by It’s been a while since FRANK MILLER’S SIN CITY hit the screens and shook the world being the first R-rated comic book adaptation keeping minors from watching it. After all these years, it’s proven its value not only as a trailblazer, knocking home the realization that comic books aren’t just kids’ stuff. It’s also a visual masterpiece, often copied but never surpassed. Baffling to those that never scratch any deeper than the surface, seeing only violence and sex and cigarettes and drugs and guns. Mind-blowing to those that capture the artistry that actually went into making this story jump from highly-creative pages of illustration right onto screen.
SIN CITY is almost sacrilegous. First, it’s rated R, limiting the potential audience buying tickets tremendously. Second, it’s a straight-forward adaptation of source material so thoroughly, it’s almost as if the comic book pages had been cut out and fit into an Edison cinematograph. There’s no doubt plenty of paying viewers came out for the excitement of hard-boiled men doing hard-boiled stuff and sexy girls in leather clothing leaving little to one’s imagination, wielding guns whenever they’re not dancing on tables. At the same time, it’s demanding a great deal of suspension of disbelief from anyone following the story. It is no secret RRANK MILLER has drawn inspiration from Japanese mangas and animes. But those familiar with Japanese storytelling know that magical realism is a deeply- rooted concept within that culture. Japanese spirituality easily accepts mythical creatures living in realms only occasionally crossing lines with reality. Put simply, unrealistic occurrences and super-human powers are accepted without much resistance. Without this, SIN CITY would only be half the fun. By acknowledging superhuman powers in protagonists but omitting them in bystanders, the potential for excitement is increased by manyfold. Bullets won’t just clip flesh they make limbs explode. As viewers, we have to adjust to this in order to fully experience the displays of art taking place right in front of our eyes. Once we do, we’re in for a ride so uniquely fresh even Ezra Pound would’ve joined into the applause.
What is it that fascinates us so much with Marv? Thousands of years in the history of mankind and he would’ve a most valued individual. Resilient, strong, capable in doing what needs to be done, the ugly work. But in a modern world, Marv is displaced. What are his thoughts when he wakes up in the morning? Why would he even get out of bed? It is Goldie, triggering something in him. If anything, he can stand up for somebody else. And do what’s necessary. As much as we know his effort is in vain, we want him to succeed. Against a rotten system. Against injustice. His violence speaks to our almost forgotten most primitive instincts. Apart from the fascination, there’s a morbid aesthetic about his crusade. What is art, other than something – anything – that inexplicably appeals to us? Even when Marv pays the ultimate price being electrocuted, he forces his will upon the world by not dying so easily. And his words of farewell are as hard-boiled as they get.
The night is hot as hell. it’s a lousy room in a lousy part of a lousy town. I’m staring at a goddess, she’s telling me she wants me. I’m not going to waste one more second wondering how I’ve gotten so lucky. She smells like angels ought to smell. The perfect woman. The goddess. Goldie.
Marv
Other than Marv, Hardigan loses everything by doing what’s right. By being true to his standards, in a world that has no standards. At the same time, there’s no higher ground to be had. When Nancy confesses her love, both platonic and certainly straight-forward physical, what can Hardigan feel other than confusion? Not succumbing to his manly instincts, contrasting Marv, he’s civilized and enlightened while being her defender. Look at him as father figure and any devoted Freudian would have plenty to feast upon. It is only consequent that he’s eventually emasculating the Yellow Bastard before he finally kills him. And killing him with his bare fists, leaving no trace of any intelligent life in this world. By doing the right thing, Hardigan is trapped in conflict, punching the bail-out ticket for himself, hammering a slug through his brain, all seen in black and white. There’s no room for dialogue, the world is bereft of color and brightness. Fight or die. When you’re true to yourself and accept what’s at your heart, all you can do is perish. There’s a lesson in this, only it defies simple interpretations.
And what about Dwight, his face altered but the man behind it so prevalent that nothing could’ve been done about him? Set by old standards, he takes up the fight defending those “feeble” women that can very well take care of their own business. The result? Carnage. Not only physical carnage. It is also carnage of a wild heart, meeting another heart on fire. Frank Miller plays with these brute instincts and animalistic feelings, bringing people together. For worse, not the better. But they take their share of the fighting, they live with the consequences of their feelings and actions. There’s no salvation here. What an adequate realization in a town controlled by a man of the Lord who lives by his own questionable standards, not God’s. In the end, there’s only violence and passion, both to their own ends. As much as we want to understand the artistic appeal of the violence and why we’re drawn to all these displays of exaggeration and superhuman feats, we’re stunned. Stunned is an appropriate categorization. This clearly identifies SIN CITY as a work of art. We can’t explain it. And that’s why, after years and years and impostor films and criticism and what not, this film stays around.
We could continue analyzing SIN CITY, trying to be academic and stating once and for all why it’s been made and why it appeals to us and why it possess all that staying power. But that’s not even conducible by any means. It is what it is, a work of art. Like a Warhol. Look at a can of Campbell’s tomato soup and listen to the educated elite raving about artistic value, expression, quality – you soon realize you’re looking at a can of soup that looks good on canvas. It takes qualities to acknowledge the fact something is good because it can’t be explained. Doing any more to SIN CITY would be a bore. And it wouldn’t do it any justice. It is an artistic accomplishment, not only by Frank Miller for providing both story and unique comic book artwork, but also by Robert Rodriguez, the cast and the entire crew for bringing it alive on screen.
