Sin City: A Dame To Kill For

True Grime

Despite its re-jigging of the classic film noir blueprint, its hedonistic content and morally decayed characters, there was a certain freshness about the original Sin City when it was released in 2005. Adapted from a Mark Miller graphic novel it offered a moody alternative to the resurgent superhero movies of the day, which featured characters already recycled many times over for the big screen.

Using the grimier, wittier and darn right cooler source material as his inspiration, director Robert Rodriguez created a film of a unique visual style that would begin a trend (which has recently peaked with the giddy triumphs of Guardians) in proving comic books films don’t always have to be about do-gooders dressed in spandex. The success and acclaim of Sin City almost guaranteed a sequel, but in the end it’s taken almost a decade for the project to come into fruition. Now with the arrival of Sin City: A Dame to Kill For, the questions is, after all that time has the novelty worn off?

It’s immediately obvious upon the return to the infernal cesspit of Basin City, that Rodriguez has opted to change little from what worked so well first time around. All the elements are here – the striking inverted black and white colour palette, the roster of crazed characters and the episodic script. However as a whole the film seems much less substantial, almost like an appendix to the original as opposed to a fully-fledged sequel, which is in large part to do with the individual storylines being simply not as engaging or quite so distinctively bizarre.

Initially the film does well to re-acquaint us with Marv, the sociopathic heavy with a heart, as he tries to piece together an amnesiac blood stained pickle he’s gotten himself into. As things progress though, it’s clear the story represents an opportunity missed to delve deeper into the character’s psyche.

Micky Rourke, looking somewhere between a leg of meat and Kryten’s delinquent brother, is obviously comfortable playing the anti-hero bruiser, but does little else other than sulk in the local boozer and get into back alley fisticuffs. Undermining our empathy for the character further is Rourke’s impossibly phlegmy voiceover which, projected from a cinema’s loud speakers, doesn’t amount to a particularly pleasant listening experience.

Next up is Joseph Gordon Levitt, relatively fresh faced as cocky gambler Johnny. Levitt exhibits the necessary suave of a man confident enough to challenge the local mob bosses at cards, yet the revelatory clue as to why he might be willing to partake in such risky games doesn’t quite play. Johnny’s subsequent passage through the city’s dark territory provides the comparatively more emotive moments of the film, but ultimately plays out as a minor rather than major hubristic tragedy. Possibly the weakest sequence belongs to Josh Brolin’s character Dwight, which is unfortunate as it’s also the longest. Dwight’s existence as a downtrodden P.I is upturned when an old flame re-enters his life begging for solace from an abusive husband. Despite his intuition setting off the trust alarm bells he gets drawn into the temptress’ web of deception.

Certainly looking like someone who can turn desperate men into putty in the time it takes her to puff through a cigarette, Eva Green completely inhabits her role as the deadly succubus Ava Lord, unafraid to ham it up or walk around completely starkers for an unjustifiably large portion of screen time. The character’s evil is dampened to some degree however by the calibre of men she chooses to exercise her manipulative powers over. Evidently it’s not so much her cunning as the men she
places under her spell being so plank headed that they almost deserve to be used and then destroyed as they are. Dwight himself is one such dolt and even with Brolin’s brooding seriousness it’s hard to root for a character so willingly and knowingly taken advantage of.

Despite his earnestness Brolin also falls victim to some of the weaker script writing, having to utter such raspberries as ‘It’s one of those hot nights..the kind that makes people do sweaty, secret things’. The dialogue all in all is a mixed bag, at times hitting the right notes, but at others feeling like a phoney emulation of the classic Chandler monologue. Returning as local club stripper Nancy Callaghan, Jessica Alba probably comes away most unscathed, proving she has at least some acting powers in her possession. However, while Nancy cooks up ways to exact hell-bent revenge on Senator Roark (an imposing Powers Boothe), the man who killed her rescuer (Bruce Willis) in the original film, the cathartic impact of the conclusion relies upon audience familiarity with the backstory. Those who are visiting the Sin City universe for the first time may be left floating adrift somewhat as a result.

Inconsistencies in script quality are made up for to an extent by the slick visuals, which have preserved the ‘living comic book’ impression to dazzling effect. Occasional splashes of colour cut through heavy blacks and brilliant whites, drawing the eye to a particular incongruous item or severed body part. The cartoon violence has always been gratuitous, but where it was mostly in service to the script previously, this time it’s the script that seems to be in service to the body count quota. No matter though, for this isn’t, nor ever did it ever profess to be, deep or meaningful cinema; more of a satirical log flume gullying its way through rivers of the red stuff.

Essentially an R rated pantomime then, Sin City: A Dame to Kill For promises enjoyable escapism for those that get a kick from excess sex and violence. The vulgarity will keep some from even setting foot inside the city perimeter, yet fans, despite the film being unable to meet the bench mark set by its progenitor; its crude storytelling and lacklustre finish, will be pleased that they can once again journey into this uniquely debauched world of bullets and boobs.






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