Black and white has one meaning in film, and the opposite meaning in comic books. In film, black and white was the only available palette for a long time, and most of those early films were studio-produced entertainments. Black and white imagery in film feels classic, mainstream, morally simple. That’s why modern black and white films like Schindler’s List or The White Ribbon work so well, playing against the imagery to point out moral complexity.
But comic books have always been printed in bright colors. Mainstream, superhero comics are full of color, while indie artists have to limit themselves to black and white to afford the printing. Here, black and white imagery feels subversive and edgy, like the work of R. Crumb.
Or like the Sin City books. Frank Miller draws these comics in high-contrast black and white, often with one element in bright color for emphasis. The first Sin City film adaptation came out in 2005, and won praise for its faithfulness to the book’s look. The new sequel, subtitled A Dame to Kill For, does the same visual trick. At times, it looks more like animation than photography. It’s ironic that in this age of blockbuster movies based on comic books, this is the movie that really looks like one.
Like the first film, Dame presents three stories from separate volumes of the comic series, linked by some common characters and settings. These are hard-boiled revenge stories, full of criminals, femmes fatale, corrupt powers, women and men who have been wronged and are out for blood. No one we meet in Sin City is good, but the villains use their power to be more evil than the “heroes.” To me, the stories in the first film worked better than this set. These quests were less compelling and their conclusions less satisfying.
(In case you don’t know, I’ll warn you: Sin City: A Dame to Kill For includes a lot of nudity and a lot of violence.)
You might have said, reading the description above, that this sounds like an old film noir. Sin City, the comic, plays with film noir references all the time, including visual cues like harsh light through venetian blinds and thick cigarette smoke. The film, then, is a cinematographic attempt to look like a set of sequential drawings that were attempts to look like old movies. The visual semiotics are complicated but, imagery-wise, it works.
So, thumbs down for story, thumbs up for visuals and, unfortunately, a big thumbs down for spirituality. Befitting the name, Sin City is a place without any boundaries on behavior, where all seven deadly sins are expected and unchecked. The most sympathetic character is a murderous stripper. She delivers the last line of the film, saying that the city “soils whatever it touches.” It’s a good description of sin, and the film is a good depiction of sin running rampant without any thought of righteousness. There is a kind of justice, but only the direct retributive justice of revenge. And that “justice” just inspires more vengeful anger. It’s eye-for-eye, leaving the city blind. Here, people literally lose eyes.
This no-holds-barred city is presented as some kind of fantasy fulfillment, like the citizens are lucky to live without the inhibitions of the real world. The fantasy is the freedom, including the freedom to exact violent revenge on enemies. We the audience are expected to enjoy this fantasy, to wish we could visit Sin City. But, if we look a little deeper, we spot the lie. Without God, all the freedoms turn out to be traps.
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