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I think I was a bit hasty when I compiled my list of the worst movies of 2008. That’s why I want you to turn to p. 36 cross out “The Happening” and replace it with “The Spirit.” And when you’re done with that, I want you to repeat the process nine more times because “The Spirit” is such an ill-advised fiasco that it nullifies the shittiness of other terrible movies. Which is extremely good news because that means there wasn’t any bad movies released this year, just movies that weren’t “The Spirit.”
In the film, a block of wood in a pleather fedora (the Internet Movie Database says that it’s actually some guy named Gabriel Macht, but they’ve been wrong before) plays the Spirit, a sort of undead detective/vigilante who likes cats and punches things. The Spirit’s nemesis is an ill-defined crime boss/mad scientist called The Octopus (Samuel L. Jackson once again reminding us that screaming your lungs out is the new acting) who is indestructible but is searching for a long lost carafe of Heracles’ blood to make him, I don’t know, more indestructible, I guess. Meanwhile, in a series of startling subplots, Eva Mendes swims around and has breasts. The end.
If the above description sounds stupid and unnecessarily vague, it’s only because “The Spirit” itself is stupid and unnecessarily vague. Less a movie than a series of increasingly mind-boggling set pieces, “The Spirit” boasts lifeless performances, cringe-inducing dialogue (example: “I hate stepping on gum. It makes you step funny.”), ugly, eye-searing, CGI visuals and a reckless disregard for things like story structure or simple coherency. Did writer/director Frank Miller make this up as he went along? If he didn’t, then why did he think it was a good idea to melt a kitten on camera? Why are Jackson’s eyes coated in glam-rock mascara? More importantly, why are Jackson’s eyes coated in glam-rock mascara while he wears an SS uniform? Why does Mendes photocopy her ass while she shoots at an antsy jeweler? Who the hell is Gabriel Macht? If I didn’t know any better, I’d swear that a Lionsgate executive grabbed a nerdy 14-year-old and a schizophrenic homeless guy off the street, threw a blank check at them and told them to go crazy.
Unfortunately, I do know better to realize that Frank Miller isn’t a pen name. For those unfamiliar with the world of comic books (and therefore aren’t filled with a combination of self-loathing and Cheetos), Miller is the highly lauded writer/artist behind such graphic novels as “Batman: The Dark Knight Returns” and “Sin City.” To many nerds, his work is considered groundbreaking, and I suppose that’s true in the sense that Miller single-handedly made comics even dumber. Unlike Alan Moore, whose work was targeted at actual adults, Miller’s collection of growling, swearing, constantly bleeding, big-titted badasses were aimed squarely at perpetual adolescents. Allowing Miller to re-imagine Will Eisner’s quiet, understated comic book is like allowing Jeff Dunham and his hateful, one-note puppets to star in a remake of “Dr. Strangelove.” The only good thing about “The Spirit” is that its expected failure at the box office ensures that his next film — a grim and gritty, totally wicked awesome desecration of “Buck Rogers” — will never see the light of day.
Rating: No Ws
