New York City. West 34th. It is raining. Shambling concrete towers reach for the ominous sky. Crimezine is here for one reason: to see the new Frank Miller/ Robert Rodriguez crime thriller—Sin City: A Dame to Kill For.
It has been a while since the last Sin City epic Crimeziners—2005 to be exact, which is an eternity in Hollyweird terms. Why you may ask when the original genre busting movie made big box office buckeroos? Well, the similarly styled Spirit movie, also written and directed by Miller sank faster than an Italian cruiseship and lost almost as much money. Still, best not mention that eh?
The fabulous Marv played by Micky Rourke is back once again and he has been drinking…heavily. You just know that means trouble right Crimeziners? Especially for those frat-boy funsters who are setting fire to the Sin City derelict down on his luck. Meanwhile, supersmug teenybop heartthrob Joseph Gorden-Levitt is new in town, thinking he can make fast and flashy at Kadie’s place. Trouble you will be pleased to hear is on the way when the cocky young buck imagines he can fleece the sinister Senator Roarke [played by the awesome powers Boothe] at cards. Hideously mangled? You betcha.
So what else happens? Wellllllll. Jessica Alba wiggles her ass and drinks pints of vodka straight out the bottle [Don’t try this one at home children] and a crumple faced Josh Brolin wanders around with a permanent hangover, wondering endlessly in a gravelly voice what the hell is going on.
Bad shit is what is happening dude and lots of it and the pantingly gorgeous femme fatal Ava Lord [Eva Green] is behind much of the upset, ably assisted by the almost supernatural Manute [Dennis Haysbert]. The gorgeous young strumpet elevates the role to Bond Villain proportions. Hurrah! we hear you cry.
Old favorites also make swift appearances—the marginally revamped girls from the old town and a spectral Bruce Willis as John Hartigan. This film really does have a stellar cast and marvelous cameos come in the form of Christopher Lloyd, Ray Liota and Lady Gaga.
Cinematically, the film is much the same as the first—grizzly silhouettes, extreme neo-noir contrasts—weird shit that looks like nuclear fallout drizzling endlessly from the sky. Needless to say, it is always night. As for the action there is lots of that, the decapitation count rides higher than an Islamosupremacist Sunday school outing and there is at one point, a gouging so unspeakably horrible the entire auditorium broke out with cheers/laughter/cries of unmitigated terror. The sound of actual vomiting could be heard amongst audience members for several minutes after this scene—maybe it was the hotdog/nacho plate combo-meal?
Given that this is the kind of cinematic vehicle we are dealing with, it seems strange that certain critics are leveling accusations of political incorrectness at this movie. To wish that a Frank Miller/Robert Rodriguez movie should be more politically correct is like buying a Motley Crue record and wondering wistfully why it doesn’t sound more like limp-wristed student popsters Cold Play.
Crimezine love, love, loves Frank Miller and Robbo Rodriguez and we love the noirtastic harboiled world that is Sin City.