Dir. Robert Rodriguez & Frank Miller
You’ve got to give the Sin City franchise this much at least: It plays like a souped-up brand machine for its various well-known actors. Both films lean heavily on casting known stars in what might be considered their most obvious signature roles for its dark, dank protagonists and twisted villains, thus Mickey Rourke plays a giant brute with a soft spot for the underdog named Marv; Josh Brolin plays a tough-guy everyman, smitten by the wrong black widow at the wrong time; Joseph Gordon-Levitt plays a slick kid with a smarmy smile and a luck streak a mile long; Eva Green plays a femme fatale par excellence, toying with the various men under her considerable lusty power; Powers Boothe plays a smirking senator, evil to the core, and abusive of his considerable power; and Jessica Alba plays an ungodly beautiful stripper, whose lithe sexuality barely hides a fully broken heart.
Part of the success of the first film — equally dark and violent but a good deal more effective — was watching those few actors (Elijah Wood, Clive Owen) who spun out from their noir syllogisms and actually had something resembling fun playing against their type. This sequel, coming nine long years since the first title, feels a good deal more harsh and surface — something of a problem when the film’s mise-en-scene relies so heavily on the work of graphic artist (and co-director/writer) Frank Miller.
It’s a similar effect to what Zack Snyder has almost exclusively relied upon: Actors working mostly in front of a green screen, so all the dark, seedy streets, towering festering buildings and comic-like raining backdrops can be added in post. Done well, and it can closely resemble the comic its so desperately trying to emulate; done poorly (Mr. Snyder), and it’s like a wildly overdone Photoshop job of a family portrait, with every face glistening too perfectly and the shadows melting none-too-believably into a scrim of visual hyperbole.
Much like the first film, Rodriguez and Miller attempt to weave several of Miller’s pithy short stories together, but unlike the first, which had a unifying thread or two to help unspool your possible objections, this film feels far more scattershot and unsatisfying. Marv takes out a group of college frat boys who get their kicks lighting winos on fire; Hot-shot Johnny (Levitt) blows into town in a vintage car, looking to score big at a local poker game run by the evil Senator Roark (Boothe), and runs afoul of the man after cleaning him out; the hapless Dwight (Brolin) gets played for a fool by the evil temptress Ava (Eva Green), and plots a singular revenge; while lovely Nancy (Alba) schemes to have equally rabid revenge on Roarke for her own reasons, finally enlisting the aid of quite literally her biggest fan.
There is a lot of hyper-stylized violence — the blood shots tend to be of the CGI splatter variety — with many balletic decapitations and gruesome bullet entry wounds, and plenty of smoldering sexuality (there might not be 30 consecutive seconds of screentime for Green before she’s either fully nude or draped in a see-through nightgown), but none of it has any kind of emotional impact. It’s too nihilistic and downright silly to be taken as anything more than a particularly bloody comic strip in what must be the most depressing daily newspaper ever sold on a newsstand. You can understand why actors of this caliber would flock to the production — the films are practically a calling card for them — but, at least in this case, the association isn’t really doing them any favors.