Sin City

Judy and I went to see Sin City yesterday. I tried to explain to Judy that this might not be her kind of movie, but she insisted. When it was over, I asked her how she liked it. She said, "It was about what I expected." I decided not to pursue the conversation any further.

From my point of view, Sin City was great. The B&W (with a few snippets of color now and then) photography is beautiful, and this is the best-looking movie I've seen in a long time. I'm amazed at what Robert Rodriguez can do in his garage in Austin.

The stories in the movie are lifted pretty much intact from Frank Miller's graphic novel of the same name, and graphic is the right word. There's enough violence to make Mickey Spillane blanch (though I figure Spillane must be a big influence on Miller). There's nudity. There's cannibalism.

Sure, it's all exaggerated, exaggerated to the point of impossibility. In our world. But not in the comic book world were the movie originated. That's the world where you slam a guy in the face fifteen or twenty times with a pistol, and all he needs is a few Bandaids. I think I liked the Mickey Rourke story best, simply because it's the most exaggerated.

I get the feeling this is a movie people will either like or hate. I liked it a lot.