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The problem is that the humor is less predicated on violence than sadism. Limbs are sliced, jaws cracked, faces regularly beaten to a bloody pulp. There's an exceptionally graphic electric-chair scene—"Is that the best you can do, you pansies?" the executionee laughs as the top of his head sizzles off—and, in another quasi–money shot, Rosario Dawson bites a chunk out of a stoolie's neck.
The soporific vibe isn't helped by the fact that "Sin City" has the muffled, airless quality of some movies loaded with computer-generated imagery. The film feels as if it takes place under glass, which makes conceptual sense, since the characters don't bear any resemblance to actual life: they don't have hearts (or brains), so there's no reason they should have lungs or air to breathe. At the same time, Mr. Miller and Mr. Rodriguez's commitment to absolute unreality and the absence of the human factor mean it's hard to get pulled into the story on any level other than the visceral. When stuff goes blam, you jump like someone who's landed on a whoopee cushion. But then you just sit there, wrap yourself in the dark and try not to fall asleep.
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posted by JPowers at 9:12 AM on March 31, 2005