Sin City shines as it redefines comic cinematography

Julia Hawes Guest Writer

Watching Robert Rodriguez and creator Frank Miller’s Sin City is a little like watching a film noir of the 1940s. The stirring brass of a saxophone, the ponderous, kitschy voice-overs, the tortured anti-heroes skulking about in their filthy trench coats, the fantastic use of shadow and light—all the elements of a pulpy Philip Marlowe detective novel. It’s a little like that, except there are also prostitutes wielding machine-guns, child molesters, and Tarantino-style decapitations to boot. And it’s a comic book, brought to life.

Sin City, based on the Frank Miller graphic novel series of the same name, is a visually astounding film that redefines comic cinematography. Forget Spiderman and the action-packed joy of X-Men. Watching Sin City actually feels like leafing through the pages of a comic book, with flesh and blood people staring back at you. American Splendor may have been a brilliant adaptation of a comic, but in terms of (metaphoric) color and texture, Sin City stands alone. The setting, the lighting, the action sequences—each of these are comic book perfection. Even more striking is that this is all achieved in monochromatic shades of black and white. There are the occasional washes of color—a pair of Converse shoes, a person’s eyes, and spurts of blood—but for the majority of the film, the life of the actors has literally been drained from their faces. Nothing about the film is realistic, per se. Even when the film ventures outside the city walls to “the Farm” there is nothing that visually separates the urban city from the pastoral country. There is no daylight in Sin City, and there is no respite from the onslaught of violence that appears in every frame. The film’s surreal quality is its strongest feature, at times overshadowing the creatures passing through the stylized world of Sin City.

One knows little about the actual Sin City itself, except that it is a shadowy place, where prostitutes, corrupt policemen and gangsters survive among one another through an understood truce. Hartigan (Bruce Willis), a weary, heartsick policeman, tracks pedophile Rourk, Jr. (Nick Stahl), who has just narrowed in on his next victim. Marv (Mickey Rourke), a disfigured ex-convict, embarks on a killing spree after losing his lover, Goldie (Jaime King), to a flesh-eating sociopath who goes by the quaint name Kevin (Elijah Wood). Then there is former death-row inmate Dwight (Clive Owen), who sets his sights on taking down corrupt Rafferty (Benicio Del Toro), and finds unlikely allies in the prostitute community of the “Old Town.” The film follows each of the men as they make their way through nights of combat, torture, corruption, and brief moments of beauty, as seen in what innocence remains in the women they love.

The film moves along, punctuated by bouts of extreme violence, which are at times arresting and occasionally cringe-worthy. The scenes between the always phenomenal Owen and Del Toro are electric (although Owen would have been better off without the American accent). Both Rourke and Willis manage to make what could have been one-note tough guys into magnetic, human characters.
Unfortunately, the filmmakers made visibly less inspired choices when casting the female roles. The movie houses a plethora of mediocre, beautiful women. Luckily, the screenplay does not give actresses like Brittany Murphy and Alexis Bledel much to do aside from casting “sensuous” glances and delivering lines more worthy of, let’s say, Showgirls. Rosario Dawson is slightly easier to swallow, and, dare I say it, even Jessica Alba emoted more than I ever thought her capable.

The generally impressive cast, blended with the phenomenal graphic arts, makes Sin City worth the price of a movie ticket. Not to say that the film does not have its flaws, and none too subtle ones. For those who are not privy to the signature caricatures and camp of the comic book world, the film might appear overly showy at times. The characters themselves are generally one-dimensional, but characters like Rourke’s Marv make up for less developed roles. The dialogue is sometimes laughable, but at the very least, it retains the essence of the comic world.

The film never quite finds its feet in terms of drawing each of its several subplots into a cohesive unit, but it still manages to entertain. As Josh Hartnett’s character comments at the end of the film, “You turn the right corner in Sin City, and you can find anything.” In terms of the film, it’s all a matter of choosing the right corner, accepting a flaw or two, and letting the larger-than-life features of the dark comic wash over you.