Plastic Clive Owen is a better Dwight than Josh Brolin could ever hope to be.
Tonight I will do the exceptionally stupid.
Tonight I will watch Sin City 2: A Dame to Kill For.
Let me explain:
I’ve spoken before about how Sin City is one of the most important films of my 20s. But the story I don’t often tell is this.
A Dame to Kill For got my friend Jason & I back together.
Liz, who is one of my favorite people on the entire planet because she’s another fashionable lunatic like me, invited me to write for her awesome blog The Insatiable Critic. This prospect terrified me, because I’ve seen four movies this year and two of them were Muppets Most Wanted (I fucking loved Muppets Most Wanted) and I got thinking I had to be all smart and cool and not just YEAH PUPPETS ARE FUN.
So when she agreed to let me ramble about Sin City: A Dame to Kill For, I jumped at the prospect of judging a movie I haven’t seen and will do so only out of gun-point nostalgia, and also because Mike said we could see it at the drive in and I will see anything at the drive-in (including You Don’t Mess With the Zohan, Godzilla, War of the Worlds and Fast & Furious 6). Having opinions is something I’m very good at, and Liz is pretty damn generous for letting me voice them on her nice website.
(I also recommend you go over there because there’s a picture of 22 year old me in a black corset and fishnets with Bettie Page bangs. I was pretty smokin’.)
But after you’re done reading that, I recommend you go to your local comic book shop and buy The Goon and then read that instead of wasting your brain cells seeing Sin City: A Dame to Kill For. I’ll take this one for the team.