SIN CITY (2005)

Alongside Jack Kirby, Alan Moore, and Neil Gaiman, few figures in the world of graphic storytelling have such a profound and enduring legacy as Frank Miller. The legendary graphic novelist has become synonymous with the brooding ethos of contemporary noir, and his work is imbued with a singularly subversive sensibility. It was during the 1980s that he irrevocably redefined the superhero genre, first through his revolutionary tenure on 1986’s Daredevil: Born Again and then his groundbreaking reimagining of Batman in The Dark Knight Returns the same year. However, Miller’s artistic obsessions with noir fatalism, sharp chiaroscuro compositions, and morally compromised protagonists found their purest expression in Sin City.

As Miller explains, he wanted to create “a world out of balance, where virtue is defined by individuals in difficult situations, not by an overwhelming sense of goodness that was somehow governed by this godlike Comic Code”. Fittingly, his uncompromising series of intertwined comics set in the clandestine underworld of Basin City presented readers with a nightmarish urbanity populated with doomed antiheroes, femme fatales, and grotesquely corrupt officials hungrily wallowing in the blood-soaked mire.

With its unforgiving moral landscape and stark monochromatic aesthetic, Sin City functioned as a deeply affectionate love letter to the hardboiled crime fiction of yesteryear. A heightened amalgamation of Raymond Chandler’s (Double Indemnity) nihilism and Mickey Spillane’s (Kiss Me Deadly) brutalism rendered with an audacious level of film noir stylisation. Miller’s experimental imagery and multifaceted fantasy about society’s ulcerating underbelly seemed an unlikely candidate to receive Hollywood’s attention. However, the creator steadfastly rejected several offers to adapt his seminal graphic novel. Following his unpleasant experience on RoboCop 2 (1990) and RoboCop 3 (1993), he refused to relinquish creative control unless his singular vision could be translated with absolute fidelity.

In this climate, Robert Rodriguez had long revered Miller’s Eisner Award-winning comic book series and his legacy inspired the maverick filmmaker to approach his first cinematic adaptation with the utmost respect. After capturing Hollywood’s attention with El Mariachi (1992) and Desperado (1995), Rodriguez spent the next decade oscillating between stylised action (From Dusk Till Dawn) and pulpy genre fare (The Faculty), refining his resourceful approach to technical innovation. Having embraced the creative possibilities of CGI during the production of Spy Kids (2001), Sin City was the perfect material for him to explore this new territory further. Rather than forgo Miller’s stark chiaroscuro aesthetic or dilute his hardboiled impressionistic prose to the conventional demands of cinema, Rodriguez saw an opportunity to use digital filmmaking as an artistic tool to recreate a living graphic novel. After revealing some concept footage to Miller, the filmmaker eventually convinced the reluctant graphic novelist to lend his blessing.

Bookended by the vignette “The Customer Is Always Right” involving an enigmatic hitman (Josh Hartnett), Sin City is divided into a triptych of non-linear and overlapping stories. “The Hard Goodbye” follows Marv (Mickey Rourke), a hulking relic of a bygone era who exists on the fringes of Basin City’s nihilistic landscape. While awash in alcohol and self-loathing, he finds a fleeting moment of comfort in the arms of a beautiful blonde prostitute named Goldie (Jamie King). However, after a night of tenderness, Marv discovers that she has been brutally murdered beside him and he has been framed for the crime. Determined to uncover the truth, he embarks on a relentless odyssey of vengeance while being pursued by the city’s corrupt police force. His investigation takes him through the seediest alleys of Basin City, where he encounters Goldie’s identical twin sister, Wendy. Once the pair uncover a grotesque conspiracy, their relentless pursuit of justice ultimately leads them to a cannibalistic serial killer. As the grim truth unfolds, Marv finds himself questioning not only the city he adores but also the very nature of his own existence.

The second chapter, “The Big Fat Kill”, introduces Shellie (Brittany Murphy), a beleaguered waitress menaced by her sadistic ex-boyfriend Jack (Benicio Del Toro). When Dwight (Clive Owen) intervenes, his actions unwittingly threaten the precarious power balance between the corrupt police force and the fiercely independent prostitutes of Old Town. After pursuing Jack and his cohorts into the heart of the red-light district, Gail (Rosario Dawson) and her deadly cadre of enforcers swiftly dispatch the intruders. However, during the aftermath, Dwight discovers that Jack was no ordinary thug, but a corrupt police officer undercover. His demise jeopardises the fragile equilibrium between Old Town and the brutal mobster Minute (Michael Clark Duncan) while providing the crooked authorities with the perfect excuse to dismantle the fiercely independent district. With the balance of power now teetering on a knife’s edge, Dwight and Gail must preserve the already tenuous peace of Old Town.

Finally, “That Yellow Bastard” focuses on John Hartigan (Bruce Willis), a hardened detective on the verge of retirement. Determined to rescue the young Nancy Callahan (Mackenzie Vega) from the sadistic grasp of Roark Junior (Nick Stahl), the stalwart cop exacts brutal justice by permanently maiming the predator. After rescuing the young girl from the clutches of the senator’s monstrous son, Hartigan is betrayed by his corrupt partner (Michael Madsen) and framed for unspeakable crimes. The detective is condemned to a lengthy prison sentence and endures relentless psychological torment for the crimes he did not commit. When he is unexpectedly released, a cryptic letter leads him back to the now-grown Nancy (Jessica Alba). However, unbeknownst to him, the grotesquely transformed Junior has returned with his sights set on Nancy. With time running out and the city’s shadows closing in, Hartigan embarks on one last desperate mission to protect the woman he once saved.

The material couldn’t have come to life without the seemingly endless reservoir of notable names parading through the sordid streets of Basin City. After seemingly squandering his potential through years of self-destruction, Mickey Rourke (Angel Heart) emerges with a performance of staggering physicality and raw emotion that singlehandedly resurrected his career. Hidden beneath layers of grotesque prosthetics that disguise the actor’s facial features, he disappears into the role of Marv. Channelling the brooding magnetism of Robert Mitchum (Night of the Hunter), the hulking force is capable of kinetic physical feats that could only happen in the hyper-reality of Sin City. Yet, his eyes flicker with a wounded intensity and are weighted with the tragic inevitability of a doomed antihero. His performance was instrumental in reviving his career and thrust the mercurial ‘80s star back into the limelight, eventually paving the way for his Academy Award-nominated triumph in The Wrestler (2008) and Iron Man 2 (2010).

Additionally, Bruce Willis (Twelve Monkeys) delivers what could be considered his last truly compelling performance before resigning himself to an endless parade of uninspired action fare. As the morally steadfast Detective Hartigan, the actor sheds the smirking bravado that had become his unfortunate calling card. Instead, he embraces Miller’s melancholic fatalism and portrays a man plagued by failure yet stubbornly clinging to duty. His restrained physicality and haunting gaze carry an unexpected undercurrent, transforming Hartigan into a doomed figure of classic tragedy. It served as a poetic swan song for the dramatic roles Willis largely abandoned and a performance of rare vulnerability amid the brutal action.

Elsewhere, Clive Owen channels his signature blend of effortless charisma and simmering intensity as the enigmatic Dwight. Already celebrated for his smouldering work Croupier (1998) and his turn in Closer (2004), his performance positioned him as a perfect fit for hardboiled noir. As a man teetering between redemption and chaos, the actor echoes the grit and suavity of Hollywood greats such as Alain Delon (Le Samouraï) but for a contemporary audience. His performance solidified his credibility as an actor who could seamlessly transition between prestige drama and genre cinema, paving the way for his career-defining performance in Children of Men (2008).

Sin City boasts an ensemble brimming with talent, some of whom were either at the height of their careers or teetering on the precipice of reinvention. Benicia Del Toro (The Usual Suspects), Jessica Alba (Idle Hands), Rosario Dawson (Clerks III), Nick Offerman (Civil War), Josh Hartnett (Trap), Brittany Murphy (Girl, Interrupted), Michael Madsen (Reservoir Dogs), submit themselves entirely to Rodriguez’s feverish vision, whether that means being slathered in prosthetics or poured into skintight latex to best recreate Miller’s milieu. A notable highlight is Elijah Wood’s turn as the sadistic cannibal choir boy, Kevin. Having just finished Lord of the Rings: The Return of the King  (2003) two years prior, this role would see him venturing down a sinister path that has continued to this day with indie thrillers such as Maniac (2012) and Come to Daddy (2019).

The cinematic landscape of comic book adaptations was an entirely different terrain when Sin City debuted. It was untouched by the grounded realism that Batman Begins (2005) would introduce several months later and unshaped by the seismic influence of Iron Man (2008). The turn of the century was a period when Hollywood sought to capitalise on the burgeoning popularity of graphic novels, churning out a parade of misfires that bore a passing resemblance to their counterparts. Catastrophes including Daredevil (2003), Catwoman (2004), and Elektra (2005) exemplified the industry’s disregard for artistic integrity. The unique visual language, thematic depth, and narrative sophistication were haphazardly transplanted from the page to celluloid, reducing beloved works to lifeless pastiche. Rather than succumbing to Hollywood’s tendency to homogenise and dilute the source material, Rodriguez approached Sin City with a severance that was rarely seen in the genre. By treating Miller’s illustrations as literal storyboards to immerse the audience into the hyper-stylised streets of Basin City, the filmmaker crafts an exceedingly faithful comic book adaptation that still commands respect two decades later.

It’s in Rodriguez’s masterful use of black and white cinematography where Sin City remains unique amongst its contemporaries. It brilliantly exposes how wonderful it can be when filmmakers use simple colour schemes judiciously and to maximum effect. Each frame is visually uncompromising, drenched in strikingly monochromatic inky blacks, icy whites, and metallic greys. Whereas occasional moments are punctuated with calculated flourishes of brilliant colours: the scarlet red of Goldie’s lipstick, the glacial blue of Becky’s (Alexis Bledel) eyes as she lights a cigarette, and the grotesque ochre of Yellow Bastard’s decomposing flesh.

Admittedly, Rodriguez’s adherence to Miller’s aesthetic is a stylistically bold choice and may disorientate those unfamiliar with the source material and unreceptive to the filmmaker’s world of exaggerated pulp fatalism. However, audiences with an affinity for mid-century hardboiled noir or Miller’s acerbic work will savour its exceedingly faithful panel-to-screen visuals. It’s so accurate to the source material that Rodriguez was determined to secure a co-directing credit for Miller, but the Directors Guild of America (DGA) wouldn’t allow it. This decision resulted in Rodriguez resigning from the guild to ensure the artist would be credited for his work.

There’s no shortage in stunning imagery as Rodriguez employs expressionistic chiaroscuro lighting and cinematography acrobatics to translate Miller’s brutal world into a living graphic novel. From speeding cars vaulting through the streets to the deliberately hardboiled narration, Sin City conjures the precise sensation poring over Miller’s graphic novels but with the kinetic energy only cinema can provide. To achieve this strident faithfulness, Rodriguez opted to film almost entirely against green screen soundstages with limited props and digitally composited the backgrounds in post-production.

The results manifest on screen in a variety of ways such as the infamous fight sequence between Marv and Kevin (Elijah Wood). Despite the two actors never sharing the same physical space, the sequence was seamlessly stitched together through digital trickery. Even Rodriguez’s longtime compatriot Quentin Tarantino (Reservoir Dogs) experimented with digital filmmaking, lending his idiosyncratic touch by directing a scene in which Dwight has an imaginary conversation with Jack’s severed head. It’s a postmodern flourish that aligns perfectly with the feverish commitment to stylisation. These techniques are relatively common in contemporary filmmaking, but such an approach was nothing short of revolutionary at the time. Although Sky Captain and the World of Tomorrow (2004) had experimented with similar techniques, Sin City is arguably much more kinetic and intoxicating. Rodriguez packs the 120-minute runtime with gonzo visuals and a baroque interpretation of noir cinema that reinvigorates the genre in a way not many filmmakers have achieved.

While Rodriguez’s devotion to the source material may be commendable, Miller’s notorious misogyny is far less defensible. As their fatalistic urges edge them closer to annihilation, the three male protagonists are clearly conscious of their own stunted saviour complex. “It really gets my goat when guys rough up dames”, Marv wistfully mutters as he clings to the gallant notion of martyrdom. Whereas Hartigan’s crucifix-shaped facial scar is an emblem of his supposed altruism as he fixates on saving endangered young girls. Even when Sin City feigns a sense of female autonomy, it does so within the suffocating parameters of male fantasy. The fiercely independent females in Miller’s universe are lesbian parole officers, coquettish waitresses, and hyper-sexualised dominatrixes existing solely concerning the brooding men. They are nothing more than fetishised archetypes, happy to deliver justice from their ludicrously phallic firearms.

As Miller’s penchant for adolescent machismo became increasingly pronounced in the later stages of his career, the quality of his work suffered a noticeable decline. He attempted to replicate the striking monochromatic aesthetic that defined Sin City in his directorial debut The Spirit (2008). However, his phantasmagoric adaptation of Will Eisner’s graphic novel emerged as an embarrassing misfire. Released during the same year as Iron Man and The Dark Knight (2008), The Spirit served a sobering reminder of the depths to which comic book adaptations could sink when stripped of their narrative sophistication. Unfortunately, Sin City itself would not remain unscathed and Rodriguez’s belated sequel Sin City 2: A Dame To Kill For (2014) arrived to widespread indifference and critical disdain. Regardless, Sin City still commands respect as one the most visually arresting and faithful transpositions of a comic book to the silver screen. From a $40M budget, it has since grossed approximately $159M worldwide and remains the definitive source for viewers looking to experience the visceral thrills of Basin City two decades since its release.

USA | 2005 | 124 MINUTES | 1:85:1 | BLACK & WHITE • COLOUR | ENGLISH

Cast & Crew

directors: Robert Rodriguez & Frank Miller.
writers: Robert Rodriguez & Frank Miller (based on the comic-book by Frank Miller)
starring: Mickey Rourke, Bruce Willis, Clive Owen, Jessica Alba, Rosario Dawson, Benicio Del Toro, Nick Offerman, Brittany Murphy, Michael Clarke Duncan, Michael Madsen, Powers Boothe, Alexis Bledel, Devon Aoki, Josh Hartnett & Elijah Wood.