I didn't think there were any words to describe writer and director Frank Miller's latest contribution to cinema, but then I ventured onto the Intrawebs and stumbled across the term "LOL WUT." It's tragic, but I can't think of any better way to sum up a film that is about a dude who wears guyliner, thinks of a city as both his mother and his lover and talks to cats.But, in all seriousness, I'm quite surprised by The Spirit's quality, considering Miller's expertise in comic book-based projects; for those of you who are unaware, Miller is the writer behind such works as Hard Boiled, Elektra Lives Again, Sin City and 300, and either directed or produced the film adaptations of the latter two works. So, why did Miller's version of The Spirit-which tells the story of a masked vigilante out to find the source of his superhuman abilities-go so horribly wrong?

Essentially, it seems as though Miller mishandled his source material. The Spirit was originally written in 1940 by Will Eisner, and the material shows its age on account of Miller's inability to rework written lines for spoken word. However, despite its font being over 60 years old, The Spirit had the potential to be a fun, over-the-top romp. Due to Miller's mismanagement, though, it instead became an hour-and-a-half example of the bad kind of camp, which consists of individuals delivering their lines in a tone as flat as the pages on which they were born.

In truth, the supporting characters are incredibly forgettable and practically interchangeable, seeing as the majority of them spend their time either a) delivering barely relevant monologues and/or b) talking about how awesome the Spirit is-unless, that is, said character is a lady, in which case she also squanders a great many minutes giving the Spirit sexy kisses.

And I'd like to overlook the poor performances by those members of The Spirit's cast-considering that the majority of the actors featured in the film usually provide solid performances-but due to the tasteless direction the film occasionally takes, I cannot forgive them, and I especially refuse to absolve Eva Mendes and her female cohorts.

The Spirit features one of the worst representations of women in recent memory, with its inclusion of Sand Saref (Eva Mendes) as a gold digger who photocopies her ass during monologues and seeks "the shiny thing to end all shiny things," and Ellen Dolan (Sarah Paulson), a surgeon who frequently throws herself at the Spirit despite his tendency to chase skirts in front of her. Not only that, but The Spirit also contains a scene in which Samuel L. Jackson and Scarlett Johansson dress in Nazi garb for no other apparent reason than shock value.

Unfortunately, not even Miller's notable visuals can salvage The Spirit. Miller's artistic style, which was impressive in Sin City, would have been enjoyable addition to The Spirit except that it is fairly obvious Miller has already run out of tricks and is hoping to get by on style rather than substance. Alas, Miller has already begun lifting ideas from films by Quentin Tarintino:

Mysterious case that contains a glowing object? Check.

Person punching his way out of a coffin? Check.

Samuel L. Jackson? Check.

However, the worst part of the film is undoubtedly the director's implication that there might be a sequel in the making; apparently, both the Spirit and Miller need to learn that there is a time for everyone and everything to die.