The Spirit
Movie Review
I've yet to fully form an opinion on Frank Miller. He is undoubtedly to be admired for giving Batman back his balls, but I've read the Sin City and Dark Knight graphic novels and was quite, but not overly impressed. I liked the Dark Knight stories, but I'm not a fan of what I would term the "squiggly" artwork. The reverse is true of Sin City. I really enjoyed the style, but found that the stories were hit and miss. Miller's latest piece of writing - and his directorial debut - is the movie version of Wil Eisner's Spirit.
Its a remarkable turnaround to see Miller directing what must be a big budget movie, as he was, until recently, not a friend of the Hollywood machine. He was openly hostile to the treatment his scripts for Robocop 2 and 3 suffered by being rewritten and swore that he would not allow any more of his work to be put through the movie mincer. Although not quite up to the level of some of Watchmen creator Alan Moore's tirades, it seemed as though that was that for movie versions of Miller's work. This changed, however, when Robert Rodriguez brought him test footage for what eventually became the movie version of Sin City. Following its commercial success, Zak Snyder directed the 2007 adaptation of Miller's testosterone-filled spartan book, '300', about the battle of Thermopylae. Now Miller, embracing Hollywood once more, has decided to try his hand at directing, and the results are - excuse me, I just threw up in my mouth a little - not good.
The first thing I noticed about this film is that visually it looks like Sin City 1.5, which is no bad thing. It seems that so impressed was Miller that not only did he give Rodriguez permission to make the movie version of his noir novels, he openly cogged the style for 'Spirit'. This, however, is where the goodness runs out. Miller's now trademark of having his characters give manly internal monologues, a la Hartigan in Sin City, opens the movie. Something which I had never considered before though, is that, what was gritty and cool when delivered by an in form Bruce Willis, can descend into pantomime farce if acted badly. I was twisting uncomfortably in my seat as the Spirit spoke about 'his city' in the most cheesy way possible - "she gives me life, she gives me everything". And it didn't get any better.
This opening scene sets the tone for the rest of the movie. Imagine going to see a movie with your mother and grandmother which discusses the intricacies of oral sex in detail, culminating with a demonstration, and you can imagine that at times I was having to shield my eyes from what was happening on screen. In particular watch out for a scene involving a photocopier, any lines relating to the villains hatred of eggs and any moments which expound upon the heroes love of women. I began to regard the movie as an entity and felt bad that it had such delinquent parents who would expose it to multitudinous bad influences.
Gabriel Macht, who plays the title character, gives one of the most unconvincing and wooden performances I have ever seen committed to celluloid. His relationship with Octopus, the main antagonist played by Samuel L. Jackson, is established pretty early on, as is the fact that both are almost indestructible. It was hard to identify with Macht's character because he never really suffers to achieve his goals. There is physical pain, but his wolverine-like abilities bring him back from almost anything. When this was established, I found that the movie began to languidly roll along from set piece to set piece.
Samuel L. Jackson is - well, Samuel L. Jackson. He gives a slightly off kilter performance as the Octopus and shouts in that inimitable Jackson style when he feels the audience is nodding off. Poor attempts at dark humour aside, he's actually quite interesting to watch, especially given that he never actually seems threatening. That's another problem with this movie; the audience never really believe that everything is on the line. Even the obligatory romantic storyline involving Eva Mendes descends to meh territory pretty quickly. Frank Miller must have some brilliant powers of persuasion to have been able to attract A list actresses to be part of this movie, given that their characters are nothing more than thinly drawn pieces of eye candy. In saying that, Scarlett Johansson does have her moments as Octopus' sidekick, though her role is underwritten.
Remember the scene in Ransom where Mel Gibson's son sees Gary Sinise come to collect his "reward" money? Now imagine that body language transplanted to a grown man in a cinema seat, minus the uncontrollable urination, and you get some idea of how much I wanted to exit the theatre by this movie's end. The worst thing is that Sin city 2, a potential palette cleanser, is at least two years away from hitting screens, and will probably include a part for Rose McGowan, of whom I've never been a fan. But, in this city where the streets smell like ammonia and baby food, and all the vending machines know your name, who's to say what toys we keep?
Its a remarkable turnaround to see Miller directing what must be a big budget movie, as he was, until recently, not a friend of the Hollywood machine. He was openly hostile to the treatment his scripts for Robocop 2 and 3 suffered by being rewritten and swore that he would not allow any more of his work to be put through the movie mincer. Although not quite up to the level of some of Watchmen creator Alan Moore's tirades, it seemed as though that was that for movie versions of Miller's work. This changed, however, when Robert Rodriguez brought him test footage for what eventually became the movie version of Sin City. Following its commercial success, Zak Snyder directed the 2007 adaptation of Miller's testosterone-filled spartan book, '300', about the battle of Thermopylae. Now Miller, embracing Hollywood once more, has decided to try his hand at directing, and the results are - excuse me, I just threw up in my mouth a little - not good.
The first thing I noticed about this film is that visually it looks like Sin City 1.5, which is no bad thing. It seems that so impressed was Miller that not only did he give Rodriguez permission to make the movie version of his noir novels, he openly cogged the style for 'Spirit'. This, however, is where the goodness runs out. Miller's now trademark of having his characters give manly internal monologues, a la Hartigan in Sin City, opens the movie. Something which I had never considered before though, is that, what was gritty and cool when delivered by an in form Bruce Willis, can descend into pantomime farce if acted badly. I was twisting uncomfortably in my seat as the Spirit spoke about 'his city' in the most cheesy way possible - "she gives me life, she gives me everything". And it didn't get any better.
This opening scene sets the tone for the rest of the movie. Imagine going to see a movie with your mother and grandmother which discusses the intricacies of oral sex in detail, culminating with a demonstration, and you can imagine that at times I was having to shield my eyes from what was happening on screen. In particular watch out for a scene involving a photocopier, any lines relating to the villains hatred of eggs and any moments which expound upon the heroes love of women. I began to regard the movie as an entity and felt bad that it had such delinquent parents who would expose it to multitudinous bad influences.
Gabriel Macht, who plays the title character, gives one of the most unconvincing and wooden performances I have ever seen committed to celluloid. His relationship with Octopus, the main antagonist played by Samuel L. Jackson, is established pretty early on, as is the fact that both are almost indestructible. It was hard to identify with Macht's character because he never really suffers to achieve his goals. There is physical pain, but his wolverine-like abilities bring him back from almost anything. When this was established, I found that the movie began to languidly roll along from set piece to set piece.
Samuel L. Jackson is - well, Samuel L. Jackson. He gives a slightly off kilter performance as the Octopus and shouts in that inimitable Jackson style when he feels the audience is nodding off. Poor attempts at dark humour aside, he's actually quite interesting to watch, especially given that he never actually seems threatening. That's another problem with this movie; the audience never really believe that everything is on the line. Even the obligatory romantic storyline involving Eva Mendes descends to meh territory pretty quickly. Frank Miller must have some brilliant powers of persuasion to have been able to attract A list actresses to be part of this movie, given that their characters are nothing more than thinly drawn pieces of eye candy. In saying that, Scarlett Johansson does have her moments as Octopus' sidekick, though her role is underwritten.
Remember the scene in Ransom where Mel Gibson's son sees Gary Sinise come to collect his "reward" money? Now imagine that body language transplanted to a grown man in a cinema seat, minus the uncontrollable urination, and you get some idea of how much I wanted to exit the theatre by this movie's end. The worst thing is that Sin city 2, a potential palette cleanser, is at least two years away from hitting screens, and will probably include a part for Rose McGowan, of whom I've never been a fan. But, in this city where the streets smell like ammonia and baby food, and all the vending machines know your name, who's to say what toys we keep?
1.5/10
You made me glad I didn't go and see this. :)
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