SIN CITY (2005), dir. Frank Miller, Robert Rodriguez, and Quentin Tarantino (guest director)

Sleaze, Style, and Salvation

"Sin City" paints a world where power corrupts, where the beating heart of a city, represented by the Roark clan, has corrupted absolutely. In this amped-up noir vision given us by comic book legend Frank Miller, and directors Robert Rodriguez ("Desperado," "Once Upon a Time in Mexico") and Quentin Tarantino ("Pulp Fiction," "Kill Bill"), the highest levels of political and religious authority conceal a seedy darkness that would make your skin crawl. Here in "Sin City," there are no angels. Only weathered mortals who walk a line between virtue and evil that is as hopelessly grey as the cinematography.

"Sin City" spins a trio of crime-related tales: Detective Hartigan (Bruce Willis), a good cop with a bad ticker, closes in on a serial child rapist whose father is the powerful Senator Roark (Powers Booth). Marv (Mickey Rourke), a hulking, pill-popping ex-con with a face even a mother would have trouble loving, wakes up after a one-night stand to find himself beside a dead blonde. Framed for her murder, Marv embarks on a mission, leaving a trail of pulverized (or worse) bodies in his wake. Lastly, another jailbird, Dwight (Clive Owen), finds himself a victim of circumstance, caught up in a war between the leather-bound female commandos of a liberated red light district, and a bone-crushing mobster named Manute (Michael Clarke Duncan), who makes Marv look puny by comparison.

Frank Miller’s graphic novel series of the same name is one of the most popular non-superhero comics of the last decade-and-a-half. I assume Rodriguez is a big fan, given how involved he reportedly wanted Miller to be. A great deal of care and reverance has clearly been lavished upon the completed film. "Sin City" the movie includes much of Miller’s particular hard-boiled speak, a large percentage of it presented as voiceover, a technique faithful to the source material.

"Sin City" the graphic novel used a lot of monologue blurbs. Translating it to voiceover is essential since Hartigan, Marv, and Dwight are each the strong, silent type. If the audience couldn’t get into their heads, it’s doubtful they’d be able to get a feel for the characters. The movie would be boring as a result of that emotional distance. Worse, viewers would be denied such witty banter as, "Hit men… No matter what you do to them, you never feel bad about it afterward," and "Take down Senator Roark. Yeah, right. Maybe after I’ve performed that little miracle, I’ll go punch out God."

Artistically, nothing I have seen compares to this movie. There are shots, such as Marv leaping feet-first down a stairwell from an above perspective, which look like they could have been lifted directly from a comic book. Another shot, Detective Hartigan from the waist up in the midst of a snowstorm, could be either a comic book panel or a sequence in a Hitchcock film. The black-and-white cinematography by jack-of-trades Rodriguez is wonderful throughout, as far as setting a mood. In the rankings of modern black-and-white cinematography, it’s a close second behind Roger Deakins’ work in "The Man Who Wasn’t There." Deakins’ work seemed slightly crisper, but maybe that’s because "Sin City" was done entirely with digital camera, in front of green screens (Rodriguez’ specialty).

"Sin City" was an extremely violent comic book. In adapting it for the screen, a lot of the violence, including beatings, characters being shot multiple, multiple times, limbs and organs being ripped off, was retained. The end result: A movie that ranks up there with Tarantino’s "Kill Bill" flicks, and Frank Miller’s screenplay for "Robocop 2," for most variety of methods for damaging the human body. Luckily, Miller and Rodriguez each show the soul of an artist as well as a sadist. They soften some of the worst violence in the movie by: (a) having it done offscreen, (b) using visual trickery to make it less realistic-looking, and (c) implementing black humor.

Killing someone offscreen is a cinematic technique that might predate color film stock. Rodriguez and Miller probably didn’t need Tarantino—who used it so effectively in "Reservoir Dogs’" infamous ear-slicing scene—to coach them. When a samurai-sword wielding hooker named Miho (Devon Aoki) draw-and-quarters Jackie Boy (Benicio Del Toro), a scumbag who won't take no for an answer, we only hear the sword swing, and see blood splatter on her face in close-up. It sounds gorier than it appears on the screen. The black-and-white photography makes it look like chocolate syrup. Also, it splashes Aoki’s face in a way that would only work if faces were completely flat, which they aren’t. Trust me, the effect is cartoony. Imagine how cream pies used to drip down Elmer Fudd’s face after Bugs Bunny would hit him with one.

The Jackie Boy slicing scene belongs to the category of visual trickery, too. During other moments, I suspect Miller and Rodriguez drew upon the comics to make dismemberments, and scenes of folks getting beaten to a pulp, more palatable. Fact is, blood on a page never looks as realistic as blood on a stage. I’ve perused many a comic book during my life, and blood is regularly colored black. End result: a gushing head wound looks no more offensive than an ink blot.

The filmmakers make similar aesthetic choices in "Sin City." When a character gets his arm chopped off, the stuff that comes pouring out has the runny consistency of blood. Through the use of digital coloring, however, it’s painted white. Not nearly sickening as the real thing. In another scene, a man literally gets his genitals ripped off, and his head pounded until all that’s left is a viscous spot. Even in a black-and-white motion picture, this kind of violence would be sickening. Luckily, even at his best, the character who gets mauled doesn’t resemble a human being so much as a swollen, jaundice-yellow blob. The puddle he leaves on the scenery looks like a mustard stain. It's more fascinating to look at than disgusting.

Finally, "Sin City’s" use of droll humor goes a long way towards making it viewable. Take, for example, the scene where Marv and his beautiful ex-parole officer ("Spy Kids’" Carla Gugino) find themselves imprisoned by the feral, razor-nailed "trophy collector" (Elijah Wood). Marv’s parole officer begins talking about the terrible atrocities their captor has committed. He’s even done something to her, but she is slow to reveal it. Gradually, she undoes a bandage over one of her hands, and as the music on the soundtrack gathers into a crescendo, at its height, she reveals the horrifying violation she has suffered. It is one of the most disturbing sights in the film, which is saying something. As the screen goes dark, I felt a jolt go through me and the audience.

Then the screen fades-in again, and the Carla Gugino character says, flatly, "Man, I need a cigarette." The audience laughed in relief. So did I. What skill, building tension, then using humor to quickly deflate our discomfort.

The multiple story structure of "Sin City," not to mention Quentin Tarantino’s name in the opening credits, might lead to inevitable comparisons between this movie and "Pulp Fiction." But these two films are very different animals. In Tarantino’s 1994 magnum opus, every subsequent chapter affected the way we interpreted the previous one. Structurally, the movie twisted back in on itself, yet somehow, tied up all its loose ends neatly. "Sin City" seems more interested in sprawling than twisting. The titular location (short for Basin City) is a character onto itself, and each chapter offers a different dark corner to peek into. On a whole, the movie is messier than "Pulp Fiction," but feels more comprehensive. Watching is like embarking on a grand tour of a most unwelcoming country.

What more can be said, other than "Sin City" is a world of uncompromising bleakness. Here, good doesn’t always triumph over evil, and political power holds greater sway than the truth. Everywhere lurk psychopaths and thieves, hired scumbags (numerous hit men, including one who appears in the film’s bookends, played by Josh Hartnett), dirty cops, and other fringe-dwellers. But if there’s one thing that redeems this cornucopia of street scum, it’s the noble streak that can be found in even the most vile.

Marv doggedly pursues the murderer of a woman he barely knew. Why? Because she was kind to him. To hear Marv tell it, hookers wouldn’t take money from him, and this blonde goddess gave herself for free. Dwight, meanwhile, gets involved in the war between the red light district and the mob, to save Gail (Rosario Dawson), a beautiful leather-bound vixen whom he was once involved with.

Hartigan, finally, has seen one too many dead little girls. He’s willing to cross the law, the thing he’s upheld all his life, to take down Junior Roark, a coward who hides behind his big daddy’s name. Some would argue that a cop who declares himself judge, jury, and executioner is no better than your average store-brand murderer. But something deserves to be said about Hartigan’s fatalistic attitude. "An old man dies, a young girl lives." To him, that sounds like a fair trade. Hartigan knows his actions will bring down all shapes and sizes of Hell upon his head. But someone’s got to stand up to the Roarks. Somebody’s got to do the right thing.

Rumor is, Robert Rodriguez dropped out of the Director’s Guild over the credits to "Sin City." He wanted Frank Miller and Quentin Tarantino to get co-directing honors, which he felt they deserved. The DGA said no. Robert Rodriguez burned his membership card.

I admit to not being a lifelong fan of Rodriguez’ various movies. The "Mariachi" trilogy had great moments, but never added up to much. "Sin City" is also sort of scatter-brained, though it’s easily the most accomplished effort by the director so far. However, if the DGA-fallout story happens to be true, I am now a fan of Rodriguez’ politics, as well as his latest movie. Good for him, choosing to fight the power. Hartigan, Marv, and Dwight would be proud.

Overall rating: **** (out of ****)

ROBOT STORIES (2003), dir. Greg Pak

Engages the Mind While Touching the Heart

Like a well-oiled, productive machine, "Robot Stories" offers more in eighty-eight streamlined minutes than most flicks three times as long. It’s a movie that presents ideas, and asks questions, such as: Can a robot serve as a surrogate for a mother’s relationship with her son, or a mother for her baby? Is a computer-generated replicant of a former lover, missing all the flaws that lover had, preferable to the real thing? Can human beings learn to love machines? Do machines need love?

Writer/director Greg Pak asks these questions, among others, in four tales about people and robots. An independent effort, his film isn’t exactly cineplex sci-fi fodder. There are few special effects in "Robot Stories," and the ones it has are more atmospheric than elaborate. But the movie itself looks good for an indie, and there is some wonderful acting that complements an intelligent script.

Plotwise, Pak’s quartet of tales breaks down the following way: An egg-shaped droid serves as a practice run for a childless couple in "My Robot Baby." Ultraman-style toys become a mother’s link to her comatose son in "The Robot Fixer." Corporations can order android employees for all their I.T. needs in the near-future world of "Machine Love." Finally, in the haunting segment "Clay," a dying artist has to decide whether to allow his brain to be preserved forever as a kind of computer program.

Personally, I liked "Machine Love" and "The Robot Fixer" best. What made "Machine Love" resonate most strongly was the contrast between the android (played by Pak himself wearing mannequin-esque make-up), who had very human traits such as curiosity and an ability to learn, and the corporate work environment, which seems about as dehumaned and dehumanizing as anything George Orwell ever thought up.

"The Robot Fixer," meanwhile, features a terrific performance by Wai Ching Ho as a mother whose son lies in a comatose state. She tries to fix up his childhood toys as a means of waking him out of his coma. I might have liked this segment more if the plot hadn’t reminded me of Lars von Triers’ "Breaking the Waves (1996)." But Wai Ching Ho does such good work that if Hollywood ever needs to cast an intelligent, non-stereotypical, middle-aged Asian woman, this movie should put her on several casting directors' short list.

Worst of Pak’s quartet might be “My Robot Baby.” From the opening flashback of domestic upheaval, wherein young Marcia is warned by her mother to “never have children,” we can already guess the direction of the rest of the tale: That grown-up Marcia (Tamlyn Tomita) will be a terrible mother, just like her own maternal model, until the titular robot redeems her. Expect no surprises here.

The last short, “Clay,” could also use further molding. Within its elliptical structure lies a tantalizing idea, that imperfection is synonomous with being human. Also intriguing, however, is the idea that a society could outlaw dying naturally, that is, without undergoing the brain-mapping process. I wish that Pak had explored that sub-plot further. Still, I give him credit for filling his glass at least halfway.

Overall rating: *** (out of ****)

SHAUN OF THE DEAD (2004), dir. Edgar Wright

When There's No More Room in the Suburbs, The Dead Will Get Their Heads Cracked with Cricket Bats

Looking back on the very clever, very funny "Shaun of the Dead," what stands out most strongly is the friendship between Shaun, a slacker in his late 20’s, and Ed, his hapless, boorish slob of a best pal.

Simon Pegg and Nick Frost, who play Shaun and Ed, respectively, have a natural, easy-going chemistry that makes their characters’ relationship entirely believable. It’s a classic formula. Shaun is the responsible straight man, while Ed is a veritable cartoon collection of rude manners and inappropriate behaviors.

But Ed readily cheers up his friend when Liz, Shaun's girlfriend (played by Kate Ashfield), dumps him. And there’s something genuinely sad and confused that bubbles up in Ed when other characters browbeat him. Who knows why Ed turned out the way he did? We do learn, however, that Shaun always defends him, and that they’ve been best mates since primary school. Most likely, if Shaun weren’t around to look after Ed, no one else would.

Unfortunately, Liz thinks Shaun’s old friendship is a symptom of a wider malaise that includes hanging out in the same bar every night. Truthfully, sharing a pint in the "Winchester" with Ed does seem more important to Shaun than his relationship with Liz. After she announces that she’s made "other plans" for her life, plans which don’t include her boyfriend, Shaun drunkenly determines to sort out his existence.

Luckily, before he’s had to commit to any radical alterations, zombies invade the suburbs. That’s right. Lest we forget, "Shaun of the Dead" is a zombie movie, in the tradition of George Romero’s "Night of the Living Dead" or "Dawn of the Dead." The plot involves (mostly) one-dimensional characters who hole up, and fight to keep hordes of flesh-eating, reanimated corpses from entering their enclosed space. In this case, the survivors-in-hiding include Shaun, Ed, Liz, her two flatmates, and Shaun’s mother. Fans of these kinds of movies may appreciate that the script hits other familiar notes. For example, infighting breaks out between characters. Also, one of them turns out to have suffered a zombie bite.

Much humor abounds as Shaun and company go through the motions of the plot. There are more laughs early on, when Shaun and Ed are oblivious to the zombie infestation. On the streets, they confuse the living dead for drunks. At home, they change the channel away from the TV newscaster before he’s had a chance to inform them of the crisis.

"Shaun of the Dead" might be the first zombie movie where it takes a while for the characters to tell the living from the undead, even after we, the audience, have figured it out. The screenwriters, Edgar Wright and Simon Pegg, do an admirable job milking the joke for no more than its worth. They seem to be arguing that our humdrum day-to-day lives have zombified us anyway, so even if we became zombies, there wouldn’t be much difference. Hence, the boy who kicks a soccer ball at Shaun’s head becomes a zombie boy who kicks a soccer ball at Shaun’s head. Also, the blurring of the line between what is human and zombie adds a bonus layer to a particular joke: One of the survivors, a failed actress, studies a zombie, and thinks its unearthly moan isn’t really that unusual. Actually, it reminds her of "a drunk who’s lost a bet."

If "Shaun of the Dead" works as a comedy, however, it falters as a horror flick during the second half. At one point, Shaun manages to stage-dive into a horde of zombies and emerge unscathed. True, this might have been a dig at the inherent flaw zombies have always had (and which zombie fans know)—they’re very slow and dim-witted. But like rhinocereses, they ought to be deadly in swarms. Once Shaun plows through a small army of them without being overwhelmed, they cease to be scary.

Nevertheless, the film is a lot of fun, and surprisingly satisfying. Trust that Shaun gets to prove to Liz how much he loves her, and to resolve his relationship with Ed. Ed continues to be himself, and his antics consistently generate laughs. While Shaun gets freaked out by the undead entering his domicile, Ed gleefully initiates a contest to hurl records at their heads. Behind the wheel of a car, he purposefully takes a "scenic route" so he can run zombies down. Is Ed more than just comic relief? Does he represent the filmmakers’ collective id, the way he turns the conventions of the zombie movie upside-down and inside-out?

I don't know. All I know is, even if you’re not a fan of Romero’s old creepfests, the Simon Pegg/Nick Frost duo will keep you involved until the final credits roll. And that's good, because the ending is truly sublime. It proves that good friendships never die, though our friends might.

Overall rating: *** (out of ****)