Sin City

This isn't a pimp for my books, but instead what I'd like to talk about a little bit is the movie Sin City.

So, yes, I'm a little late with this, but since I just started my blog, cut me some slack.

I love Robert Rodriguez flicks. When everyone was swooning over Johnny Depp in Pirates of the Caribbean a couple summers ago, I was swooning over him in Once Upon A Time In Mexico. That flick was more my speed: faster, flashier, nastier. The Mariachi series rocked. Admit it, even Spy Kids was a good flick. And Clooney was at the apex of his hotness in From Dusk Till Dawn. I just dig Rodriguez.

And it doesn't hurt that he gives Mickey Rourke work.

Oh, I can feel the chill and nearly hear the snide comments on the tip of your tongue about Rourke right now.

Yes, yes, he's fucked up his face. Yes, yes, he's a baaaad boy who threw away his Hollywood career. (the horror! To DARE to do something you WANT to do instead of just Be Hollywood.)

But have you seen Sin City?

It's a faithful adaptation of Frank Miller's graphic novels, certainly. Some would call it slavish. So what. It's disgustingly violent, and I suppose maybe even a bit vapid. But know what? It's also GOOOD. And it's different. It was so completely different from the routine slop I've been seeing at the movies lately that it was beyond refreshing. It was riveting.

And Mickey Rourke was outstanding. His face was covered by a mask, but every once in a while I'd catch a glimpse of a close-up of his eyes. That's enough. That's all he needs. That and his voice in this flick. It's getting rougher and lower with every picture now, but there's something still insanely libidinal about the guy.

I know what you're thinking. You're thinking, "Yeah, but behind that "ugly mask", his face is all fucked up anyhow." Yeah, well, maybe. He doesn't look like he used to. He's gotten older and he's gotten roughed up in the ring and supposedly from plastic surgery and maybe booze or something. I don't know. But here's the point: I don't care. That's right. I. Don't. Care.

I don't give a fuck what you think he looks like (or doesn't look like anymore.) That charm and that spark and that, that -- libido of his. It still WORKS. Some stars have talent, some have looks, and some have the X factor. Mickey had looks, and I think he's still got plenty of talent, but he's also still got that mystique IT, X, je ne sais quoi, VIBE about him that comes across onscreen.

I love that Robert Rodriguez gets that. And I love that he gives work to his little dog, too.

I just wish there were more of them out there. Guys like Rodriguez who're willing to give up thier membership in the Director's guild to make something they believe in. Guys like Mickey who're willing to give up the Star's life for something he believed in. Guys like this who get together and give us something unique and unexpected and shocking and BOLD and gorgeous and grotesque and provocative.

Even though it's built with technical prowess and manipulates cutting edge, stylish excess, Sin City is more than the sum of those parts. It's something where you can still see the spark and gleam in the eyes behind that thick mask.