Frank Miller's Sin City: A Dame To Kill For

It's "Just Another Saturday Night" and Saturday's are usually "Take Out the Trash" Day...

 

Frank Miller's Sin City: A Dame To Kill For (Robert Rodriguez, Frank Miller, 2014) Frank Miller became the darling of comic-book fans by bringing a mature, gritty, often brutal, sometimes mystical approach to iconic comic-book heroes—specifically Marvel's Daredevil and DC's Batman—when he got the chance to write them and mark them with a stamp of more than just india ink. He could be radically forthright in his interpretations, and for young men—and women—enamored of four-color literature (people who read comic books and take them seriously), he became one of the top-tier of comic-creators.

But, writing for "Daredevil" and "Batman", owned by corporate interests who were also interested in the longevity of the character and its marketability for selling T-shirts and toys—sorry, action figures—there was only so much creative lee-way he was allowed. Creating his own works—like the Samurai series "Ronin" or his spartan graphic novel about the Spartans, "300," let his talents bloom full-flower. His "Sin City" series let him tackle the noirish aspects of pulp novels, filled with roughneck men and soft women who were hard as nails, while employing a radical design sense of dark pages (rather than the usual white) blasted by white highlights of louvered light with just a dash of color. Miller allowed his drawing to become blocky and stark, emphasizing the filmic frame, rather than graphic details. And he bleached the traditional four colors of comics—just as the industry was benefiting from more sophisticated color printing—to a monochromatic night-scape (something artist Jim Steranko had used to great effect in his graphic novel "Chandler: Red Tide").

Miller's influence could be seen when the Batman character returned to the screen under Tim Burton's direction (but, more especially when Zack Snyder was allowed to tinker with the character later), and he was approached to do script-work, turning out the screenplays for Robocop 2 and Robocop 3. His graphic novels started to make their way to film and he was approached by Robert Rodriguez to script a film version of his "Sin City" series, to which he was added as co-director as the resulting film took so many cues from the original work—Rodriguez was even using the graphic novels as story-boards.

That movie, Sin City, was a success, making a lot of money and revived the careers of a lot of people, including Mickey Rourke, who was encased in so much prosthetics to play the character of "Marv", but it didn't distract from his acting (he even did press interviews in the make-up which was...weird). Sin City looked different. It felt different. Plus, there was the eerie feeling that you were watching a comic-book literally come to life—the same impression evoked by Zack Snyder's adaptation of Miller's 300—that the film was merely filling in the missing parts of the "money shots" displayed in the comics. But, it wasn't a movie you could take seriously—you needed a jaded humor to appreciate that it was over-the-top satire and not really reflective of the noir genre Miller wanted to ape. The dialogue was bad, clipped less from the gritted-teeth jargon of B-movie writing and more like Spillane spillage. What movie was it that said "the cheaper the hood, the gaudier the patter?"*  

Sin City (both the books and film) should be so lucky. It's a distillation of Hemingway minimalism and thug-mumbling, with punch-lines of nihilism that are supposed to be funny, but ultimately are just for an audience so low on Gustav Hasford's "phony tough and crazy brave" index that they think it's sophisticated. A.O. Scott had it right when he said that Sin City "offers sensation without feeling, death without grief, sin without guilt, and, ultimately, novelty without surprise." That's what they would call in these things "a head shot"—couldn't've been put better.

The financial success of the first Sin City led to a sequel of sorts—released nine years after the first one—featuring two original Miller tales as well as adapting his short story "Just Another Saturday Night", as well as the tale the film is titled for, "A Dame To Kill For".

The first film was a true anthology, with one of the stories being split up for a final resolution at the end. A Dame To Kill For jumps around, allowing time to pass for the healing of wounds and grudges to fester. The film also brings back characters from the first film—forget the fact that they might have died!—to continue stories or serve as prequels to the previous film.

The first story is one of Miller's shorter stories (from "Dark Horse Comics Presents") called "Just Another Saturday Night" in which his character "Marv" (Mickey Rourke) wakes up from an auto accident on the edge of town with no idea how he got there. This has to be an early tale—a prequel, if you will—because if you've seen the first Sin City movie, Marv was executed in it...by the electric chair.

The second story, "A Long Bad Night" stars Joseph Gordon-Levitt as Johnny, a cocky gambler who comes into town for a big score with under-pinned reasons. He goes to what seems to be the only bar in town—Kadie's Place, where all the Sin City regulars hang out, like Marv, and where Nancy Callahan (Jessica Alba) dances. But, like everything in Sin City, it has a hidden side (given everybody's instincts one would think nothing would be hidden in that burg).

 

Senator Roark (Powers Boothe) arrives at Kadie's for the poker game in the back room—just missing being plugged by a vengeful-but-chicken Nancy for the death of her guardian angel, Hartigan (Bruce Willis—his character died in the last movie, but this is based on a comic book and nobody really dies in comics, even ones written by Frank Miller). Johnny, who's had a string of wins on the slots, uses one of the waitresses, Marcie (Julia Garner) to buy in on the game. 

 

He cleans out the Senator—who, of course, has a reputation and everybody named Roark in Sin City is not only a psychopath but a corrupt psychopath. With Roark seething, Johnny is advised by the police lieutenant in the game to blow Sin City and pronto, but, as nobody in town seems to have any sense whatsoever, Johnny takes Marcie and they decide to have a night on the town. It should be noted that, as this is an original Miller story for the movie, Rodriguez isn't depending on Miller's comics for story-boarding and shot-lists, but delves into something Miller doesn't do in his graphic work, which is to resort to surrealism.** It causes a bit of a disconnect when it happens, like suddenly a musical sequence pops into a kitchen-sink drama. Yes, it's a transition device, but it's something that Miller never resorted to, short of impossible acrobatics and virtiginous angles.

As soon as you can say the words "predictably obvious" Johnny is attacked in town by Roark's goons, which he manages to dispatch and tells Marcie he'll hook up with her later at a hotel. But, before he can high-tail it to safety, he's manhandled into Roark's limousine where his winnings are stolen, his fingers broken and he's left in the street with an added bullet in his leg and Roark telling him he's his bastard-son ringing in his ears. Johnny swears revenge because that's the chief economic product in Sin City. Fade to monochromatic black.

Cut to "A Dame To Kill For" featuring Josh Brolin as Dwight McCarthy (played by Clive Owen in the "The Big Fat Kill" in the first Sin City movie and Dame is a prequel to that story). Dwight is sober now, a private detective, and after a late-night rescue of a hooker (Juno Temple) from her corporate lover (Ray Liotta), he is contacted by an old flame Ava Lord (Eva Green) asking to meet him at Kadie's Place (natch!) to tell him that the fat-cat (quite literally) she left him for years a go is a violent abuser and that she now fears for her life. Dwight is non-committal, but he's an addict (isn't he?), so he can't help but go back to the Lord compound to see what he can do about her situation. What he spies doesn't tell him anything about abuse—Ava is swimming nude, obviously not showing any bruises and contusions—but, investigating further, he's beat up and tossed off the Lord property.

 

He goes home only to find a naked Ava in his bed. And, as Sin City people, apparently can't feel pain, he succumbs and the two frantically make love, despite his not trusting her and being beat up within an inch of his life. 

 

Another thing: With "A Dame To Kill For" Miller began experimenting with how much nudity he could get away with in his comics, usually with his by-now draping shadows, which, when Rodriguez replicates it for the screen, merely comes off as slightly ridiculous, along the lines of an Austin Powers "hide-the-wiener" sequence. Things are exposed, alright, but exposed as juvenile and puerile.

Yeah, yeah...I kvetch about the nudity, but I put these up...(for illustrative purposes, of course!)

And I might get a couple of extra puerile "clicks" for it.

Any after-glow he might have is interrupted by the Lord chauffeur-bodyguard Manute (Dennis Haysbert, replacing Michael Clarke Duncan, who had died in the 7-year lag between producing Sin City and Sin City: A Dame To Kill For) who beats Dwight up and tosses him out the window. So, Dwight has been beaten up twice over this woman—anybody detecting a flat learning curve?

Dwight's determined to save Ava, so he teams up with Marv (hey, it's a small town...) to strike the Lord compound and get her out, and although a fair amount of wet-work is done, the results are not optimum—Dwight ends up falling out another window after a few bullets to the body—and one to the face. Marv scoops up what's left and takes him back the detectives Old Town haunts, where he is tended to by a gang of assassin-hookers led by another old flame (Rosario Dawson) and the very dangerous ninja-assassin Miho (Jamie Chung), who heel his wounds and do some reconstructive surgery, presumably to help him look more like Clive Owen. The instruments probably won't need to be sharp as Dwight isn't that sharp himself, planning on making one more excursion to Lord Manor after his recuperation. The girls evidently don't do brain transplants...or extensive therapy.

 Here's another "film noir quote" for you: "So many guns. So few brains."***

Okay, enough about "A Dame To Kill For". Once enough people are pushing black-and-white daisies in that one, Rodriguez and Miller pick up the "Long, Bad Night" story...

Johnny, probably reading a Yelp! review of the reconstructive surgery-hookers, goes to see another saw-bones (Christopher Lloyd), a heroin addict, who resets Johnny's fingers (not sure why, as he presumably can look at his cards one-handed—it's not like he's a pool-hustler or anything) and sets out to get his revenge on his legitimately illegitimate Dad, the Senator. Absolutely busted, Johnny borrows a single dollar from a waitress (Lady Gaga...LADY GA-GA!?) and repeats the strategy that got him into the poker game at Kadie's...and cleans the Senator out...again. So...dear old Daddy shoots him in the head. End of story. We waited through the peek-a-boo idiocy of "A Dame To Kill For" to get this?

Yeah. But, it ain't over. There's still "Nancy's Last Dance"—remember the stripper at Kadie's...Jessica Alba/Bruce Willis...didn't shoot the Senator? Sounds like there's a revenge story going wasting. Can't have that.

Nancy decides to go after the Senator after spiraling into depression and drink and giving herself a bad hair-cut, all the time being watched over by the ghost of Hartigan...

Wait. Wait, wait, wait, wait, wait. Isn't "Sin City"—the concept—derived from the hard-scrabble reality of B-movies and pulp-books? Aren't they supposed to be rooted in the American Promise Unfulfilled, where the well-intentioned are driven to desperation due to the economic inequities that reward the retention of wealth by any means necessary, while the principled person "doing the right thing" can't even catch a break? Isn't the basis of these things the "Reality-Is-A-Bitch" principle (if you can call it that)?

And we got a ghost? What the Hell?

I'll go out on the shakiest limb—Stanley Kubrick once said that his version of "The Shining" couldn't be depressing because it implied the existence of an after-life. Right? It doesn't all end with death. We go on. There is no such thing as extinction. Even a BAD after-life is better than no after-life at all. You get a do-over. Another chance. You don't get "second chances" in film-noir unless "the other guy" is a sucker. And you don't wake up from "The Big Sleep" that's what makes it so bad. Death eliminates Hope...and the near-occasion of fooling yourself.

And yet, here's Frank Miller going all-Shirley Jackson on us. What a bunch a' hooey.

Or...maybe they just wanted Willis back, however implausibly, to boost audience recognition and as a box office draw. Talk about "hope". Didn't work, though; Sin City: A Dame to Kill For was an aesthetic failure, a critical failure, and a box office failure, the full negative-Hat Trick.

There's only so many times you can go to the well, when it's basically a dry hole. It's a parody. It's like telling the same joke twice in a row. Don't expect the same results both times. Resurrect all the characters you want; all you're showing is that you've run out of ideas.

One thing you can say, for sure, about Sin City: They've got a hell of a recycling center.

* Dashiell Hammett wrote it for "The Maltese Falcon." I've read everything Hammett ever wrote. He knew he was writing trash, but, by god, he made sure it was the BEST trash, and elevated the genre.

** Although he would when he was directing his film of The Spirit.

 

*** Yeah, that's Raymond Chandler from "The Big Sleep"

Bright Star

Every so often you get bored with writing reviews—and I don't have a supervisor or editor (that should be obvious by a scan of the material) and I do this as a hobby and a form of preserving some space in my brain. But, one gets tired of writing Thesis/Description/Particulars/Summation on a perpetual basis. One gets in a rut, which isn't good for me (the writer) and you (the reader, one hopes). So sometimes, one experiments.

This was one of those times.

Looking back on it, I find it amusing, not exactly helpful as far as details, and the writing almost as tortured as the doomed romance portrayed.

Eh. "You win some, you lose some"...just like love.

Composed at the time of the film's release...

 

"Perish the Thought"*

There are many artists I would put inside the director's pantheon,
But of all those chaps, among my faves is Jane (the Aussie) Campion.

Her heroes (mostly female) both imbue and fight the schisms
that go along (as well they might) with social ostracism,

maintaining self, their specialness, not merely as statistic
that goes against the status quo of things paternalistic.

Campion works in mythic films, the types you can get lost in,
But this one takes some pages from that other Jane (Ms. Austen).

For though her films have, in the past, explored romantic themes,
I'd call them cautionary, "love's not always what it seems."

But this tale of Miss Fanny Brawne and lovin' bard, John Keats
shows a more impassioned love, although keeping it discreet.

It's not like modern movies where the sex is done to death
The most explicit this one gets is int'mate shuddering breaths.

The costumes are exquisite, the period details, right
Abbie Cornish and Ben Whishaw make you feel their love's delight.

It truly is amazing the director took this chance
to realize, to dramatize unmodernized romance

I wouldn't be surprised to find this one in Oscar's thicket.
That's why I grant Bright Star a most deserv'd "Full Price Ticket."**

* Shall I review Bright Star in verse?
(I don't know. I could do worse)

** My old blog—from where this thing comes—had a rating system (which I now don't do because I hate them and hate the parsing—3 stars or 4 stars? Hmmm), which based movies on the amount of money you should spend on it, which went (from highest to lowest):

Full Price Ticket

Matinee

Rental ("Rental? What's THAT?!")

Cable-Watcher

A Waste of Time 

When I started B/C-L, I abandoned the rating system entirely, as I've reconsidered the monetization of worth, but, at the time, I thought it was a good idea, as it was inspired by the quote from Alfred Hitchcock: "A good film is when the price of the dinner, the theatre admission and the babysitter were worth it."

The History of John Ford: My Darling Clementine

When Orson Welles was asked what movies he studied before embarking on directing Citizen Kane he replied, "I studied the Old Masters, by which I mean John Ford, John Ford, and John Ford." 

Running parallel with our series about Akira Kurosawa ("Walking Kurosawa's Road"), we're running a series of pieces about the closest thing America has to Kurosawa in artistry—director John Ford. Ford rarely made films set in the present day, but (usually) made them about the past...and about America's past, specifically (when he wasn't fulfilling a passion for his Irish roots). 

In "The History of John Ford" we'll be gazing fondly at the work of this American Master, who started in the Silent Era, learning his craft, refining his director's eye, and continuing to work deep into the 1960's (and his 70's) to produce the greatest body of work of any American "picture-maker," America's storied film-maker, the irascible, painterly, domineering, sentimental puzzle that was John Ford, John Ford, and John Ford.

 

My Darling Clementine (John Ford, Lloyd Bacon, 1946) Stuart Lake's 1931 biography of Wyatt Earp, "Wyatt Earp: Frontier Marshal," had already inspired two previous Earp movies—one in 1934 and one in 1939, both titled Frontier Marshal—and in 1946, he published another book "My Darling Clementine." John Ford took an interest in the latter and bought the film rights, using it to make the last film he owed on his contract with 20th Century Fox.

Ford had revolutionized the Western genre with his 1939 film of Stagecoach and My Darling Clementine was his return to making horse operas since that film. Ford also wanted to make the film as he had conversed with the real Wyatt Earp during his silent-movie days, and he wanted to make an accurate depiction of the frontier town of Tombstone and of the climactic Gunfight at the O.K. Corral, a 30 second skirmish in the city's streets that author Lake had mythologized in "Frontier Marshal".

There are those who say this is Ford's best Western, though, as great as it is, I find it slightly problematic. Great, but there are little details that paw at the dirt. For the first point, it is wildly inaccurate about events during Earp's tenure in the law while he was in Tombstone. He was never sheriff as the film depicts—that was his brother Virgil (played in the film by Tim Holt)—the Earps weren't cowboys but gamblers and pimps...and opportunists. Old Man Clanton (played by Walter Brennan at his most repellent) who, in the film, is the instigator of the bad blood between the Earps and the Clanton and whose killing of Virgil leads to the famous "gunfight"—which also *cough* took place in 1881, not 1882—died before any of this took place. Doc Holliday was a dentist, not a surgeon, and there was never any "Clementine." One isn't even sure of the details of that gunfight, even though Ford says he staged it as Earp described it to him when the two found themselves on the same silent film-shoot. But, who lived and who died in real life is nothing like presented in the film.

Earp was well-known for "polishing his badge" in interviews—and Blake Edwards, in his 1988 film Sunset has Earp say "that's just how it happened...except for a lie or two." Certainly, Lake's biographies are rife with inaccuracies, due to writerly creativity, Earp's sketchy relationship to Truth and the efforts of Earp's widow, Josephine, to white-wash history in her husband's favor.

But, then we're also talking about John Ford, who, in two years, would make Fort Apache where John Wayne's Cavalry Captain Kirby York would lie to the press about the actions of his fallen superior Lt. Col. Owen Thursday (Fonda again) "for the sake of the Corps" and who would articulate the sentiment in 1962's The Man Who Shot Liberty Valance when a member of the press says "This is the West, sir. When the legend becomes fact, print the legend." Ford mythologized the West in his movies, even if, in later films, he would puncture those myths for a more nuanced perspective on "Manifest Destiny."

There's a story of Ford being confronted by a historian of the Old West about all those fictions in Clementine and Ford replied "Well...did you like the picture?" to which the guy said he did very much. To which Ford hammered back "What more do you want?"

 

Good argument, that. Really.

But, the other issue I have is that director's credit. What we have now as My Darling Clementine isn't exactly the film Ford made. 20th Century studio head Darryl Zanuck thought it was okay, but wanted to make changes to it—and employed studio employee Lloyd Bacon to shoot other scenes, while Zanuck trimmed some 17 minutes out of the film. Those non-Ford scenes include Henry Fonda's Wyatt Earp talking over the grave-site of his brother James (Don Garner), killed in an ambush by the Clantons. The other big change? The ending, where Earp bids farewell to Clementine. In Ford's version they shake hands. But, preview audiences felt...unfulfilled. So, Zanuck had Bacon shoot a new close-up of a farewell kiss. Afterwards, when Zanuck offered Ford another contract to do more movies at Fox, the director turned it down to make films, without Zanuck's interference, through his own studio, Argosy Pictures. 

So, what do we have in My Darling Clementine, that odd mixture of fiction and legend? History as we'd like it to be. Simplistic delineations between good and evil out on the edge of civilization. And where young Wyatt Earp has revenge on his mind—that part's certainly historically accurate—for the harm done to his family, it's a case of Good versus Bad (certainly less complicated than the testimonies given at the Earp's real-life trial after the incident) with Good triumphing and even getting the girl. Maybe it was Zanuck's treatment of it talking, but Ford dismissed it as "essentially a film for children."

Ford was toiling in the fields of Myth, not History. He was telling a far bigger story than the one leading to the rumble at the O.K. Corral; Ford was examining the story of the dawning of a frontier civilization. When the town of Tombstone is first introduced by old man Clanton he describes it as "wide-open". That's an understatement; it's not even a town, just a single row of "growing concerns"—a hotel, a boarding house, a saloon, a brothel, a store, "that" corral...and a barbershop. There isn't even a defining thing as a street—the doors of buildings face open landscape, interrupted by transitory covered wagons. It's rough and in its genesis.

It's certainly no place to raise a family, the only examples of which are the Earps and the Clantons, polar opposites—one defining anarchy and the other abiding by the rules, such as they are. The Earps come to Tombstone for a respite from the trail, leaving young brother James to look after their herd, only having that moment of relief lead to the young man's death, presumably ambushed by the Clantons. The Earps settle in town—after Wyatt resolutely handles a disturbance—ultimately to settle scores.

Their positions as law-men will be a challenge to the Clantons, but also to Tombstone's most prominent citizen, "Doc" Holliday (Victor Mature), once a surgeon, now a drinker, gambler, and gun-fighter. He has come to—appropriately—Tombstone to die, running from his past life to the drier desert, hoping it will help his tuberculosis. He has come to town a dead man walking, and he's lost hope...in his health, himself, and in everything. His existential crisis is first irritated by the presence of the Earps—he can't exactly throw his callousness around anymore—but it comes to a respectful kindredship. He begins—against a thousand reasons not to—to hope.

Part of this transformation is due to his friendship with Wyatt, who is centered, contained, confident, and unflappable. Henry Fonda's interpretation of Wyatt is not given to overzealousness or going off half-cocked. He's steady...even in a crisis...in stark contrast to the Clantons who know no bounds or ethics. The man who no longer believes in anything, starts to find purpose. And the rough-hewn Earp begins to gradually become more dapper, in no small part due to the presence in town of Holliday's former flame and assistant, Clementine Carter (Cathy Downs), who has come there to try to bring Holliday back to his old life.

The balance of Tombstone shifts from merely trying to persevere against adversity to appearing to thrive, to build, and—once the Clantons are taken care of—why, they even presume to hire a schoolteacher. How's that for putting down roots and hoping for the future? 

You boil down those "legends of Wyatt Earp" (forget all those troublesome details)—and you get the story of the building of community, which is far less exciting than the turf-battles and gun-fights of less-considered examples of the Western, but the more protracted, difficult story of mending fences.

That's the story of My Darling Clementine. Not "the taming of the West" but the taming of our worst instincts.

To Rome With Love

Written at the time of the film's release...

Around the World in Woody's Malaise

or
The Ozymandius Melancholia Gambit ("Turbulence!  My Favorite!")

Far be it for me to suggest that Woody Allen might actually be comfortable in his own skin as a storyteller. but when it has come time for him to do his own "Roman Holiday" film, To Rome With Love, there's not a hint of Fellini in it (Been there, done that—specifically, way back in 1980, when he made his Stardust Memories in tribute to the great Italian film-maker). 

Truth to tell, his latest has more in common with the Italian "anthology" films of the 1960's, where directors would tackle similar themes in short personal films.

To Rome With Love has four interlocking fantasias about love and personal dissatisfaction: in the first, a young married couple (Alessandro Tiberi and Alessandra Mastronardi) come to Rome, where he is to be introduced to his new work situation—eager to make a good impression, the wife goes shopping and ends up getting lost and involved with an Italian film-star, and hubby, thanks to a case of mistaken identity, must go to his functions in the company of a pre-arranged hooker (Penelope Cruz); the second involves two architects, one seasoned (Alec Baldwin), the other just starting out (Jesse Eisenberg) who become each other's fantasy figures (of a sorts) when the young architect, already attached to Sally (Greta Gerwig), falls for her best friend Monica (Ellen Page), a self-involved, if fascinating, actress.

The third involves a "normal member of the middle class" in Rome (Roberto Benigni) who suddenly becomes "famous for being famous," and is pursued and interviewed by an indiscriminate paparazzi; the fourth involves a former classical music executive (Allen), who discovers a great opera singer (Fabio Armiliato) in the family of his potential son-in-law..with conditions.

The setting is Italian, but the themes are pure "Allen-town." Each of the characters get a brief glimpse of "life on the other side," gingerly placing their toes where the grass is greener, and find it wanting, but themselves enriched from the experience, survived without harm or consequences paid. Baldwin's architect gets to play devil's advocate (much the same way as Bogart did in Play It Again, Sam) with a realist's wisdom, as opposed to a romantic's fool-hardiness—a good cure for his nostalgia. The Italian couple experience romantic fantasies before settling down to domestic bliss, not older but wiser.

Benigni's civil-functionary briefly enjoys cultural significance, with all the invasiveness and dissection of minutiae, before returning to anonymity and the value of a private life, and Allen's retiree gets to witness a fulfillment of his dreams by providing a channel for another, and, having achieved it, returning to his normal life.

Any of these stories could be set anywhere. Rome provides a nice catalyst for these quick short pieces that summarize the Allen world-view: "Life is terrible, but it beats the alternative." And it's buttressed by the standard "Volare"...which mean "to fly." 

Happy landings.