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Review

TLA Guide:
The final word in comic-to-big-screen adaptations, Sin City, based on a series of Frank Miller's cult graphic novels, is a scorching entertainment that combines state-of-the-art visual design, the very best of pulp fiction, and a storytelling technique that is so self-assured you can feel the exhiliration of one's craft in every scene. Co-directed by Rodriguez and author Miller, the film is a gorgeously vibrant tribute to noir and the glib-talking, hard-boiled, black-and-white narratives of Chandler, Fuller and Spillane. Interweaving three tales, Sin City is set in a nocturnal metropolis where men talk with their guns and the femmes are either fatale or, if not totally innocent, at least sinless at heart. Grabbing the lion's share of the plot and stealing the film from its accomplished cast in the segment "The Hard Goodbye" is Rourke, who as the disfigured hit man Marv transcends the tough-guy clichés to create a wholly original noir anti-hero who, like so many, lives by his own ethical code, but refreshingly twists the boundaries of what is both tough and ethical for his own purposes. Marv's relentless search for a prostitute's murderer is framed by stories of an honest cop (Willis) caught in a maelstrom of corruption and depravity ("That Yellow Bastard"), and a dishonest cop (Del Toro) who sets the stage for the battle of Old Town (where the prostitutes live and rule) between its protectors and underworld ex-bosses ("The Big Fat Kill"). Violent, savagely funny and perversely cynical, Sin City is a jolt of adrenaline for movie fans fatigued from serious cases of sequel-itis, remake-osis and formula-ania.

Danger After Dark:
Director Robert Rodriguez’s Sin City, a star-studded and hyperbolically gory adaptation of Frank Miller’s acclaimed graphic novels co-directed by Miller himself (with Quentin Tarantino serving as “guest director” for one scene), is such an admitted feast for the eyes that it is initially difficult to look past the undeniable surface visual pleasures. Rodriguez collaborated with Miller to adapt the comics as faithfully as possible, essentially using the original panels as storyboards and creating an ultra-stylized cinematic palette to accurately reflect the imagery of the original Miller work. The final result – a sort of neo-noir fantasia with the actors performing largely in front of green-screen upon which digital landscapes of seedy retro urban life are later added – is uniquely faithful to Miller’s original artistic intent, but the extent to which that’s a welcome achievement remains unclear: fans and critics alike have rejoiced that Sin City is among cinema’s most reverent comic adaptations, but subsequently the film has an oddly static, lifeless quality that prevents it from soaring as a satisfying genre endeavor.

The three central stories involve the noir archetypes of tough guys, femme fatales, sadistic villains, and distressed dames: cop Bruce Willis on the hunt for pedophile Nick Stahl, and then later encountering a rescued tyke as a newly matured stripper (Jessica Alba, beautiful but awful); in the film’s most effective storyline, Mickey Rourke is a square-jawed (literally) tough guy searching for the murderer of his prostitute one-night-stand (Jaime King); and the romance between Clive Owen and Brittany Murphy becomes dangerous when her cop boyfriend Benicio Del Toro upsets the balance of power between police and the hookers who run this part of the underworld (led by the stunning Rosario Dawson). Rodriguez’s chosen method of realizing this fantastical metropolis is clearly problematic for some of his cast, with most of the old pros delivering solid performances (in addition to Willis and the excellent Rourke, Rutger Hauer and Powers Boothe also shine), but with the younger actors appearing wooden and stranded (Alba is the worst, but Murphy is also rather leaden, and even the normally charismatic Owen and Dawson fall flat). And while Sin City is undeniably fascinating viewing for its visual approach alone, the uneven nature of the performances serves to highlight a principal flaw in the film: the film is often – much like its “guest director’s” epic Kill Bill, and to quote a line from one of his own films – like “a wax museum with a pulse.”

Rodriguez is so enamored with Miller’s original designs – and so enthused about paying homage to the imagery of classic film noir – that the film always feels more like a cleverly executed post-modern reflection on the genre, than as a true representation of the genre itself. Certainly worth a look nonetheless, Sin City is ultimately a bit too faithful to its source material for its own good.