2.5 stars. Rated R, for nudity, sexual content, brief drug use and relentless strong violence
By Derrick Bang • Originally published in The Davis Enterprise, 9.5.14
Nine years is a long time to wait
for a sequel, particularly one with interlinked stories that weave in and
around the first film’s similarly interconnected narrative.
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| Johnny (Joseph Gordon-Levitt) roars into Sin City, a man on a mission. He's determined to out-play the local power-monger during a high-stakes poker game ... but, in fact, Johnny also has a lot more on his mind. What else would drive such a flashy young man to such suicidal behavior? |
My memory isn’t up to that
challenge. And I’d argue that a film’s potential success shouldn’t rest on a
viewer’s willingness to embark on deep research, in order to have a better idea
of what’s going on.
But that isn’t the only problem
with Sin City: A Dame to Kill For, once again adapted by comic book
impresario Frank Miller, from his macabre and über-cynical Sin City graphic
novel series. The far bigger flaw is that Miller obviously cherry-picked his
best stories for the first film, whereas this one is laden with leftovers and
sloppy seconds.
The result is a common cinematic
disease: all style and very little substance.
To be sure, Miller and gonzo
co-director Robert Rodriguez once again deliver the material with the seamy,
amped-up decadence and hard-bitten dialogue that will amuse fans of 1940s and
’50s film noir classics. The atmosphere oozes with scandal: the tough guys hard
as granite (literally); the dames, floozies and femme fatales straight out of
Hammett and Chandler ... assuming, of course, that their women would have pranced
about in cleavage-enhancing goth/punk corsets and garters. Or nothing at all.
But do bear in mind — as with the
first film — that only the actors are real here; the rest is CGI fabrication.
That means all the buildings and streets in (Ba)sin City, not to mention all
the action scenes, car chases and death-with-prejudice fist fights, maimings,
decapitations and defenestrations, not to mention samurai-style limb slicing
and arrows through eyeballs. No more “real” than the gladiator nonsense of 300 and its recent sequel.
As further befitting the
material’s noir sensibilities, this is a primarily black-and-white universe,
aside from occasional splashes of red (lipstick, blood) or full color, the
latter generally employed — with heavy irony — to suggest a character’s
innocence.
This is deliberate, of course;
the goal is to bring Miller’s savage comic book artwork and sensibilities to
the screen. Literally. He and Rodriguez once again succeed, catching the
feverish artistic vitality that crackles like heat lightning on every one of
Miller’s blasphemously violent pages.
But our potential engagement with
the results — as always is the case with live-action movies, as well — depends
upon engaging characters and compelling storylines.
And that’s where this sequel
falls flat.
