Nothing says Christmas Day more than a lurid, ultra-violent rendering of a comic book. Arriving in theaters on what many consider the most festive day of the year, The Spirit comes decked with boughs not of holly but of blood.

Lionsgate/Odd Lot Entertainment

Gabriel Macht stars as the title character in Frank Miller’s film version of The Spirit.

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The blood may flow freely in The Spirit, writer/director Frank Miller’s neo-noir interpretation of Will Eisner’s comic book series, but, in fairness, hardly any of it shows up as Santa red. Instead, Miller makes his turgid tale devoid of color, with blood just as gray and bland as everything else in the film except for the Spirit’s tie and Scarlett Johansson’s lips.

This comic book adaptation looks specifically aimed toward the many fans of its source, as well as admirers of Miller’s Sin City.

Others, however, may find the story rambling and Miller’s direction strangely lethargic. Oh, plenty of bullets fly and bodies crumble under either the assault of the Octopus (Samuel L. Jack­son, a once-respected actor who now relies on his own caricature), or Sand Saref (Eva Mendes, vapid but still the sexiest woman in Hollywood), or the Spirit (Gabriel Macht).

In fighting off the evil forces found in his hometown, The Spirit looks perpetually grim, loves the ladies, and sports a paste-on mask that looks like Groucho Marx’s mustache. But he’s taken seriously, particularly when he lands in the middle of some vaguely explained dust-up between the Octopus and Sand Saref over either a vial of blood or a treasure chest (maybe it was the Treasure of the Lost Ark).

Despite draining his film of color, Miller does deliver several visually impressive se­quen­ces. In others, however, he lets them drag on endlessly, sucking any energy left over from his cartoonish action scenes.

The Spirit may please its intended audiences while gaining few new admirers.

The Spirit

**

Rated PG-13, 103 minutes.
Opens today.