I love comics, but, and it may be deeply unfashionable to say this, I’m not a big fan of Frank Miller. I have no emotional connection to the material when reading his stuff. When his work is adapted for the screen (as with Sin City and 300), it is visually audacious and astounding and I revel in its coolness, but it still seems impossible for me to love it.
The Spirit is Miller’s lone directorial debut (he co-directed Sin City with Robert Rodriguez), based on the seminal comics by Will Eisner that have been so influential to him. Despite his obvious love of the source material, he has come up with a very flat film. While the green screen-produced visuals are cool, they are just a bad replica of Sin City’s. The script is full of arch phrases and flowery rhetoric. It is supposed to be a post-modern take on 40s noir, but is just boring.
The story, as much as it is, follows the titular masked avenger as he battles a crime lord called The Octopus (Samuel L. Jackson) in a run-down city. This proto-Batman has a semi-mysterious background, but by the time you find out what it is, you will have ceased caring.
The Spirit is played by Gabriel Macht, who has the unfortunate trait of looking like a dozen other actors rather than looking like himself. He just doesn’t have the charisma to pull the film off. So often in superhero films a great villain can save the day for the audience, but Jackson’s bellowing, scene-chewing performance is just high camp, and not in a good way. Add in a cold and stilted Scarlett Johansson and you have a serious Hollywood misfire. Only Eva Mendes comes off unscathed with a super-sexy turn as The Spirit’s old flame, Sand Serif. She even manages to squeeze a bit of empathy and emotion into the role.
If you really enjoy seeing the world in black, white and red, then go and see it. If not, then The Spirit is best avoided.
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