Though I’m sure I’ll be making some fans angry by saying this, The Spirit could have been a decent film—had it included simple concepts such as emotion, dialogue, that sort of thing. Instead, it simply rang of annoyances rather than style.

Rather than a moody, affecting crime drama, what viewers experience is a series of long, repetitive scenes featuring a hero who isn’t very heroic. For a mask-wearing casa nova, The Spirit himself seems much more a doofy klutz than sexual sleuth. Instead of witty, hard-edged dialogue what comes out of his mouth is forced generic gumshoe drivel, and though we’re told that the ladies fawn over his red-tie wearing bod, we’re pretty much left wondering why.

Indeed, there is not much depth to any of the characters. An actual range of emotion is portrayed only through teens through flashback, which isn’t saying much; the overdramatized scene could have been a rehearsal for a soap opera spinoff somewhere between Twilight and The Young and the Restless.

The traditional cruelty of many noir films is present with the villainous Octopus—though much of it is in passing mention and the rest more comical than stirring. Another overplayed element of the femme fatale, at times so sporadically placed, leaves viewers wondering—exactly what is the point of this movie again? The theme of the strange and grotesque is also present, though so brief and random as if it were added as an afterthought.

I know that like many films of its type The Spirit has its cult fans, but like most critics who’ve seen the film, I’m certainly not one of them.