The scene where Quasimodo goes to Stargate guy and declares that yes, he would like to be fucked is probably the worst sequence I have ever seen in a major motion picture.

The scene where Quasimodo goes to Stargate guy and declares that yes, he would like to be fucked is probably the worst sequence I have ever seen in a major motion picture.

There are two F's, I'm sure one of them is yours.

This movie really was a lot worse than I thought it was. I'm only giving it an A because of the battle scenes. Every scene with the hunchback idiot was painful to watch. Was he really necessary?

who's the other person?

F for failure

This movie really was a lot worse than I thought it was. I'm only giving it an A because of the battle scenes. Every scene with the hunchback idiot was painful to watch. Was he really necessary?

I saw it again tonight..

I'm sticking with my A+ grade.

Erm, I voted F and now my vote isn't in the poll anymore. I'm not able to vote again either. Looks like someone is trying to distort the results. That grade's my honest opinion though and I didn't just vote that way for the sake of it or for mindlessly bashing the movie. It would be nice if it could be changed/corrected again. Here's my 300 review to back up my claim and opinion:

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300 (Zack Snyder, 2007)

Fulminant Action Cinema à la bonheur, splendid depictions of sanguinary battles of never seen before epic proportions and sheer brilliance, cinematic master strokes set against sceneries, which literally caress the inclined spectator's senses, an adequate realization of Frank Miller's opulent pictorial selection - alot has been augured, however nothing, absolutely nothing at all has been delivered by berserking noviate director Zack Snyder. His current faux pas of a movie is a swan song to good taste, the demise of Western Culture, the cessation of all artistic talent and creative work. Blustering, obscene, final.

Spartan King Leonidas (Gerard Butler), his body bedewed with virgin olive oil, covered with leafage and studded with a single mistletoe to obscure his puny pudendal area, raises his voice. What has risen advance to the position of a well-known saying among the fanatic, juvenile crowd world-wide within just a brief lapse of time is now belched, blazed out of the King's throat, hurled towards his bewildered adversary, before the audible, the verbal ejaculation is followed by the exaggeratedly stylized display of a kung fu kick. The film's key scene.

Because it is exactly this preposterous formula, that Zack Snyder, self-proclaimed associate of the film director's profession, employs for what feels like an approximated 387 minutes. Eruptions of torment, turned into fuming furiosity, which has evidently been dammed up for decades, are dished up to the marvelled youngling, 15 years of age, fashionable recitative admiring, multifariously clueless and now almost motionlessly persevering in his state of ecstasy, as he watches the described spectacle unfold, performed in a homoerotic manner by some the previously mentioned ptilosis sporting dance ensemble, their most outstanding characteristic being the egregiously low relevance on any level.

The opponent, cannon-fodder-like tripe, which first and foremost is supposed to impress us with its variety, partially though with the curious sight of its bizarreness, gets to be raped for hours in the most imbecile and technically inferior way imaginable, in order to guarantee the execution of the aforementioned pattern. The youngling rejoices, delights in the symbiosis of excessively slow-motioned, rapidly fatigueing violence and pungently pretentious seeming "coolness", trapped in his own confinedness, which is stamped and defined by devastating ignorance. The adult intellectual remains silent - agony, relentless agony, oh-so gladly would I escape from thee and be it into death.

And as though this rampant, wordless uproar, set against an, infact, miserably animated backdrop, was not enough of the paltriness already, Snyder empties yet another salt shaker into the bleeding heart of the cineaste, the art lover - dialogue lines, somewhere between delusion and abomination, between the medieval pageants of capuchin monkey John the Bellows, Riefenstahl concoctions and ludicrously manipulative cable television hokum, recited with maximally fervent pathos, on the one hand inspiring the boy, rejoicing his heart, on the other hand catapulting the mature into a crisis of faith, suicidal tendencies included. According to the former, these are ageless quotations, archetypal instant classics, according to the latter, we are dealing with the embodiment of the preliminary apex - or rather the nadir - of the intellectual, cultural, social decadence, which has afflicted us so sneakingly and, subsequently, has beaten us down in both an unsuspected and remorseless fashion.

And, thus, the only reasonable, the only remaining conclusion has to be a reference to the proverbially most imperishable of all emotions, the faithful companion in the darkest of hours, the deepest of forests, the bleakest of bungholes - hope. For I can only wonder what kind of alternative there could possibly be after reaching this absolute rock bottom.
On the same note, hope is all I have to offer to Zack Snyder, whom I would like to wish a successful and, most notably, a recreative future career, despite his more than impudent invidiousness I am reviewing right now.

Nevertheless, there's one thing that has to be put down in writing and be made perfectly clear in this recension once more: My palate has not been regaled by your meagre offering, Mr. Snyder.

My evaluation: 1/10 (= F)

dont encourage him.