity that far exceeds that exhibited by Maximus, Hector, or even Achilles.
The importance and centrality of the body to the movie’s definition of masculinity is made apparent in the opening sequence, where the narrator details the harsh upbringing of Spartan boys, from being inspected at birth for physical worthiness, to having to fight one another for scraps of food, to incredible feats of perseverance and survival in the wilderness. The message is clear: anyone who cannot endure such physical hardship is not fit to be a man in Spartan society. Throughout the entire movie, the exquisitely toned bodies of Leonidas and his Spartans are on constant display, often absurdly so. Marching into battle (and there is nothing if not an abundance of battle scenes in 300), the warriors wear little more than their red cloaks and tight leather briefs. Other than their shields and helmets, there is not a glint of body armor in sight. Unlike the man-made muscled chest armor worn by Maximus or Achilles, the Spartans have only their own chiseled pecs and abs on display. In this movie, it is not hard to find scenes where Leonidas and his men are virtually naked; indeed,
“To do or die manfully” (Pierce) 49
the difficulty comes in finding scenes where they are even modestly dressed.
This blatant spectacle of the male form highlights a progression from a modest display of the male body (one bare-chested scene of Maximus), to somewhat risqué (brief glimpses of Achilles’ naked backside), to the fetishized quasi-nudes of Sparta.12
Considering the historically homosexual “baggage” associated with Spartan warriors, 300 goes to great lengths to present these exceptionally virile speci-mens of masculinity as unequivocally heterosexual, and their interactions as simply homosocial.13 The movie attempts to “straighten” the Spartans in two ways: directly, through dialogue, and indirectly, through scenes of heteroperformativity. The first example occurs at the beginning of the movie when Leonidas is confronted by the first Persian messenger demanding Sparta’s submission. The king’s response is that since the Athenians, “philosophers and boy-lovers,” have decided to resist the Persians, the Spartans can do no less ( 300). By deriding the Athenians as soft intellectuals and pederasts, Leonidas asserts that the Spartans, by way of contrast, properly exemplify heterosexual masculinity. A similar situation occurs later between two of Leonidas’ soldiers who constantly try to outperform one another in battle. Revealingly, their method of asserting their own virility and worth is to jokingly imply that the other is in some way less of a man. One jab is rendered as a warning to not
“offer your backside to the Thespians,” a doubly homoerotic challenge playing off both the implication of homosexual anal sex and the audience’s inclination to understand “Thespian” not as a regional identifier (like Arcadian), but as code for “actor,” especially a homosexual actor ( 300). A later retort, seemingly couched as a compliment after a hard-fought battle, claims, “You fought well today ... for a woman” ( 300). Ironically, although intended to assert the heterosexuality of the Spartans, both of these jokes instead draw the audience’s attention to the ponderingly obvious displays of homoeroticism, in part because they can also be seen as flirtatious teasing.
Perhaps hoping (in vain) to nullify any hint of homoeroticism, 300 also contains scene after scene of Spartan heteroperformativity. One example is the first scene of Leonidas as an adult, which finds him, bare-chested, wrestling with his young son while his wife, Queen Gorgo (Lena Headey), looks on. This scene thus exhibits Leonidas’ masculine strength, his heterosexuality, as well as the product of his heterosexual union. Leonidas’ heteroperformativity is also quite literally expressed through a subsequent lovemaking scene with his wife, the only extensive and actively sexual encounter between male and female in all three of these films. Like Leonidas, the Spartan warriors themselves are also depicted as safely heterosexual, as witnessed in the scene where the captain tells Leonidas that all the men preparing to march to Thermopylae “have born sons to carry on their names” ( 300). This detail implies that, just like their king, all the warriors come from clearly heterosexual, child-bearing unions. Moreover, to solidify the impression of Spartan heterosexuality even further, the film
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stresses that the bond between these men is simply homosocial and that, “A Spartan’s true friend is the warrior next to him” ( 300). The implication is that this bond is clearly based on asexual, or, at the very most, homosocial friendship.
All three films, Gladiator, Troy, and 300, share a commonality in their presentation of heteronormative tropes of masculinity. Just as compelling is their method of reinforcing this type of manliness by juxtaposing it with non-normative masculinity, which is often literally embodied by the various antagonists. Typically, these male antagonists are portrayed as feminized, overly emotional, or of questionable sexual orientation (and in some cases, all of the above.) In all instances these antagonists are nowhere near as manly as their heroic opponents. This contest between the heteronormative male and his non-normative foe is common to all three movies.
The struggle even manifests itself politically, as another common motif in these movies is that the antagonists have not only transgressed their proper masculine roles, but in so doing they have also disturbed the (imagined) democratic, albeit patriarchal, political order. Ina Rae Hark has noted that, as a general rule in ancient epics, “the rightful exercise of masculine power has been perverted by unmanly tyrants” (145). In order to underscore the severity of this usurpation as the antithesis of appropriate patriarchal authority, Hark argues that the antagonists “often display characteristics not marked as signifiers of masculinity,” such as effeminacy or non-normative body types (152). In each of the three movies, these markers are often various components of the stereotyped homosexual villain, yet they appear to be used not so much to overtly identify the antagonists as homosexual, but more to associate them with those negative tropes and suggestively undermine their masculinity and thus their moral character. According to Dixon, the “villains” in these films are identified through a combination of their bodies, their sexuality, and their socially immoral acts (45). Their feminization, indeed emasculation, is then both the cause and indicator of their “perverse” identity and tyrannical rule.
Maximus’ nemesis, Commodus, is a primary example of a non-normative male antagonist. From his first scene, riding in a heavily armored wagon while lounging in ornate robes and furs, Commodus is depicted almost exclusively as decadently soft, which is in keeping with the consistent portrayal of antagonistic Roman emperors as “effeminate and extravagant” (Fredrick 215 –215).
Accordingly, as Cyrino explains, Gladiator “employs the image of transgressive sexuality to suggest moral depravity and the abuse of tyrannical power” (142).
This depiction is reinforced immediately by his late arrival to, not just a single battle, but his father’s entire war in Germania. It should be noted that the only other occupant of the protected wagon, Commodus’ sister, Lucilla, wears similar attire. Commodus’ effeminate character likewise is reinforced by his whining protests and his excessively emotional (and thus non-normative) outbursts:
“They [the crowd] love Maximus more than they love me!” ( Gladiator). Even
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when Commodus wears armor, as when
he addresses the Senate, watches the gladiatorial games, or fights in the arena with Maximus, his attire is uncannily clean, implying ceremonial, rather than active, use. In the case of his final battle, Commodus is clothed in brilliantly white armor, a stark contrast to the earth-toned and dirtied attire of the hero, Maximus. Moreover, Commodus’ failure to perform and fight as a proper masculine warrior is underscored by his under-handed attempts to ensure that Maximus dies in the arena by bringing Rome’s best gladiator out of retirement (as well as several vicious tigers), and when that fails, to literally stab Maximus in the back prior to their final duel. In fact, according to Fradley, Commodus’ anti-masculine qualities, “sexually ambiguous, cowardly, narcissistic, morally corrupt, effeminate, affluent, decadent ...
incestuous and patricidal,” help define Maximus’ masculinity precisely because they are so antithetical to it (246).
Physically, Commodus’ boyishly smooth face and body represent a pampered and spoiled lifestyle, markedly different from the rugged masculinity of Maximus. In fact, Commodus’ only physically revealing scene presents a shirtless, smooth-chested (perhaps oiled?) figure engaging in some highly choreographed swordplay with his similarly shirtless and smooth Praetorian Guard.
The staged nature of the swordfight belies Commodus’ poor fighting skills, while this solitary glimpse of him partially undressed suggests a homoerotic relationship between the prince and his men. Unlike training scenes with Maximus, or swordplay between Achilles and Patroclus, or even the semi-nude (but ponderously heterosexual) camaraderie of Leonidas and his Spartans, this scene is a conscious effort on the part of the director to play off of these culturally charged signifiers of homoeroticism to undermine Commodus’ sexuality, his morality and, by extension, his leadership. As the story progresses, Commodus’
lack of normative sexual desires is in fact reinforced through his repeated, yet constantly thwarted, incestuous attempts to sleep with his sister. He even goes so far as to demand late in the story (by threatening to kill Lucilla’s son, Lucius) that she love him and provide him with an heir. In so doing, Commodus disrupts the heteronormative stability of the family unit by threatening both the murder of a rightful (male) heir and forced, non-normative sex, in this case incestuous rape. Commodus’ sexual inadequacy, his inability to consummate his relationship with his sister, is yet another characteristic typical of corrupt emperors in film. This inadequacy is usually accentuated by the emperor’s “submission” to a woman, often the empress (Fredrick 215 –216). In the case of Commodus, Lucilla does indeed hold power over him, as it is she who facilitates the plot against her brother and appears to possess far more agency than he does.
Commodus’ depiction as an unmarried male, with no love interest outside his sister, in part mirrors the status of the other Roman males, all of whom are (presumably) single and never shown with a female companion. Only senator Gaius is mentioned as having mistresses (note the plural, indicating excess and
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a lack of masculine reserve and temperance), while senators Falco and Gracchus are apparently bachelors, although Gracchus’ sexuality is called into question when he is warned of his impending arrest by his heavily made-up and scantily clad boy slave. In keeping with stereotypical depictions of Rome, these unmarried Romans, possibly adulterous (Gaius), possibly homosexual (Gracchus), are indicative of the moral decadence of the Empire, evidenced by their failure to engage in the heteroperformative display of procreative marriage.14
In Troy, the audience is not presented with a singular feminized antagonist.
Rather, the challenges to normative masculinity and especially legitimate patriarchal rule are split between the characters of Paris and Agamemnon. Technically, as brother to one of the film’s two heroes, Paris is not an antagonist in the same sense as Commodus nor, indeed, is he presented as an adversary. He does, however, provide a counterpoint to the performative masculinity of Achilles and Hector, and he is also partly the cause of the outbreak of Greek and Trojan hostilities. In terms of masculinity, Paris is physically depicted in a more feminine fashion than his other male counterparts. Compared to both his brother and Achilles, Paris has a much more slender body and appears significantly less muscular than the other males. Even when armored, his small frame seems to provide an uncomfortable fit, as if his body barely fills the armor. Paris’ smooth and virtually hairless chest seems rather adolescent and, especially when compared to Hector, his sparse, nearly invisible goatee gives the impression of one who is trying (yet failing) to appear more masculine.
Paris’ physical inadequacy is also heightened by his inexperience in warfare, a telltale performative indicator of classical masculinity. Upon hearing that the Greeks will be coming to retrieve Helen, Paris suggests that they flee into the backcountry rather than fight. As if this abrogation of his manly duties was not enough, Paris’ foolish (and cowardly) solution is challenged not by another male, but by Helen, his lover. This cowardice and inexperience are again on display, this time for all of Troy and the Greek army to see, when Paris clumsily challenges Menelaus to a duel; when he is obviously losing, he literally crawls back to certain protection behind his brother. However, this feminization of Paris stops short of challenging his heterosexuality. After all, the root cause of the Trojan War was his sexual conquest of Helen. Confirming his brother’s heterosexual exploits, Hector recalled that Paris would “roam from town to town, bedding merchants’ wives and temple maids,” while his father, Priam (Peter O’Toole), claimed that “women have always loved Paris and he has loved them back” ( Troy). Interestingly, it is not just heterosexual promiscuity in general which Paris engages in, but specifically adulterous liaisons and the deflowering (presumably) of virgin priestesses which, although nominally heteroperformative, nonetheless threatens the patriarchal authority of other men, both husbands and fathers.
Unlike Troy, 300 goes to great lengths to both feminize and homosexualize the enemy. Just as 300 hyper-masculinizes Leonidas and the Spartans, it also
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hyper-feminizes Xerxes and the Persians, without much subtlety. The first introduction of the Persians confirms their status as markedly “other” than the light-skinned Spartans, with the arrival of a dark-skinned African messenger (Peter Mensah) who wears elaborate “Eastern” robes and sports numerous facial pierc-ings. The messenger’s entourage is likewise foreign, wearing Bedouin-styled clothes with their faces wrapped in scarves and only their heavily made-up eyes exposed. This feminization by way of clothing and especially accessories becomes more elaborate as the Spartans encounter more Persians. After arriving at Thermopylae, Xerxes sends another messenger who is decadent, arrogant, and feminized. Bejeweled, pierced, and sporting significant eyeliner, this cor-pulent emissary is carried by slaves, further feminization that neatly contrasts with the Spartans, who have journeyed the entire route on foot.
Yet nowhere is this non-normative masculinity on better display than with the Persian god-king Xerxes (Rodrigo Santoro) himself. Whereas the emissary was carried by a handful of attendants, Xerxes, seated atop an impossibly large and elaborate golden throne, is carried by dozens of faceless slaves. As he confronts Leonidas, Xerxes descends to the earth via a staircase made of the backs of his slaves. Physically, Xerxes is a monstrously exaggerated display of a feminized male. Although his body is toned, spectacularly muscled, and unrealistically tall, his accessories and body language imply that Xerxes is, in fact, a decadent parody of Leonidas’ masculinity. Xerxes’ body is conspicuously clean-shaven; there is not a hair to be seen, a stark contrast to the virile locks and beards of the Spartans. Xerxes does not even have eyebrows, which are instead replicated with more makeup. In fact, in close-ups, his entire body appears covered with a golden, shimmering foundation. This feminization by way of cosmetics is even more exaggerated by his abundance of jewelry (necklaces, bracelets, rings, armbands, even a shawl of golden beads and rings) and pierc-ings (nose, eyebr
ows, ears, cheeks, jaw). Taken together, these details (plus his long, manicured nails) clearly mark Xerxes as hyper-feminized, and thus an unquestionably non-normative male. Moreover, Xerxes’ extreme feminization, unlike that of Paris, is not tempered in any way with markers of heterosexuality or even anything marginally heteroperformative, thus allowing the audience to easily read Xerxes’ femininity as suggestive of homosexuality. In fact, the suggestive scenes of bizarre sexual decadence in Xerxes’ tent, with disfigured, mutilated, and bound lesbian slave women, as well as transsexuals, merely reinforce the film’s message that non-normative sexuality is somehow depraved and in marked contrast to that “proper” display of heteroperformativity, the heterosexual, heir-producing marriage.
Though not overtly feminized like Commodus or even Paris, as the main antagonist of Troy, Agamemnon exhibits non-normative behavior by acting like a tyrant, and therefore abusing patriarchal authority.15 Like Commodus, Agamemnon is motivated by his own personal desires and arrogance. His earlier conquest of Greece, and soon Troy, is the result of his selfish desire for power,
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wealth, and control. Yet Agamemnon’s conquests are not of his own personal doing, and are instead accomplished through the masculine skill and prowess of soldiers like Achilles and Odysseus. This passive means of conquest entails others doing the hard labor of fighting for him, and it is through his abrogation of direct, heteroperformative combat that Agamemnon is feminized. Desiring to sack the city of Troy, Agamemnon declares that he will tear down the city’s walls, “even if it costs me 10,000 Greeks,” proving that the lives of his loyal soldiers are of no consequence in the pursuit of his own agenda ( Troy). Indeed, not only does he typically stop short of leading his men directly into battle, but when Agamemnon finally does kill someone personally, it is the aged and feeble King Priam, who he quite literally stabs in the back. This passive/aggressive portrayal marks Agamemnon as less active in the manly pursuits of war. Like Paris, Agamemnon is feminized through his lack of display of masculine prowess in battle yet, also like Paris, there is no indication that he is anything other than heterosexual. Indeed, the main conflict between Agamemnon and Achilles is the former’s abduction of the latter’s war prize, Briseis, as a domestic (heterosexual) sex slave.
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