So Kath and I went to see “Sin City” last Friday, but things have been hectic and this is the first time I’ve had a chance to sit down and write my thoughts on it.
In seeing “Sin City,” I found myself reminded of something I’d long forgotten: Why I stopped reading “Sin City.”
Don Thompson always had, I thought, the best politic take: For those of you who like this kind of thing, this is the kind of thing you will like. If you like “Sin City” the comic, then the movie is a fan boy’s dream come true, recreated with a fidelity to the original that borders on the obsessive/compulsive. And the standout, of course, is Mickey Rourke’s “Marv,” oozing resigned determination from every celluloid pore.
But “Sin City” as a comic simply depressed me too much. The characters I liked always died, and the mood was just too relentlessly dark. I think of that moment in an early “Sandman” where Morpheus brings his demonic opponent–and, in short order, the entirety of hëll–to complete silence by saying, “I am hope.” If he stands in a bar in “Sin City” and announces he’s hope, he’ll just be greeted with raucous laughter and told he’s in the wrong place.
Loved Frank’s “Daredevil.” “Dark Knight Returns.” I even liked “Ronin,” which I still think is his masterpiece. But “Sin City” the comic was too unstinting in its noir, and the movie–while visually stunning–is even moreso. Compare and contrast it to “Pulp Fiction,” which is also noir, but manages to have humor (albeit sick humor) and hope of salvation.
It’s great to see that Hollywood can genuinely produce a major motion picture this faithful to the source material. It shows a level of respect and fidelity that hasn’t been accorded to everything from Shakespeare to “The Scarlet Letter.” It bodes well for the future (presuming the film does well). Now I just wish the source material spoke more to me.
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