I never got around to writing about Clint Eastwood’s duo of war movies concerning Iwo Jima, but suffice to say I thought they were good. Flags of our Fathers took a sledgehammer to the notion that war brings out the hero in the everyman, and Letters from Iwo Jima, unlike almost any other war film, portrayed the enemy as genuinely human and humane. They were a breath of fresh air, and a million miles from the movies you’d expect Dirty Harry Callahan to be making.

Indeed, if that loosest of cannons were to bring a make a movie, you’d imagine it’d be diametrically opposed to those pair, and indeed a lot closer to Zack Snyder’s Frank Miller’s 300.

300 is a man’s movie. Or, if not quite a man’s movie, then it is a teenage boy’s movie. It doesn’t waste much time in plot exposition - and what exposition there is features a healthy amount of lady-nipple to tide us over until the next of the frequent battle scenes. This movie is all about how men become heroes in war, and when the titular 300 aren’t sticking spears in people, they’re shouting rousing speeches at each other as they pile dead bodies. Flags of our Fathers it certainly is not.

Those two most volatile of places - the internet and the middle-east, erupted with accusations that the portrayal of the Persian army was racist. True enough, the film featured mutated, horrifying Persians, so obviously this is no Letters From… style treatment of the enemy, but this film has no claims of historical accuracy. And as the accusations are based on movie-goers leaving the cinema thinking that yes, King Xerxes was guarded by half-men, half-goats, I would say that it is the Iranians and Internet Pant-Wetters that are racist against movie-goers, for thinking they are so stupid.

Anyway, the battle scenes themselves revel in blood and gore, frequently slowing down to let the audience appreciate that spear through the chest a little more. It is a credit to Snyder, and perhaps Miller, that despite dominating the entire film, the action never feels repetitive or overly-long. Indeed, it wasn’t deeper characterisation (the 300 are differentiated only by haircut, really) or more political intrigue that I felt was lacking, but rather more men sporting ridiculously defined six-packs stabbing improbably large mutated beasts in the eye with big spears.

My deepest thanks go out to all involved in this picture, because I now have the perfect counter-weapon when I’m next asked to watch The Sound of Music by my girlfriend.