Review: Sin City

I'm not familiar with Frank Miller's comic series, but I'm familiar enough with the genre to know that the film adaptation is a shockingly beautiful rendition of the dark graphic novel form to the screen. It certainly blows From Hell and any number of other attempts out of the water in terms of its stylization, daring use of black and white and color, noir sensibilities, and appropriately inflated and cartoonish acting style.

Without having read the comic, I could still strongly sense each frame being carefully crafted to reflect a shot from the book, each character striving for vocal delivery that would bring their particular speech styles to life, each splash of color (I use the word "splash" quite literally here; most of the color choices involve blood) serving to further cartoonize the incredible violence being depicted. In the end, the whole film hangs together like a perfect piece of music, the flap of the cast's bevy of flowing coats forming a crescendo in the artificial wind of the eternal, artificial night of Miller's urban nightmare.

So why did I leave it feeling like I was going to vomit?

( Contains spoilers, but mostly a philosophical discussion. Also, kinda gross. )