Fri, April 8, 2005

I didn't grow up as a comic book reader. My first real interest in comic books wasn't related to superhero fantasies or escapist adventures – it came from the power and versatility of comics to tell stories that were in many ways cinematic (visual, time-based) but also reached beyond what movies could do, into that hazy extra dimension where the reader's mind starts filling in a lot of areas. These days, I certainly wouldn't rate myself as a comic book fan in the traditional sense, but my eyes are definitely open to them: I've got a couple of graphic novels on the bookshelf now, and when I think about writing, I think about comics alongside screenplays and short stories. In the same way that Brad Bird is interested in furthering computer animation as just another style of filmmaking, I see comic books as just another style of storytelling. I anticipated Sin City with tremendous excitement, and one part of that is its potential to show Hollywood that comic books can be more than just source material – characters in tight outfits with a built-in audience – they're also a way of telling stories with a more expressive and immersive visual vocabulary.

I saw Sin City last Sunday, and I enjoyed it a lot. But it defied my expectations so completely that I had to see it again before I could begin to sit down and review it. It's not that I liked it less than I expected to: I just had such a hard time pinning down what it is, so I couldn't really decide what I thought of it. On the one hand, Sin City establishes, explores, and celebrates a highly specific tone – and I constantly bring up tone, but that's because it's at the core of what good movies do. Each scene oozes the darkest, hard-boiled, case-hardened noir – with dialogue so hyper-real it goes beyond funny and back to dead serious. It tells gripping stories about compelling characters in a beautiful and unique style. But with all of my favorite movies, I walk out of the theatre with something to think about. Both times I've seen Sin City, I have no idea what I'm thinking about afterward.

The film tells three or four intertwined stories, culled from numerous issues of co-director Frank Miller's comic book series. Co-director Robert Rodriguez – whose versatile catalogue ranges from Spy Kids to Once Upon a Time in Mexico – set out to film the most faithful possible recreation of Miller's original comics, frame by frame. As such, the stylized and nearly monochromatic look of Miller's books provides a unique signature to the look of the film. Almost every scene was shot on green screen "virtual sets" in order to give Rodriguez exacting control over the settings and backgrounds – added later with computer animation – which allows him to match Miller's surreal locations as well as his dramatic angles. The process has been compared with that of Sky Captain and the World of Tomorrow, but where Sky Captain did it just to do it, in Sin City it serves a purpose. Rodriguez imports visual devices like contrast and silhouette from the comic books as part of his literal translation onto the screen, so when characters bleed in the dark, their blood is bright white. Just as it would on the page, this adds dimension to the shadowy world of Sin City and makes it pop off the screen.

The achievement of such stunning fidelity to the original comics is impressive, but the improvisation in between the panels is even more fascinating. Rodriguez's camera moves with the breezy confidence of being untethered from the physical realm. The difference, while noticeable, is subtle enough that it feels appropriate within the electrified style of the film. In some shots, you're conscious that something is happening that you haven't seen before, but in most of the more impressive ones, it just fits with where you'd expect the camera to be, never mind that it would be impossible. Rodriguez shows discipline, avoiding the Zemeckis "look ma!" shot which, while damn impressive to look at, ultimately distracts from the story. For all his guerilla tactics and seat-of-the-pants energy, Rodriguez proves that the definition of a visionary has nothing to do with his methodology. He has the same revolutionary drive and talent that Spielberg did when he was breaking all the rules in the 1970s – but shows that Spielberg's meticulous, comprehensive approach, while excellent, is not the only way to express one's personal cinematic genius.

Beyond the technical, the film features performances from a ragtag ensemble of powerful actors, brilliant without exception. Clive Owen proves why he's too good to win an acting Oscar in today's Hollywood, and Bruce Willis reminds us why we have the phrase "Die Hard on a ..." – he may star in some mindless actioners, but he's damn good in them, and he's got a depth that goes well beyond that. He may be a joke to some, but he'll always have my respect for the sheer range of roles he takes on. He's both brutally vengeful and vulnerably poignant in Sin City – few actors I can think of could have pulled off this role. Rosario Dawson, Jaime King, and even WB cutie Alexis Bledel sparkle as rough-and-tumble prostitutes fending for themselves in Sin City's Old Town. Carla Gugino (imported from Spy Kids and fantastic on ABC's bygone Karen Sisco) is sizzling and very naked. Bit player Powers Boothe grips his only scene by the scruff and never lets go – further evidence of his uncanny ability to pack a line of dialogue with seething fury, which will grab your attention in only a few minutes of HBO's Deadwood. Even Brittany Murphy, who's seemed a bit lost lately, shows up ready to throw down. And Jessica Alba deftly mixes frail suffering with alluring bravado, crafting her character into the first prostitute we've been proud to love since Julia Roberts in Pretty Woman.

These performances are crucial, because it's not always easy to identify with the characters in Sin City. If Jessica Alba's Nancy weren't the perfect combination of shaken and stirring, we wouldn't buy Bruce Willis's ferocious revenge rampage. Were Mickey Rourke's career-revitalizing turn as Marv less innocently steadfast (think of L.A. Confidential's Bud White crossed with the Hulk), it would be a lot harder to stomach his brutal quest to avenge his girlfriend's murder. The story of Sin City winds through the unseemly doings of these characters and many more, yet its non-stop violence rarely seems over-the-top. Just like The House of Sand and Fog, it sets strong characters on a collision course with one another, then steps back to document the carnage. Unlike movies where characters' motivations are to "get the girl" or "score one for the team," the characters in Sin City do things because they have to. The black-and-white presentation is no accident. And it's impossible to take your eyes off it.

But although I was captivated by the film, I didn't buy in completely. For the most part, Sin City succeeds at grounding its fantastical situations with real human emotions – but maybe it's less than the sum of its parts. Taken as a whole, the emotional resonance of the individual moments fades away, and the film feels somewhat shallow. The constant voiceover (while I understand it as a viable decision in the translation from comic book to movie) became somewhat overwhelming. And it wasn't always easy to trust that the bloody violence existed merely as a cathartic part of the revenge/justice crusade. (The blame rests, in part, with fratboys in the theatre who snickered nervously whenever the blood started flying.) Sin City seems very successful, and in my experience audiences appear pretty excited after it – but it's hard to recommend because I still don't know how I react to it. (The biggest lesson I've learned is that hyperinflated expectations are very dangerous. I'll be spending the next four weeks in hypnotherapy, trying to convince myself that The Hitchhiker's Guide to the Galaxy killed my family and voted for Bush.) It's certainly beautiful, achieving my goal of merging the visual style (and not just the content) of comic books into the cinema. The cast is amazing. The characters and stories are riveting. But even with all that, it leaves me perceptibly empty.

***

The second time I went to Sin City (this time, in digital projection!), we were subjected to a trailer for the upcoming horror remake House of Wax. The producers of this film made the very possibly intelligent-at-the-time decision to cast Paris Hilton as one of the screaming, terrified victims. However, while you probably could've gotten away with slipping her into Meet the Fockers, an effects-laden movie like House of Wax spends a long time in post-production. During which time, Paris Hilton has gone from so-bad-she's-hot back to just bad. At the part of the trailer where they have to list all the actors one by one and show a couple of quick shots of them in action, you get the very real sense that Warners would have preferred to resurrect "and the rest" from the Gilligan's Island credits, to avoid putting "Paris Hilton" up on the screen all by itself – practically inviting boos, hisses, and the throwing of sodas and Sno-Caps at the screen. We'll take our Paris Hilton movies in night-vision, thank you very much.

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