We Love the City

Author: Ryan

  • Sin City: A Dame to Kill For review

    Once upon a time, there was a boy.  He was a good boy who always tried to do what
    was right and look after his friends.  He
    had a bit of a wild streak, but he tried to keep it under control.

    One
    day, this boy met a girl.  The girl was
    very, very beautiful.  The boy fell in
    love with the girl, and they were very happy together.

    For a
    while.  Then the girl decided she wanted
    more.  She moved on.

    The boy
    didn’t.

    Or something like that. 
    No one really knows what happened to Dwight before A Dame To Kill For, because Frank Miller hasn’t written that story
    yet.  But it’s probably close
    enough.  As the second chapter of Sin City opens, Dwight isn’t real happy
    with the life he’s living.  It’s a dull,
    grey existence, but he keeps everything under control.  He’s taking pictures of cheating husbands for
    rich jealous wives, working for a fat slob who enjoys his work far too much.

     He
    still performs the occasional good deed – cheating husbands can get out of hand
    when they’re afraid of being caught – but for the most part, Dwight keeps a low
    profile. He keeps his cool.  He stays in
    control.

     Then one day, the girl comes back.  The girl – whose name is Ava – made a
    mistake.  The man she left Dwight for had
    money and style and charm, but he also had a few nasty tendencies that have
    recently come to light.  She asks Dwight
    for help, and Dwight refuses.  But then
    he starts to think about it…

     To say
    much more about the plot would be to risk spoiling it. A Dame To Kill For is full of twists and turns and lies and
    betrayals.  It’s all about love, lust,
    and the grey area in between.  Even when
    Dwight’s doing the wrong thing, it’s hard to blame him; can you really blame a
    guy for the things he does for love?

     Dwight
    is probably Miller’s best defined and most relatable character.  He’s about as close to a regular guy as
    you’re likely to find in Sin City, being neither an ex-cop out for revenge nor
    a drunken psychopath.  Dwight’s easy to
    like: He screws up, but he always seems to do it for the right reason.  He’s a knight in tarnished armour who always
    wants to do the right thing, even if he doesn’t always think it

    While The Hard Goodbye was Marv’s book, the
    big lug gets put to much better use in A
    Dame to Kill For    .  While Hard Goodbye used Marv as the framework
    for the story, Dameallows us to see
    Marv from the outside.  Dwight summarizes
    Marv perfectly: Marv’s not stupid or insane or anything simple like that:
    “It’s like there’s nothing wrong with Marv, nothing at all – except that
    he had the rotten luck of being born at the wrong time in history … He’d be
    right at home on some ancient battlefield, swinging an ax into somebody’s
    face.”

    For all
    that, and despite being a pretty decent guy, Marv is still just a tool; he’s a
    fighting dog to be pointed at the target and let loose. Dame To Kill For is Dwight’s story, so while Marv gets to show up
    and inflict some much-deserved violence, his overall impact on the plot is
    fairly low.  He does offer some great
    insights into the music of Merle Haggard, though.

     Dame takes advantage of the cast and
    settings introduced in Hard Goodbye.  While Marv blasted through town like a
    locomotive, Dwight takes his time.  Just
    as Marv gets some better definition, so too do the girls of Old Town –
    including the soon-to-be-deceased Goldie – the mob, and the Sin City police
    force.  While Dwight is clearly the main
    character, his supporting cast is far better defined than Marv’s.  Everyone serves their purpose in the plot,
    and everyone seems like a legitimate character. 
    And if Dame accomplished no
    other purpose than to introducing deadly little Miho, Miller would still have
    done a great, great thing. 

    While Hard Goodbye gave Miller the freedom to
    do whatever he wanted with his own toys, Dame
    To Kill For     is a far more focused and evolved work.  There’s a clear purpose and direction at all
    points, even if that purpose turns out to be a lie and the direction a wrong
    turn.  This is the point where Sin City
    moved from being a side project by a guy who usually did superheroes into one
    of the most vital and artistic comics of the last decade.  It’s a prime example of what creators can do
    with the medium, if they’re only willing to take the risk.

     

    This
    volume also represents the point where Miller really kicked his artwork into
    high gear.  While his earlier work could
    be inconsistent at times, here Miller is fully locked into his Sin City
    style.  Characters are defined by smoke
    and shadows and curves, and Miller’s phenomenal storytelling ensures that every
    detail is captured perfectly.  Ava’s
    entrance is a work of art; as glamourous and elegant as Ingrid Bergman, but twice
    as much trouble.  Miller’s original
    covers for the series are some of the most striking pieces of cover art you’re
    likely to see: In an era of pinups and exaggerated anatomy, Miller’s sense of
    design easily set him apart.  His
    constantly evolving style has inspired a slew of imitators over the years, but
    not even Jim Lee has managed to capture Miller’s magic.

     A Dame to Kill For isn’t included in the
    Sin City film, which is somewhat puzzling; unlike Big Fat Kill, it shares overlaps with both Hard Goodbye and Yellow Bastard.  Marv’s own story bumps into Dwight’s on
    several occasions, just as Dwight unknowingly crosses paths with Hartigan.  But Dame is probably the most complex and involving
    story of Sin City, so one might hope it’s being set aside for its own movie.

    But
    while it doesn’t fit into the movie, it still provides the backstory and setup
    for The Big Fat Kill, which is a part
    of Rodriguez’s tapestry.  More than that,
    though, this is simply one of the best stories of Miller’s career, and one of
    the definitive Sin City stories: It’s
    full of beautiful women, dangerous men, brutal violence, hot sex and
    treachery.  While Hard Goodbye represented Miller firing on all cylinders, A Dame To Kill For is Miller driving
    full speed through a twisting mountain highway. 
    In a career that includes definitive runs on Daredevil and Batman, it’s Sin City that may stand as Miller’s
    greatest achievement, and A Dame To Kill
    For     is the best of the best.

  • Sin City movie review

    Contrary to the beliefs of my ex-girlfriend, there really is such a
    thing as being too faithful.

    Adapting any work from one medium to another is going to be difficult.
    The most common problem is going from book to film; it’s virtually
    impossible to tell a 500-page story in a 2 hour movie. Most films
    simply whittle material until all that remains is the essence of the
    story. A few films go the other way, maintaining almost a slavish
    devotion to the original text. The Harry Potter films are a prime
    example of directors adapting books so literally that the essence of the
    works themselves become lost amid irrelevant details and the need to
    cram in every single scene.

    But a comic book is not a regular book. Unlike novels, they rely on
    pictures to tell the story, with text to fill in the blanks.
    Theoretically, adaptations of comic books shouldn’t be as difficult to
    adapt, since the essence of the work is easily transferable.

    However, it’s hard to say in practice, since there have been
    exceptionally few comic book adaptations. Oh, there have been plenty of
    films based on comic books. But very few adapt specific
    stories; they’re usually adaptations of characters, concepts and themes,
    perhaps loosely based on one or two original stories. Prior to Sin
    City    , the only real comic book adaptations have been Ghost
    World    , Road to Perdition, and perhaps American Splendor.
    Possibly From Hell, but I’d really rather forget all about that.

    At a glance, Frank Miller’s work on Sin City seems
    perfect for adapting to the big screen. Miller’s gorgeous black and
    white art plays like art house cinematography on the page: Big
    entrances, dynamic action, great angles and intense emotion. More than
    one observer has compared the pages to movie storyboards, and director
    Robert Rodriguez clearly picked up on that as well. With Sin City,
    a director doesn’t need to spend as much time planning shots and
    sequences; Miller’s done it all so well himself.

    But while the visuals are ideal for film, one has to remember that
    Miller’s work is highly idiosyncratic. The world of Sin City
    is a highly stylized one: It’s full of hard-boiled criminals, beautiful
    femmes fatale and tough guys with codes of honour that would make
    samurai blush. It’s a world largely based on the pulp detective films
    and novels of the first half of the last century; when reading the
    books, it’s not hard to hear the voices of Humphrey Bogart, James
    Cagney, Mary Astor and Peter Lorre speaking aloud. It’s a dynamic,
    somewhat eccentric narrative style that works marvellously on the page.

    Unfortunately, it works horribly on the screen. Dialogue that reads
    great on paper can come off as cheesy and cliched when spoken aloud.
    There are few actors who can say “dame” repeatedly without sounding
    ridiculous. But the dialogue really isn’t the problem; Miller &
    Rodriguez can get away with a lot because of the style of the film.
    While there are a few actors who can’t pull it off, most of them know
    their stuff well enough to deliver their lines with the proper tone and
    flair.

    Rosario Dawson in particular stands out with her performance as Gail,
    the dominatrix of Old Town. It’s such a ridiculous role that it would
    be easy to slip into parody, but Dawson nails it with just the right
    mixture of drama and humour. Benicio Del Toro’s drunken fratboy cop is
    just about perfect, and Brittany Murphy makes for a nice sultry barmaid.
    Though she doesn’t get to speak, Devon Aoki is quite effective as the
    silent and lethal Miho. Jessica Alba doesn’t get to do a whole lot of
    acting, but she certainly looks nice.

    The three leads – Mickey Rourke, Bruce Willis and Clive Owen – are
    effective, if unexceptional; playing a stoic tough guy doesn’t allow for
    a whole lot of acting versatility. Meanwhile, Jaime King’s performance
    in the dual role of Wendy and Goldie is absolutely abysmal. She’s the
    most wooden and cardboard actor in the film; she doesn’t even manage to
    act stoic or angry. Of all the actors in the film, she seems to have
    the least idea of what it’s all about.

    The biggest problem is the narration. In the books, Miller’s narration
    adds depth to the characters. Internal monologues allow the reader to
    learn more about their motivation, and it can fill in the blanks between
    static panels. In the film, though, it just gets in the way. There’s
    almost a constant stream of narration for two thirds of the movie, and
    most of it is unnecessary. We don’t need to hear characters telling us
    that they’re upset, sad or angry; even the most amateur actor can handle
    that. We certainly don’t need the characters telling us what is
    happening on screen: It’s perfectly clear when an actor is reaching for a
    gun, coughing up blood or hitting somebody, yet all these things are
    explained.

    Beyond the redundancy, though, the narration really does get in the
    way. Everyone keeps talking. They talk and talk and talk, and while
    some of it is relevant and interesting, eventually one just gets tired
    of listening to everyone talk. There’s just as much, if not more
    narration in the books, but the nature of a comic book means it never
    gets in the way. The captions are off to the side, acting almost as an
    addendum to the images. In his attempt to be ultra-faithful to the
    original Sin City stories, Rodriguez has lost sight of one
    of the most important aspects: That Frank Miller is an exceptional
    visual storyteller. Miller never really needed words to tell his
    stories; they were just icing on the cake.

    Despite the fixation on narration, Rodriguez is still an excellent
    storyteller himself. The visuals of Sin City are just as
    good as you’d expect from the combination of Miller and Rodriguez.
    They’ve truly given life to Sin City – the characters and setting all
    seem like they’ve been ripped from the pages of Miller’s books. They
    occasionally stray too far towards caricature – Mickey Rourke gets lost
    behind Marv’s prosthetic forehead and scars, and the titular Yellow
    Bastard looks a bit too silly to be truly menacing. But otherwise it’s a
    dazzling visual adaptation, with exceptional design and some
    outstanding action sequences.

    The nature of the visuals – the actors did their work in front of green
    screens, and CGI backgrounds were added in later – results in some
    problems. The backgrounds work, but other components don’t: Despite
    everyone standing around in the rain and snow, no one’s hair seems to
    get very wet. A few get slightly damp, but certainly not “walking
    around in the pouring rain for an hour” wet. Otherwise, the digital
    touches are nicely done: Certain aspects of characters – clothing,
    jewellery, glasses – are emphasized, and the touches of colour are
    dazzling against the grainy black and white.

    It all looks great; if only everyone would shut up long enough for the
    audience to appreciate it. It’s no surprise that the most effective
    sequences are those which cut back both on dialogue and narration; when
    Miller and Rodriguez let the story tell itself, instead of imposing an
    artificial and clumsy narrative, the movie really takes off.

    The root of the problem – beyond a bizarre compulsion to tell the
    audience when a character is smoking a cigarette before he’s even
    started smoking it – is that Miller and Rodriguez have been too
    ambitious in their scope. In amalgamating three of Miller’s stories
    into the movie, they’ve clearly bitten off more than they can chew.
    Fitting three stories into two hours doesn’t allow for any character
    development or natural evolution. The plot points are forced to come
    hard and fast, one after another. Like the excessive reliance on
    narration, this, too, is contrary to Miller’s original work; he allows
    scenes to play out naturally, for characters to spend several pages
    doing simple things.

    But here, there’s no time to relax. There’s no time to get to know the
    characters, either: No time to look at who these people are, or why
    they’re willing to die for their respective causes. It’s difficult to
    form any sort of emotional bond with these characters. Consequently, The
    Big Fat Kill     portion of the story plays out the best, as it’s the
    least reliant upon emotional reactions.

    The shifting time frame is also somewhat puzzling. Those who’ve read
    the books won’t have any problem, but newcomers to Miller’s work may
    wonder why Marv and Kevin are seemingly re-appearing in Hartigan’s
    section of the movie. They do so, obviously, because that’s how the
    book was written, but there’s no need for it in the movie.

    It’s curious, though, that for all the devotion to the original
    material, there are still a couple of odd deviations. For one thing,
    Bruce Willis doesn’t look like he’s sixty years old. He doesn’t look
    like he’s sixty-eight, either, and he certainly doesn’t look like he
    could be Jessica Alba’s grandfather. One would think that the simple
    solution would be to either a) cast another actor or b) change the
    script to reflect the fact that Bruce Willis is fifty, not sixty. One
    must also wonder why Kadie’s, a country and western bar where strippers
    wear cowboy hats and play with lassoes, is playing electronic dance
    music.

    Robert Rodriguez tried to do a very good thing. He found a work that
    spoke to him as an artist, and worked with the original author to create
    a film that genuinely respected and revered the source material.
    Unfortunately, he made two significant mistakes: He tried to do more
    than he should have, and he forgot that while they share many
    similarities, comics and films are still two very different mediums. He
    clearly had the best intentions, and one can hope that Rodriguez and
    other filmmakers will still see the value in respecting and properly
    adapting comics to the screen; there surely must be a happy middle
    ground between Sin City and League of Extraordinary
    Gentlemen    . Sin City is a fascinating and ambitious
    experiment, but ultimately a disappointing one.