Violent disconnection from other humans doesn’t look brave to me anymore. It doesn’t look transgressive to hate and fear other people. It’s not edgy to depict the myriad abuses of power without critiquing those abuses. It’s childish. It’s immature. It is the thoughtless nihilism of people who are super-angry to discover that they are not the special center of the universe.

Guess what.

You’re not special.

Neither am I.

No-one is special, except in that magical way that we are all, all of us, irreplaceably special.

You are the center of nothing. But you are unavoidably connected to everyone else.

–Sigrid Ellis wants more than nihilism.

Ellis is specifically talking about the Sin City films here. As a side-story, I remember being super excited when the first Sin City film came out. I’d never read the originals–or anything by Frank Miller, for that matter–but I had a vague idea that Miller was one of the Great Old Men of comics, and really liked the aesthetic shown in the trailer (or, more specifically, the theme song). So I dragged my not-then-yet-husband along, we sat down, the film rolled, and when it was over we both looked at each other and said, “What. The. Fuck. Was that supposed to be?”

There are very few films I’ve seen–even bad ones–that’ve actively left me wanting the two hours of my life back. But Sin City wasn’t just bad. It viscerally repulsed me in some way I couldn’t then quite define.

Afterwards, I did a bit more investigation into Miller’s work and… yeah. About that. (Not to mention he’s also a mouth-foaming racist right winger.)

Art and politics. Go figure.