The REEL Addict 

By David Eng

Man, this movie reeks.

Frank Miller is apparently some brilliant artist and his works aren’t comics but “graphic novels.”  The first of his film adaptation, SIN CITY, turned out quite well under the direction of Robert Rodriguez, Quentin Tarantino and Frank Miller himself.  Next came 300, which was stylish but repetitive in the hands of Zack Snyder.  Now Frank Miller completes the downward spiral of his adapted work with his own solo writer/director debut.  

Based on the 1940’s comic by Will Eisner, THE SPIRIT features a bland Gabriel Macht as Denny Colt, the slain cop who is reborn as the Spirit.  A flimsy Lone Ranger mask supposedly renders him unrecognizable.  Immune to injury, he fights the equally invulnerable Octopus, played by Samuel L. Jackson at his most over-the-top.  The cast is rounded out by Eva Mendes, Scarlett Johansson and various other ample-bosomed starlets showing off their impressive cleavage (the film’s only saving grace). 

Visually, it’s almost exactly the same as SIN CITY.  It’s essentially black-and-white except for some occasional faint colour and the Spirit’s emphatically red tie.  Like the other Frank Miller-based films, it was shot entirely in a green-screen studio. 

But that’s where the similarities end.  Whereas the previous movies were played straight and earnestly, here everyone overacts and mugs like they’re on a daytime soap opera.  It wasn’t as noticeable how over-indulgent Miller’s dialogue could be when delivered with deadly seriousness by a Clive Owen, Bruce Willis or Mickey Rourke.  It actually had a cool retro-noir feel. 

Now, however, we have silly lines like “Shut up and bleed!” or “What a fine detective. You found the breadcrumbs right to us” delivered with forced emoting.  During an early fight sequence, Jackson as the Octopus bellows “Aw, come on! Toilets are ALWAYS funny!” which proves not to be the case.  The laughs that this film gets are all of the uncomfortable, unintentional variety. 

There is an embarrassing sequence done entirely in Nazi costumes and regalia.  While most of the film lacks drama, emotion and tension, this scene was especially dull with leaden exposition and pointless shock value.  The lovely Paz Vega is wasted as the dancer Plaster of Paris, and her fake French accent doesn’t quite hide her Spanish one. 

Johansson comes across especially badly.  With the right director, she can be a fine actress.  But here she is left on her own to flail helplessly with the thanklessly overripe and cheesy lines.  While Jackson is a seasoned veteran of cheese with films like SNAKES ON A PLANE, Johansson’s efforts here are painful to watch.

The movie gets tired very quickly and seems much longer than its 103 minutes.  The threadbare plot is full of holes and cliches.  It’s all too campy to be taken seriously but too dull to be much fun, even as camp. The Spirit is a cartoon in the worst sense of the word.  What had the potential to be an interesting film noir/superhero movie ends up being a putrid mess of epic proportions. 

Oh well.  At least there’s cleavage. 

Overall rating: ½ out of 5 REELs