How appropriate for Frank Miller’s THE SPIRIT to open with the image of a flatlining heart monitor, as his film is dead on arrival — an utterly lifeless, hollow shell. I believe the technical term — as fronted by MYSTERY SCIENCE THEATER 3000 — is “deep hurting.” If Miller wanted to endear a whole new generation to Will Eisner’s comic creation, this was not the way to do it. Instead, this all but assures those unfamiliar with the source material that they will remain that way, that the original comics shall never touch their hands.
Too bad, because the virtually unknown Gabriel Macht is not a bad choice to fill the role and red tie of The Spirit, the masked-and-suited crimefighter formerly known as slain cop Denny Colt. He has the right look, the right attitude; he’s just in the wrong movie.
Tonally, THE SPIRIT is an absolute misfire. Eisner’s comics had a slight streak of goofiness running through them, often with a sense of humor as sharp as the overall material often was dark, but never on the level of Three Stooges slapstick comedy, complete with cartoon sound effects lathered on with a dozen too many punches of the button. Miller even includes the dreaded “scratched record” effect, as if demonstrating in one misbegotten move how out of touch he is for such material.
Even if there were no comics to compare it to, THE SPIRIT still would land on my all-time worst list. The story lumbers around with such laziness that I seriously thought in the opening scenes that the reels had been switched. Miller starts the flick with a poorly paced, badly blocked and hopelessly inert fight scene between our hero and archenemy The Octopus (Samuel L. Jackson), then realizes he might think about letting a story unfold. Yet he forgets the tried-and-true axiom of “show, don’t tell,” having The Spirit convey plot points while speaking aloud to himself in a static shot, even looking at the camera to deliver his last line directly to us.
Said story involves the retrieval of a vase of the blood of Hercules, which supposedly will grant immortality to whomever partakes of its drops. The Octopus wants it; diamond thief Sand Serif (a stunningly sexy Eva Mendes) has it. The Spirit chases both, while he also chases skirts. Nothing ever really happens to advance a story, as if the entire thing is a MacGuffin; characters are abruptly introduced and given little to do beyond blighting the résumés of their actors.
Macht is the only one who doesn’t embarrass himself, or us. However striking and cleavagey, Mendes is wooden, but she’s miles ahead of Scarlett Johansson, who’s positively termite-ridden as Silken Floss, The Octopus’ right-hand (-tentacled?) woman. Jackson’s entire performance hinges on yelling and talking about how much he hates eggs.
As Ellen Dolan, Sarah Paulson is supposed to be the true love of The Spirit’s life. Then why relegate her to a scant few scenes? Moreover, why make her look like she’s a good decade older than all her female counterparts? Her Central City police commissioner pop is played by Dan Lauria, who appears to be attempting a feature-length imitation of Jimmy Durante.
You know what THE SPIRIT needs? Well, a frickin’ grocery list of items, but color would have been nice. Eisner’s world popped with blues and reds and greens; Miller’s largely exists in shades of gray. Did the writer/director’s divorce from a colorist make him hate primary swatches? More or less co-opting SIN CITY‘s black-and-white-with-a-smidge-of-red palette was not a wise decision. For one thing, this ain’t SIN CITY. For another, it makes Miller look like a one-trick pony, and one who’s already three hooves over the threshold of the glue factory at that. I understand the attraction of playing with the ol’ green screen for budgetary and creative reasons, but Miller obviously never gleaned from Robert Rodriguez the secret filter that allows the footage to not look like a high school stage play or amateur porn.
As The Spirit not-so-memorably informs us in his opening monologue, his city screams. And boy, did I scream right along with it, in cinematic pain. —Rod Lott
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{ 2 comments… read them below or add one }
Wow. Scathing review, Rodney, but damned entertaining. Much more entertaining (and shorter, natch) than the flick, I suppose.
Yeah, nice one Rodney.