Attention, Sinners ...
In "Frank Miller's Sin City," all the women wear next-to-nothing and the men talk like they've just knocked back six shots of gravel. The look is stylish. The plotlines are lurid and as violent as "Kill Bill, Vols. 1 and 2" combined. Every black-and-white shot brims over with hardboiled attitude. And based on the crowd at an early screening I attended last night, moviegoers -- particularly fans of the graphic novels on which this Robert Rodriguez film is based -- will be knocked out by it.
I admired its style and the numerous fantastic performances -- honestly, could any actor be more suited for this material than the deliciously rugged Clive Owen? Rodriguez and Miller, who co-directed, do an amazing job of re-creating the comic, transferring every shadowy detail of its frames to the celluloid form. But I must admit that after an hour or so, I got a little exhausted by the whole thing. The plotlines of the interconnected stories become repetitive. And there are only so many decapitations, gun battles, bare-knuckle brawls and lines of dialogue like, "I'll always love ya, baby," that I can take before I need to wash away all the grime and grit that "Sin" -- in its strangely admirable way -- supplies.
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