Vulnerability is wildly attractive
ArtisHENDERSON sandydays@florida-weekly.com
Every morning, between Dilbert and Dear Abby, I scan the horoscopes for my daily dose of astrological wisdom. Recently, I came across a real gem. "Vulnerability is wildly attractive," it read. "Don't be afraid to show it."

Even my fickle-minded Gemini self saw this as crucial information. In relationships, a hint of vulnerability is often what brings couples together. The ability to alternately depend on a partner as well as bolster them is what sets the best couples apart.

"Potential lovers are drawn to you when they think there's a possibility you could need them, too," finished the horoscope.

In last year's epic battle film, 300, a handful of Spartan warriors take on Xerxes' million-man army. The night before King Leonidas leads his soldiers to battle, he stands perplexed in the moonlight, his bare back to the camera and his sleeping queen. In the darkness of their bedchamber, Leonidas wakes Queen Gorgo. He expresses his worries about the campaign, his doubts about taking 300 men to their deaths without the backing of the senate or the divine oracle. The queen comforts and reassures him, encouraging him to do what is best for the people of Sparta.

It is a private moment, where the fierce Spartan king is stripped - both literally and symbolically - of his armor. He appears more human and less heroic, his vulnerability a touching addition to the movie's main character. The scene progresses from a wifely pep-talk to a steamy cementing of the marital bonds.

Like so many things in the world of romance, however, vulnerability is a two-edged sword. While showing our vulnerabilities makes relationships stronger, it's the relationships themselves that make us vulnerable.

Near the end of the film, Queen Gorgo senses the growing desperation of King Leonidas and his remaining soldiers and petitions the Spartan senate to send reinforcements. Theron, a greasy politician with a scraggly goatee, proposes a trade. He offers the queen his support in exchange for some Grecian bump-and-grind. Throughout the film,

the queen is portrayed as a determined character, the fierce female counterpart to her warrior husband. As viewers, we're given the impression that the strong-willed queen would not normally stoop so low, but, made vulnerable by her love for her king, she consents to the dubious exchange. The scene is unpleasant enough, what with

Theron's pillow talk running along the lines of, "You will not enjoy this. This will not be over quickly," but what's worse: he ultimately betrays her to the senate. Rather than holding up his end of the deal, Theron denounces the queen and demands that the senate withhold sending more troops.

It's here that 300 discloses the ultimate relationship truth: vulnerability must be tempered by trust. Where trust exists, as in the marriage of the Spartan king and queen, we are permitted to expose our vulnerability, to show the underpinnings of doubt that sometimes mar a formidable façade. As shown by the treacherous Theron, however, exposing our vulnerabilities where no trust exists runs the risk of betrayal.

It is a fine line to walk, this balancing act of vulnerability. For relationships to work, we must both disclose the doubts in our souls and, in turn, expose our hearts to danger. In the end, both are wildly attractive, no matter what your sign.

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