We’ve had a long time and more than enough derivatives to get over the iconic black, white, and red all over aesthetic of Sin City. Now it just looks a cheap and flat. Which is really how the tone of the film could be described. Cheap and flat.
It is tedious too. You can only listen to so many many gruff, noir, hulking, brooding narrators complain about women before they all start to sound the same. We get four, and with the partial exception of Joseph Gordon Levitt’s smirking card shark, they’re all just so boring. Even the first Sin City, which in 2015 is now only tenuously enjoyable, still feels a lot more lively. That at least had a glow in the dark villain and a talking, disembodied head.
You can’t talk about Frank Miller these days without mentioning the misogyny. I imagine some may try to justify the ensemble of skimpy, gun toting prostitutes that make up 95% of the female cast, using nebulous arguments about how powerful these women are within the setting (these hookers somehow own a district). But they aren’t actually powerful or strong within the narrative. They may be good at shooting people, but in these stories, the women still tend to stand around, helplessly waiting for a gruff meathead to instruct or protect them from other gruff meatheads, all the while permitting the camera to leer over their T&A for extended periods of time.
Eva Green is perhaps the most refreshing addition to the mix, gleefully hamming things up with a wide, rectangular eyed brand of craziness that she has used so effectively in other films. Neither her, nor a pleasantly unexpected cameo is enough to save this dull, tacky, and surprisingly action-averse movie.
A Dame To Kill For - 8 years too late.
We’ve had a long time and more than enough derivatives to get over the iconic black, white, and red all over aesthetic of Sin City. Now it just looks a cheap and flat. Which is really how the tone of the film could be described. Cheap and flat.
It is tedious too. You can only listen to so many many gruff, noir, hulking, brooding narrators complain about women before they all start to sound the same. We get four, and with the partial exception of Joseph Gordon Levitt’s smirking card shark, they’re all just so boring. Even the first Sin City, which in 2015 is now only tenuously enjoyable, still feels a lot more lively. That at least had a glow in the dark villain and a talking, disembodied head.
You can’t talk about Frank Miller these days without mentioning the misogyny. I imagine some may try to justify the ensemble of skimpy, gun toting prostitutes that make up 95% of the female cast, using nebulous arguments about how powerful these women are within the setting (these hookers somehow own a district). But they aren’t actually powerful or strong within the narrative. They may be good at shooting people, but in these stories, the women still tend to stand around, helplessly waiting for a gruff meathead to instruct or protect them from other gruff meatheads, all the while permitting the camera to leer over their T&A for extended periods of time.
Eva Green is perhaps the most refreshing addition to the mix, gleefully hamming things up with a wide, rectangular eyed brand of craziness that she has used so effectively in other films. Neither her, nor a pleasantly unexpected cameo is enough to save this dull, tacky, and surprisingly action-averse movie.