If Chinatown proves one thing, it's this: Roman Polanski is an artist. He makes up for the standard noir's lackluster story with stylish and sophisticated execution.
Starring Jack Nicholson and Faye Dunaway, Chinatown explores corruption in 1930s Los Angeles. Nichoslon plays Jake Gittes, a private investigator who inadvertently uncovers a huge scandal that involves big business and the city's water supply.
Written by Robert Towne, the screenplay is complex. It's filled with twists and turns designed to both intrigue viewers and make them feel completely lost.
This is just as well. Gittes himself spends the majority of the movie suspicious and bewildered. He's constantly on the hunt for more information. He doesn't know what's going on, and neither does the audience.
Despite the script's complexities and quick jabs of dialogue, it's a bit disappointing. For such a sprawling plotline, the mystery feels inappropriately small. It's all wrapped up in Gittes' perspective, which creates a viewing experience that can be frustratingly narrow. This is most likely intentional, an attempt to convey messages about being helplessly stranded in an evil world. Unfortunately, the smallness of the scope doesn't make for the most compelling narrative. Luckily, the cast and crew are mostly masters of their crafts.
There's a quote often attributed to the late, great filmmaker Orson Welles: "A film is never really good unless the camera is an eye in the head of a poet." Polanski is a dark poet of the silver screen, a cinematic Edgar Allan Poe, but with a realistic edge instead of a Romantic one.
From Towne's somewhat formulaic work, Polanski creates a menacing film that slowly burns toward an unforgettable conclusion. On the way there, he subtly pounds his audience with potent sights and sounds. Gittes' white suits, the spinning fan in his office, the car horns honking on the streets of L.A., and of course, water rushing out of the dark -- these sensory details all add up to something formidable. A quiet and tense atmosphere that promises to unnerve but won't let you look away.
Beyond Polanski, there's cinematographer John A. Alonzo, who brings sun-kissed Southern California to light in the day, and uncovers its dark and seedy underbelly at night. Composer Jerry Goldsmith, too, is an asset with his sparsely used but remarkably memorable score. Its horns resonate in the mind long after the movie ends.
Not as even but still impressive is the cast. Nicholson delivers a good performance with a few great moments. Most of the time, he's just what you'd expect: smooth, charismatic, and bold.
Dunaway at first seems miscast as Gittes' mysterious client Evelyn Mulray. She certainly looks like a classic movie star, but the elegance and restraint of her early scenes don't scream femme fatale. As the movie continues, though, it seems she may never have been one. The more we learn about this troubled woman, the more her nerves start to show, the better Dunaway's performance gets.
Rounding out the cast is an impressive array of supporting actors. The standout is easily John Huston, who gives a chilling performance as Noah Cross, Evelyn's estranged father. Here is an actor who knows the power of his deep voice and imposing physique. He uses them to his frightening advantage.
The immense style of Chinatown -- built by its gifted director, cast, and crew -- doesn't completely make up for the so-so story. But it sure tries.
Is it successful? Sometimes. There are moments in the film, indelible images and sounds, that leave an unmistakable mark.
But you can't win 'em all here. It's Chinatown.
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