Some people just don't understand the idea of "movies." Some retarded fucks go to see something as OBVIOUSLY stylized as Sin City and come away bitching and moaning, "Why was it in black and white?... Why wasn't it realistic?.... Why did that one character die?... He should have lived and then I'd be a happy mongoloid puppy getting its nuts massaged by my shittard owner who likes to fondle my nuts out of glee." You people make me sick. Didn't you read at least one of the comics before seeing it? Or, did you read the comics, like them, but then when EVERYBODY started reading them and seeing the movie you just had to be special and "cool," so then you knock it in order to prove.... What, that you're an asshat? Well, congrats. You are.
Frank Miller's Sin City is cut ass rugged. It's gorgeous to look at, the characters are all over the top (without being silly) tough guys/gals, and it captures Frank's original inked panels perfectly: from every pose, every shadow and every bandage on Marv's carved up face. It is the comic book brought to life. This is how the Batman movies should have looked. Robert Rodriguez was smart to bring Frank Miller himself aboard to co-direct (mostly because Rob's most famous for the shitty Spy Kids movies, which make herpes infested babies cry) in order to make sure that it looked and read as close to his original books as it could possibly be. Yeah, some tiny things were cut or changed (I would have loved to have seen Marv interacting with his frail little mother, but you can't have everything your way [fuck you Hootie and the Burger King]), but everything that was put into the film is perfect... Well, except for the fact that Bruce Willis doesn't look almost 70, like his character is, and that Nancy (Jessica Alba) doesn't dance naked on her stripper stage like her comic counterpart... but I'm just nitpicking now. Though, why get an actress who wasn't willing to do some nekkid bumping and grinding when there are hundreds of hotties out there who would have? Hell, I would have. You should see me go at it on that pole I had installed in my living room. I am a sexy beast.
Now, for those of you too retarded to drive yourself to the bookstore or download free comic books, I shall do my best to lay out what Sin City's all about. Basin City was started by the Roark Family a loooong time ago, and the best hookers from across the globe were brought in to entice stronger men to come in and work the mines (or some such thing that I'm too lazy to look up at the moment). Eventually the city grew to enormous size, and the hookers (who kept breeding hotter and hotter hooker daughters) and crooked cops ran it all, while the Roark Clan kept a watchful eye over everything. Nowadays, Cardinal Roark and Senator Roark are the king shits of the whole burg, and those who cross them find themselves in shit city. The three acts of the movie Sin City all play around uber-tough guys and girls (mostly whores..... Gorgeous and deadly, sumptuous whores) who end up breaking some of the rules that the Roarks set up. The first act is all about Marv. Marv is the ultimate badass -- He's strong as fuck, pretty much indestructible, and he's pretty smart, although he does "get confused sometimes" without his medication. See, one night, Marv was hanging out in Old Town (where the best hookers and booze are) when he met the most gorgeous woman he'd ever even seen, and for some reason, she chose him to hook up with that night (Marv ain't no Tom "girly boy" Cruise... His face looks like somebody took a tire iron to it for 20 minutes straight). After Marv had his fun and passed out, the girl, Goldie, was murdered, with the big guy still in the sack next to her. The police were called in before anybody could have known about the murder, and Marv decides then and there that he will do everything possible to bring her killer to justice. See, that's what makes Marv such a wicked bad ass -- He doesn't care about his name and police record, he just wants to make the bastard who kacked his angel-smelling sweetie pay through his nose. If it weren't for the voice over monologues (which make up about 80% of the script) you'd just think that Marv was one crazy, evil, sadistic son of a bitch. But, when we listen to his thoughts, we see the criminal logic behind his actions, and we see the results that his beastliness gets. Christ, if anybody who looks like Marv ever tells me that I'm wearing a "damn fine, good looking coat," you can bet your ass that I will hand it over to him before he even finishes his sentence.
I'm telling you, if I was ever forced to become an ugly, completely badass mother fucker because of some science experiment (or something just as fucked up) gone wrong, I'd pick either Darkman or Marv to emulate... Hmmm, no, on second thought I'd choose Marv, hands down. Marv ain't crazy like Neeson was. He's just mean to fuckers who piss him off, and he knows his own limitations better than anyone. He knows that he "gets confused sometimes" without his pills. Plus, he got to fuck Goldie. Goldie, like all the chicks who live in Sin City, is hotter than any woman YOU'LL ever meet live without stuffing a 20 spot in her g-string. But I digress.
The second act in the movie is all about Dwight. Dwight is quite the badass himself, but he's a bit more mysterious and stealthy than Marv. Marv is a sledgehammer, Dwight is a katana. Anyway, Dwight finds himself in the middle of the biggest gang war in Old Town (between the pimp-less hookers who run the place, and the mob that wants in on the action), due to his own overflowing machismo and Jackie-boy's stupidity in pissing on Dwight's new squeeze. Bullets and ninja stars (as thrown by Miho, the sexiest ninja hooker I've ever seen) fly, and lots of people and IRA thugs get blown the fuck away as a result (fyi, I don't consider IRA thugs to be "people"). This movie should get an Oscar just for this segment alone. Some of the hottest and toughest chicks on the planet (including Rori Gilmore) blow the fuck out of anything that moves with automatics and grenades, while they wear fishnets, leather V-neck tops, and stiletto thigh highs with really sexy tattoos all over their tight tight bods. They are... Wait. Excuse me for a second.
...............................Whew! I'm back. Where was I? Well, the third act follows Bruce Willis' Hartigan character. Hartigan is pretty much the only honest cop in town. It seems that the psycho son of Senator Roark has been kidnapping and raping little girls, and the police have all been looking the other way... All except for Hartigan. He makes it his duty to take Junior down, and he makes the sick fuck pay by taking away his fun-stick and goody sack with some well placed bullets... But then Hartigan gets caught in a double cross, and he gets framed for the very crimes he's been trying to stop. While in the big house, he gets through each week by looking forward to the letters sent by a little girl whom he saved from Junior right before he got plugged and locked away. He figures that it's okay for him to be in solitary as long as she's alright... But then the letters stop coming and Hartigan decides that he must find out if his sacrifice was in vain or not. Plenty of busted heads then happen, and the smelliest, freakiest fucker in town gets introduced: That Yellow Bastard. Fun stuff.
So anyway, if you did not like Pulp Fiction for stringing together three different tales into one loose movie, you will not like Sin City. If you did not like Robocop because people died horrible, violent, and sometimes pointless deaths right in front of your eyes, you will not like Sin City. If you did not like any Sam Spade-like movies from the 40s, because they were in black and white and everybody wore a trench coat, you will not like Sin City. If you didn't like Sky Captain because it was all digital and none of the sets were real, you are a moron and will HATE Sin City.
Sin City indeed! Truly, this Basin City is everything that Las Vegas pretends to be. Corruption in the police and the church, prostitution all over the damn place, and good guys getting the shaft every 5 minutes. Brilliant! See, this is real life in style, if not substance. Good never wins. Sometimes you think it won, but it turns out that it was really just evil in disguise. Good sucks. Sin is where it's at.
Arrrrrr, that little Hobbit boy truly had a mad stick up his arse in this here movie. He was leaping and slicing up people like a regular ol' leprechaun saving his lucky charms from those hedonistic little punks who care nothing for treasure, just for the ability to taunt elderly midgets... Arrrr, feck them all.
I was likin' the whole atmosphere of this here Sin City. It was all dark, and danky, and black and white... Kind of like me old homestead before I was forced to hop the pond and then later forced to take up residence in the back room of the Sea Wench Pub in order to get the feck away from that damn leech, Uncle Sam, and his Internal Revenue Gestapo goose-stepping kids! Feck you all! Arrrrrr! You made a grown man cry... But as I was sayin', all the back alleys, IRA thugs, and dirty dirty prostitutes reminded me of me ol' hole in the wall back in the ol' country. Only there was a bit less blood and puke and death in this pathetic movie. Christ on a stick! If they were gonna try and make this filth "dark and not-very-nice" the least they could have done is kill a few more whores and blow up a few more cops. It just didn't have the full effect. Arrrrrrr. Maybe I'll just take Carl and the Wolfman out this weekend and blow some shite up with them, and just pretend that we were in the movie. Or maybe we'll just blow some shite up.