Faster Pussycat! Kill Kill Bill!
After a brief Raymond Chandleresque prelude and the most retro credits of the year, Sin City hits the ground running, with what feels like a smack in the
face. The taste of what's to come is that of blood. And buckets of it.
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The major issues seeing the light of day here are as colourful as a sailor's back. Child abuse, rape, domestic violence, vigilantism, prostitution,
corruption, organized crime, cannibalism. This is, after all, Sin City, not Mansfield Park. And as the direction is in the hands of the likes of
Rodriguez and Tarentino, not Merchant/Ivory, these themes are never so much issues as mere storylines.
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Motivation reads like the seven deadly sins,
the acts themselves Jacobean in their indulgence, the picking-up-the-pieces after never more than forensic exercises. There is very little of a moral
handle to be had from this interweaving of tales. The only thing that is black and white is the film itself, and the lighter of the two shades seems
almost incongruous amidst the shadows encroaching on the characters from every angle. This is noir's patch, and no one comes down this end of the street.
The men all growl their whisky-ruined voices from beneath long overcoats. The women strut around them in rarely more than their underwear. It's pulp of
the lowest order, but shot so convincingly, the only images you're left with afterwards are those of having just read a comic book.
Based on writer and co-director Frank Miller's series of books, Rodriguez has surpassed loyalty to the original medium and almost succeeds in creating
a new cinematic form: that of a graphic novel brought to life. Not just the characters and surroundings. No, the actual paper the books are printed on.
The big guns are out in force here. Bruce Willis, Clive Owen, Benicio Del Toro, an amazing embodiment of what was once Mickey Rourke, Josh Hartnett and
Elijah Wood indulge their whims with their victims and molls of the likes of Jessica Alba and Brittany Murphy.
Instances of empathy are found few and far between. The most uplifting of the tales involves an 11 year old victim of rape offering herself up to her
rescuer. These are dark fantasies, and not for the squeamish.
Sin City is not a place you'd want to hang out. The movie plays like a gratuitous, gruesome and/but (delete where appropriate) gratifying trip to the
gallows, graphically executed with panache and precision.
Bring an axe and some friends.
Sin City opens in Hiroshima Saturday, Oct 1 at Warner Mycal, Toei Louvre, Toho Midorii, Baruto 11 and T-Joy Higashi Hiroshima.
SH
September 2005
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