Sin City Scene:

It opens with the camera fading to a rooftop scene while a diegetic cop siren sounds, the pitch being the first implicit audience note that crime is perhaps a presence in Sin City. The music then goes into a non-diegetic jazz sound, typically romantic in its gesture. We see a lone person.

A lithesome lady wrapped in a red dress. Even if only in a passive-syringe, unconscious manner, the audience identifies her as the typical noir femme fatale. Matriarchal power is before us.

Dangerous and seductive, she stands taut towards the railing. From a medium-long shot in the foreground we see her askance features, and in the background a stranger approaches. Confident in stride, tuxedo wearing; he’s the Bond representative of patriarchy. Binary opposition emerges.

A voiceover takes over. His voice. The ideology is reinforced. The audience begins to doubt the woman’s position of power. His voice in our head, we hear him speak. His monologue is smooth and poetic. He challenges male stereotypical stupidity. He is our hero.

They begin to talk. Verbally and implicitly, a battle has begun for supremacy. The camera angles switch betwixt both of them, over their shoulders in a viewpoint shot. The audience is impacted fully by their words. We warm to them, particularly the man. He is driving conversation and narrative forward. He is also a gentleman – he just offered her a cigarette. He is practically handing over his phallic power. Or a piece of it. The audience is affable towards him. She accepts, power then swinging to matriarchy.

Rain falls, diegetic sound coming soon after. The audience sees the storm surges.

Rightfully, the woman then takes the dialogue reigns. She reveals she is readying to face an adversary. The man says she wants to be rescued. The hero says he will help her. Passively, stereotypically, she accepts this. This stereotype attacks another; the one that says aggression is shown synoptically in red. The underestimating audience will be conflicted, thinking her now only a princess. Fans of film noir will figure this a femme fatale trap, typical to trick men. They kiss and embrace, each other ensnared, her svelte form melting in his strong frame.

Light flashes with a swift sound.

The man’s voiceover starts again. He anchors what happened, the explanation demanded from a tense audience. “The silencer makes a whisper of the gunshot. I’ll never know what she was running from. I’ll cash the cheque in the morning.”

The audience is disgusted. That man. That monster. That misleading, money-lusting, misogynist! He keeps her in his hold, almost remorseful. We are still in shock. Repulsed with us, the camera pulls away. We get our last look at that anti-hero.

Welcome to Sin City. None can be trusted.