Sin City: A dame to kill for

Dear Frank Miller,

I know it’s very hard to keep up with the painstaking awesomeness of “Sin City" (and "300”), but you can’t just write and produce the sequels and think that if you throw in Eva Green’s tits people would not notice that they are not even remotely as good as the first ones. Those are fine tits to be sure, and they leave you wanting more although there is plenty in “Sin City: A dame to kill for " (not as much in" 300: Rise of an empire”), but let us be honest: what the flying fuck happened here? 

Sincerely,

let me explain you.

The two yarns that Miller wrote appositely for the screen, “The Long Bad Night” and “Nancy’s Last Dance”, are sloppy and do no fit with the rest. Everything happens way too fast, the timing of those events is completely disconnected from the others and the typical graphic novel visual component is just not existing. Basically every thing that made the first Sin City movie as good as it is, is gone. The two original yarns are both completely unnecessary and take up screening time that could have been used to slowly unwrap the plot of the graphic novels and to indulge in the eye-orgasmic scenes of paper made alive. “Nancy’s Last Dance” is not just bad: it’s so awful that not even Jessica Alba’s stripping solos can make it entertaining. How did you guys even manage that? Rodriguez is a goddamn specialist when it comes to directing scalding hot table dancing sequences (here is a friendly reminder or two) and he always picks choice material to strut around, but this Nancy is a lame psychotic bitch who happens to look like the “little skinny Nancy Callahan” of the first movie but has absolutely nothing to do with her. The final result is almost catastrophic: to keep it in the semantic area of dirty and sexy, I could say that “Sin City” is that once in a life time multiple orgasm accomplished by passion and pure, mindless enthusiasm, whilst “Sin City: A dame to kill for “ is that drunken orgy where everyone was wearing ridiculous glasses (yeah, it’s also in 3D) that you joined on a dare and you’d wish you could forget completely if it wasn’t that you spotted Lady Gaga in there at some point.

Ci sono dei giorni che senti come la luna piena nell’aria, o quanto meno te la auguri.

– Altrimenti questi grappoli di assurdità come te li spieghi?

Scraps.

The first time I set foot in Hamburg I knew there was something special about this place: it’s unpredictable, extremely diverse and somewhat confusing. It was October 2013 and I was in search of a new home; I had been to Berlin before, but it seemed to obvious to pack up and move there, it felt stale and I needed a place where I could smell the water and hear the pirates. That is why I found Hamburg irresistible, and why I ended up moving here only one month after my first visit. It is very difficult to explain how it felt like, so I am going to borrow someone else’s words.

“When I returned, not to Berlin, but to Hamburg in the midst of the fog of the beginning of winter, to the road that runs right above it’s river and docks, a castle which never existed and a fountain which is really a sewer, a gust of wind far sweeter and more fragrant than any red rose carried the smell of shit and floating soil like a tongue into my nostril.” Kathy Acker, Eurydice in the Underworld

It’s also very difficult give a brief description of Hamburg because it’s not a typical business centre nor a typical old harbour town, and yet it’s both. There is history, wealth and degradation, there is integration and confrontation, political action and ruthless capitalism. There is freedom and formality, there are neighbourhoods where you can raise your children and let them safely go to school by themselves and there are areas where you could easily get robbed or worse. There are travellers, tourists, migrants and refugees, and the harbour cradles them all in her windy womb during the endless northern nights as well as in the golden summer breeze. There are in its every corner hidden stories and discovering them for me is like counting all those marvellous and almost imperceptible flaws that one finds on a new lover’s body.

Most recently, I discovered the shipwrecks. Once upon a time, there was a Finnish schooner called Polstjernan, that was eventually turned into a motorsailer thanks to the addition of an engine. On October 20th 1926, this very engine was pushing the Polstjernan along what we today call the Kiel-Canal, when it exploded. The ship caught fire, helped by its wooden load, and dragged by a rescue boat to the Elbe river while still in flames. A few days later, it was towed away and left along the beach of Blankenese, west of Hamburg’s harbour, weighted with stones and turned into a breakwater. (Via).

The Polstjernan is not alone: after World War II, some submarine scraps were added to the remaining and a few meters away lies what is left of the barge Uwe, sunk in 1975 after colliding against the coaster Wiedau. The Uwe was torn into pieces and whilst most of them, along with the whole Wiedau, had eventually been towed into the harbour, the tail of the Uwe was too heavy and still lies between the Polstjernan and the Lighthouse of Blankenese. (Via).

See more of my work on nicoscagliarini.com