"Sin City"-a not quite coherent review

[perpetual_motion]

Sin City, the short review:

Two hours of sex, guns, shoes, coats, cars, tits, coarse language, violence, style, and badass maneuvers. Wonderful Depravity.

Sin City, an explanation of the people:

If you fuck someone over in Sin City, you die a terrible death. If you don’t fuck someone over in Sin City, you die a quiet death and get avenged by Mickey Rourke. If you try to help the hookers because they’ve killed a cop and you’re madly in love with their leader, you get shot, the bullet doesn’t hurt you, and you get thrown into a tar pit, where you are then saved by a kick ass hooker who also has ninja skills. If you save an eleven-year-old girl from a pedophile, you get shot, go to prison, get letters from said girl, get out of prison, find her, get kissed by her, get propositioned by her, then blow your own head off at the end because she will die if you live.

If any of this is making you hot, it’s cool. It made me pretty hot, too.

Sin City, a more in-depth review:

This is not a movie for the faint of heart, or a movie for those people that don’t have an attention span for two hours of pure style with some dialogue thrown in. People die in bloody, disgusting ways. People get shot in the crotch. People get their crotch ripped off. People get their limbs sawed off.

Verdict? Kick ass. Massive kick ass.

Is it wrong to get turned on by Clive Owen describing how Rosario Dawson kisses him so hard and hot? Maybe. I don’t care. Is it wrong to love the way the blood is almost always yellow or white? Perhaps. Is it wrong to watch violence and more violence and more violence and get excited at the prospect of *more* violence? Could be.

Do I fuckin’ care? Not one damned bit.

If violence in movies causes kids to pick up semi-automatic weapons and blow the shit out of their friends, enemies, and teachers, then we’re fucked for the next few months. “Sin City” is wonderfully violent and dark and sick. The style, mostly black and white with some splashes of color, just adds to the whole feeling that these people are fucked up, and that the city is more fucked up than anything you’ve ever seen on screen. And you know what? It fucking rocks.

This is not a movie that has a deeply affecting personal message. This is not a movie that will make you wonder on the state of the world. This is not a movie that will have you crying into your boyfriend/girlfriend’s arm in relief when it’s over. This is a movie where you will watch the end credits roll, turn to whoever you went to the movie with, and go into a state of babbling about colors and cool violence and Clive Owen’s sexy red Converse sneakers. This a movie where you will get the heebie-jeebies watching Elijah Wood and get a little hot and bothered when a group of hookers use really big guns to kill a bunch of mobsters.

This is the movie that Focus on the Family will picket for *years* for its violence alone. Nevermind the sexual content. And titties.

It’s wonderful, stylish depravity, and it will leave you wondering about your own state of mind when you walk out of the theater and have a massive urge to jump the next guy who looks good in a long coat.

Comments

[gal-montag.livejournal.com]

Is it wrong to get turned on by Clive Owen describing how Rosario Dawson kisses him so hard and hot?

Randomly, totally isn't.

Although I thought it'd be more violent. And more naked. (Or maybe I was just hoping for more naked, in Dwight's first appearence in the comic version of The Big Fat Kill, he's starkers, yay!)

[perpet-fic.livejournal.com]

Dude, naked Clive

::wanders off to imagine naked Clive::

Thank you for that info. It shall keep me warm.