1850s. The California Gold Rush. The Roark family had gotten into the mining business successfully. Their secret to success relied on keeping their miners happy by “importing” a large number of attractive European women – a strategy that can be applied to just about all male-dominated businesses. Over the years, the Roarks expanded into other businesses, created a thriving metropolis from the mining camp, running it as they saw fit. The women of the night, however, still needed a place to operate, and so, they formed the district of Old Town.

Basin City’s foundations were laid in corruption, extortion, and prostitution. Over the years, organised crime only grew. The police, in an attempt to counter this, ended up becoming dirtier than the crooks. Strip clubs popped open in every district, closely accompanied by drug dens and gambling rackets. Basin City devolved into a wretched hive of scum and villainy, becoming known by a different, altogether more appropriate name – Sin City. 

Frank Miller’s Sin City is one of the most iconic fictional metropolises to be adapted for the silver screen. In theory, comic book movies ought to be child’s play – they’ve already been storyboarded, every camera angle has been selected for you, and the costumes have already been designed. All that’s needed is to connect one panel to the next. Theoretically simple; practically near impossible. Movie adaptations of comics do a pretty good job of entertaining viewers, but if you’ve read the source material, you’re going to be severely disappointed with the end result.

The faithfulness to the original graphic novel is what makes Sin City a work of art. It’s the purest translation of panels to film, brought to life by co-directors Robert Rodriguez, Quentin Tarantino, and series creator Frank Miller. The movie is less of an adaptation, and more of a translation of three of the stories, i.e. ‘The Hard Goodbye’, ‘The Big Fat Kill’, and ‘That Yellow Bastard’, directly converting the panels into gorgeous backdrops for the gruesome violence.

At the most obvious level, the film is about the banality of violence. Shot mostly in black-and-white, which enhances the noir elements of the film, the only colour consistently laid over the colourless screen is red – there’s a lot of red because there’s a lot of blood shed throughout the film. Almost every sound is highly dramatised. The tires of the cars squeal loudly, the gunshots sound like the the most badass shots ever fired, and bladed weapons sound like whistles cutting through the air when they are swung or thrown. The city, with its tough guys and femme fatales, feels empty, and the social anxiety and psychological unease of old film noir is omnipresent.

But despite all the blood, despite all the over the top violence, despite all the torture, there is no remorse. In contrast to mid-century film noir, where cynicism was meant to be felt as something, Sin City is utterly devoid of feeling. The viewer is not asked to feel bad for the people getting slaughtered. The viewer is not asked to feel anything. We’re meant to let the violence wash over us as we concentrate on the powerful, if somewhat detached aesthetics of Basin City.