The Spirit

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Frank Miller makes his solo directorial debut with this strange, nonsensical comic book mutation that borrows liberally from the aesthetic coolness of his own (or Robert Rodriguez's, as the case may be) far superior Sin City. 'Noir' once again, is very much the theme, but that appears to be the only thing that Miller is sure about, as it veers from Three Stooge style action to a comedy of almost parody-like levels. Little-known, but more than capable sometime leading man Gabriel Macht is The Spirit: a crime-fighting, slickly suited hero who has a thing for the dames, and an arch nemesis in the form of Samuel L. Jackson's Octopus. A dastardly plot involving the blood of a God is Octopus's motivation, as he and The Spirit meet early on and have a scuffle that is the comic book adapted-for-celluloid equivalent of a couple of teenage girls having a particularly aggressive pillow fight. This is a gratingly self-indulgent breakout attempt from Miller, who constantly leaves his actors stranded - instead, he concentrates on inserting imposing flashbacks that never even begin to fit into his already disconcertingly choppy narrative. It doesn't have a clue what it wants to be and attempts to distract from this by throwing a scantily-clad Eva Mendes and an utterly pointless Scarlett Johansson at us every couple of scenes. The only one who appears to be in on the joke is Jackson, who has a field day with his eccentric villain. Sure, his character's motivations make little sense, and some of his dialogue would have David Spade storming off the set in disgust - but he genuinely doesn't seem to care. It is often so ridiculous it's amusing, but Miller hasn't got the confidence behind the camera to pull coherently in any direction, leaving just a pretty carcass. Saved from one-star obscurity by a thoroughly-amused-with-himself Samuel L. Jackson, this will only appeal to those looking to ogle Mendes and Johansson.